thirty-three minutes past seven
He now saw the wisdom of the rector in obtaining a signed confession from the porter . The document would not be a death-bed confession -- perhaps not worth anything legally -- but it would be held by Owen ; and he alone , as Cytherea 's natural guardian , could separate them on the mere ground of an unproved probability , or what might perhaps be called the hallucination of an idiot . Edward himself , however , was as firmly convinced as the rector had been of the truth of the man 's story , and paced backward and forward the solitary compartment as the train wound through the dark heathery plains , the mazy woods , and moaning coppices , as resolved as ever to pounce on Manston , and charge him with the crime during the critical interval between the reception of the telegram and the hour at which Owen 's train would arrive -- trusting to circumstances for what he should say and do afterwards , but making up his mind to be a ready second to Owen in any emergency that might arise . At thirty-three minutes past seven he stood on the platform of the station at Southampton -- a clear hour before the train containing Owen could possibly arrive . Making a few inquiries here , but too impatient to pursue his investigation carefully and inductively , he went into the town . At the expiration of another half-hour he had visited seven hotels and inns , large and small , asking the same questions at each , and always receiving the same reply -- nobody of that name , or answering to that description , had been there . A boy from the telegraph-office had called , asking for the same persons , if they recollected rightly .