twelve o'clock
By the time that the detective had been primed with such facts and details as I could give , it was past ten o'clock . I could see my way to do nothing more for the moment , and as I was half famished , I whizzed back in my hired automobile to the Élysée Palace Hotel . There I had food served in my own sitting-room , lest George Sandford should chance inconveniently upon some acquaintance of Ivor Dundas , in the restaurant . I did not hurry over the meal , for all I wanted now was to arrive at Maxine de Renzie 's house at twelve o'clock , and tell her my news -- or lack of news . She would be there waiting for me , I was sure , no matter how prompt I might be , for though in ordinary circumstances , after the first performance of a new play , either Maxine would have gone out to supper , or invited guests to sup with her , she would have accepted no invitation , given none , for to-night . She would hurry out of the theatre , probably without waiting to remove her stage make-up , and she would go home unaccompanied , except by her maid . Maxine lives in a charming little old-fashioned house , set back in its own garden , a great `` find '' in a good quarter of Paris ; and her house could he reached in ten minutes ' drive from my hotel .