midnight
He had asked no questions of Liane , and his knowledge of Cherbourg was limited to a memory of passing through the place as a boy , with a case-hardened criminal as guide and police at their heels . But assuming that Liane had booked passages for New York by a Cunarder , a White Star or American Line Boat -- all three touched regularly at Cherbourg , west bound from Southampton -- he expected presently to go aboard a tender and be ferried out to one of the steamers whose riding lights were to be seen in the roadstead . Meanwhile he was lazily content ... . Mellow voices of bell metal swelled and died on the midnight air while , lounging against the motor car -- with Liane at his side registering more impatience than he thought the occasion called for -- Lanyard listened , stared , wondered , the breath of the sea sweet in his nostrils , its flavour in his throat , his vision lost in the tangled web of masts and cordage and funnels that stencilled the moon-pale sky : the witching glamour of salt water binding all his senses with its time-old spell . It was quiet there upon the quay . Somewhere a winch rattled drowsily and weary tackle whined ; more near at hand , funnels were snoring and pumps chugging with a constant , monotonous noise of splashing . On the landward side , from wine shops across the way , came blurred gusts of laughter and the wailing of an accordeon .