six o'clock
Robert accepted his prophetic vision gravely . It was what he meant to happen , and it did not seem to him to be amusing . Brown 's was tucked away in a quiet West End side street , and there was only one entrance . At six o'clock the tables were still empty , and Robert walked through into the employees ' dressing-room . He put on his white jacket , slightly stained with iodoform , and a black apron which concealed his unprofessional grey trousers , and went to work in the pantry , laying out plates and dishes in proper order , after the manner of a general marshalling his troops for action . He was deft handed , and responsible for fewer breakages than any of the old-timers -- foreigners for the most -- who flitted up and down the passages with the look of bats startled from their belfries and only half awake . Through an open , glass window he could see into the huge kitchen , where Mr. Brown brooded over his oven , and catch rich , sensuous odours that went to his head like so many etherealized cocktails .