eleven o'clock
M. Félix Davey was leaving the flat which he occupied on the fourth floor of No. 8 . And , by a sheer coincidence -- for the two gentlemen were not acquainted -- M. Dubreuil , the expert , who had knocked into one the fifth-floor flat of No. 8 and the fifth-floor flats of the two adjoining houses , had selected the same day on which to send off the collection of furniture and antiques which used to be visited daily by one or other of his many foreign correspondents . A peculiarity which attracted notice in the neighbourhood , but which was not mentioned until later , was that none of the twelve vans bore the name and address of the firm of removers and that none of the men in charge of them loitered in the wine-shops round about . They worked to such good purpose that all was over by eleven o'clock . Nothing remained but those piles of old papers and rags which are always left behind in the corners of empty rooms . M. Félix Davey was a young man of smart appearance , dressed in the latest fashion , but carrying a heavily-weighted cane which seemed to indicate unusual muscular strength on the part of its owner . He walked away quietly and sat down on a bench in the cross alley which intersects the Avenue du Bois , opposite the Rue Pergolèse .