six o'clock
At this moment there smote upon our ears a politely protesting voice announcing in sing-song tones that it was closing time ; and simultaneously a desire for tea suggested the hospitable milk-shop . With leisurely dignity that ignored the official who shepherded us along the galleries , we made our way to the entrance , still immersed in conversation on matters sepulchral . It was rather earlier than our usual hour for leaving the Museum and , moreover , it was our last day -- for the present . Wherefore we lingered over our tea to an extent that caused the milk-shop lady to view us with some disfavor , and when at length we started homeward , we took so many short cuts that six o'clock found us no nearer our destination than Lincoln 's Inn Fields ; whither we had journeyed by a slightly indirect route that traversed -LRB- among other places -RRB- Russell Square , Red Lion Square , with the quaint passage of the same name , Bedford Row , Jockey 's Fields , Hand Court , and Great Turnstile . It was in the last thoroughfare that our attention was attracted by a flaring poster outside a newsvendor 's bearing the startling inscription : `` MORE MEMENTOES OF MURDERED MAN . '' Miss Bellingham glanced at the poster and shuddered . `` Horrible , is n't it ? ''