midnight
he exclaimed . `` Well , then , it 's time for a bit of jazz . Bring on your instruments of torture . '' Jazz always was imperfect music , and here , with untutored musicians and rude instruments , it was imperfection itself ; but it is doubtful if any music ever soothed unstrung nerves as did this bit of jazz that rent the midnight silence at the top of the world . The applause which followed awakened echoes among the ice-piles , and sent a lone doveky away into the shadows . `` Well , '' said the Doctor , as the echoes of the last burst of jazz died away , `` Major , I suppose we are to have the pleasure of your company on our return journey . Am I right ? ''