midnight
Now and again an empty cab returning to its stable , with weary horse and semi-somnolent coachman , crawled through the street . But at night it was otherwise . Many vehicles came dashing down Tinplate Street : carriages , public and private , of every variety , from the rattletrap cab hired off the stand , or the decent coach from the livery stable , to the smart spick-and-span brougham , with its well-appointed horses and servants in neat livery . They all set down at the same door , and took up from it at any hour between midnight and dawn , waiting patiently in file in the wide street round the corner , till the summons came as each carriage was required . As seen in the daytime , there was nothing strange about the door , or the house to which it gave access . The place purported to be an hotel -- a seedy , out-at-elbows , seemingly little-frequented hotel , rejoicing in the altogether inappropriate name of the Hôtel Paradis , or the Paradise Hotel . Its outward appearance was calculated to repel rather than invite customers ; no one would be likely to lodge there who could go elsewhere .