nine o'clock
Mrs. Vansittart asked a porter in the railway station at The Hague . The man stared at her for a moment , then realized that the question was a serious one . `` I will ask one of the engine-drivers , my lady , '' he answered , with his hand at the peak of his cap . It was past nine o'clock , and Mrs. Vansittart had been waiting nearly half an hour for the Flushing train . Her carriage was walking slowly up and down beneath the glass roof of the entrance to the railway station . She had taken a ticket in order to gain access to the platform , and was almost alone there with the porters . Her glance travelled backwards and forwards between the clock and the western sky , visible beneath the great arch of the station .