the hour of
seven
It would add several inches to one 's stature to feel that the mouth of one 's burrow was graced with a Latin inscription for admiring strangers to ponder over . No ; my chambers are some doors further down -- number 6A '' -- and he turned to point out the house as we crossed towards Crown Office Row . At the top of Middle Temple Lane we parted , Thorndyke taking his way with fluttering gown towards the Law Courts , while I directed my steps westward towards Adam Street , the chosen haunt of the medical agent . The soft-voiced bell of the Temple clock was telling out the hour of seven in muffled accents -LRB- as though it apologised for breaking the studious silence -RRB- as I emerged from the archway of Mitre Court and turned into King 's Bench Walk . The paved footway was empty save for a single figure , pacing slowly before the doorway of number 6A , in which , though the wig had now given place to a felt hat and the gown to a jacket , I had no difficulty in recognising my friend . `` Punctual to the moment , as of old , '' said he , meeting me half-way . `` What a blessed virtue is punctuality , even in small things .