eight
o'clock
Everything moved along serenely until Wednesday afternoon , when I thought I heard a noise in the cellar , but investigation revealed the presence of no one but a stray cat which miaowed up the cellar steps to me in response to my call of `` Who 's there . '' True , I did not go down to see if any one were there , not caring to involve myself in a personal encounter with a chance tramp who might have wandered in , in search of food . The sudden materialization of the cat satisfactorily explained the noises , and I returned to the library to resume my reading of _ The Origin of the Decalogue _ where I had left off at the moment of the interruption . That evening I cooked myself a welsh-rabbit and at eight o'clock , arrayed in my pajamas , I returned to the library with a book , a bottle of champagne and a box of Vencedoras , prepared for a quiet evening of absolute luxury . I read in the waning light of the dying midsummer day for a little while , and then , as darkness came on , I turned to the switch-board to light the electric lamp . _ The lamp would not light . _ I pressed and pressed every button in the room , but with no better results ; and then , going through the house I tried every other button I could find , but everywhere conditions were the same .