two o'clock
The commission by no means pleased Nevill , but he did not see his way to refuse . * * * * * For thirteen days Sir Lucius Chesney had been back at Priory Court , happy among his horses and dogs , his short-horns and orchids ; his pictures rested temporarily under a cloud , and he was rarely to be found in the spacious gallery . In London , Victor Nevill enjoyed life with as much zest as his conscience would permit ; Madge Foster dragged through weary days and duller evenings at Strand-on-the-Green ; and the editor of the _ Illustrated Universe _ wondered what had become of his bright young war-artist since the one brief visit to the office . At two o'clock on a drizzling , foggy morning a policeman , walking up the Charing Cross Road , paused for a moment to listen to some remote strains of music that came indistinctly from a distance ; then he shrugged his shoulders and went on -- it was no business of his . The sounds that attracted the policeman 's attention had their source in a cross street to the left -- in one of those evil institutions known as a `` night club , '' which it seems impossible to eradicate from the fast life of West End London . It was a typical scene ; there were many like it that night . The house had two street doors , and behind the inner one , which was fitted with a small grating and kept locked , squatted a vigilant keeper , equally ready to open to a member or deny admittance to any one who had no business there .