nine o'clock
Weald Lodge stands between Eastbourne and Wilmington , and in the winter months the curious , represented by youthful holiday makers , are few and far between . Constable Wiseman , of the Eastbourne constabulary , certainly was not curious . He paced his slow , moist way and merely noted , in passing , the fact that the flood of light reflected on the little patch of lawn at the side of the house . The hour was nine o'clock on a June evening , and officially it was only the hour of sunset , though lowering rain clouds had so darkened the world that night had closed down upon the weald , had blotted out its pleasant villages and had hidden the green downs . He continued to the end of his beat and met his impatient superior . `` Everything 's all right , sergeant , '' he reported ; `` only old Minute 's lights are blazing away and his windows are open . '' `` Better go and warn him , '' said the sergeant , pulling his bicycle into position for mounting .