Nine o'clock
For several seconds he lay with his eyes shut ; the effort of opening them on a fresh day -- the intimate certainty of what he would see on opening them -- seemed to weight his lids . The heavy , half-closed curtains ; the blinds severely drawn ; the great room with its splendid furniture , its sober coloring , its scent of damp London winter ; above all , Allsopp , silent , respectful , and respectable -- were things to dread . A full minute passed while he still feigned sleep . He heard Allsopp stir discreetly , then the inevitable information broke the silence : `` Nine o'clock , sir ! '' He opened his eyes , murmured something , and closed them again . The man moved to the window , quietly pulled back the curtains and half drew the blind . `` Better night , sir , I hope ? ''