Six minutes past three
His Majesty was talking unconcernedly with one of his officers , the foreign attaches looked steadily between their chargers ' ears , as though nothing in particular was hanging in the balance , the Abyssinian Envoy displayed an untroubled serenity which was probably genuine . Elsewhere among the Suite was a perceptible fidget , the more obvious because it was elaborately cloaked . Among the privileged onlookers drawn up near the saluting point the fidgeting was more unrestrained . `` Six minutes past three , and not a sign of them ! '' exclaimed Joan Mardle , with the explosive articulation of one who can not any longer hold back a truth . `` Hark ! '' said some one ; `` I hear trumpets ! ''