midnight
A sulphureous wave of heat half asphyxiated the swarms of people who were hurrying to and fro in that restless undetermined way which is such a predominating feature of what is called a London `` season , '' and the general impression of the weather was , to one and all , conveyed in a sense of discomfort and oppression , with a vague struggling expectancy of approaching thunder . Few raised their eyes beyond the thick warm haze which hung low on the sooty chimney-pots , and trailed sleepily along in the arid , dusty parks . Those who by chance looked higher , saw that the skies above the city were divinely calm and clear , and that not a cloud betokened so much as the shadow of a storm . The deep bell of Westminster chimed midnight , that hour of picturesque ghostly tradition , when simple village maids shudder at the thought of traversing a dark lane or passing a churchyard , and when country folks of old-fashioned habits and principles are respectably in bed and for the most part sleeping . But so far as the fashionable `` West End '' was concerned , it might have been midday . Everybody assuming to be Anybody , was in town . The rumble of carriages passing to and fro was incessant , -- the swift whirr and warning hoot of coming and going motor vehicles , the hoarse cries of the newsboys , and the general insect-like drone and murmur of feverish human activity were as loud as at any busy time of the morning or the afternoon .