five o’clock
Overhead the tumult and thunder of an organ explained the tremor and roar I had heard below . I was in the crypt of St. Agatha 's chapel . The inside of the door by which I had entered was a part of the wainscoting of the room , and the opening was wholly covered with a map of the Holy Land . In my absorption I had lost the sense of time , and I was amazed to find that it was five o'clock , but I resolved to go into the chapel before going home . The way up was clear enough , and I was soon in the vestibule . I opened the door , expecting to find a service in progress ; but the little church was empty save where , at the right of the chancel , an organist was filling the church with the notes of a triumphant march . Cap in hand I stole forward and sank down in one of the pews .