about ten
o'clock
For a moment it had turned me to a cynic . But already , as I write , a week has passed , and we have had our momentous interview with Lord John Roxton and -- well , perhaps things might be worse . Let me tell it in a few words . No letter or telegram had come to me at Southampton , and I reached the little villa at Streatham about ten o'clock that night in a fever of alarm . Was she dead or alive ? Where were all my nightly dreams of the open arms , the smiling face , the words of praise for her man who had risked his life to humor her whim ? Already I was down from the high peaks and standing flat-footed upon earth .