about ten o’clock
`` None whatever . '' `` Well , then , my friend , smoke this excellent cigar . '' And he handed me a choice Havana , one Monsieur Darzac had given him , while he lit his briarwood -- his eternal briarwood . We remained in his room until about ten o'clock without a word passing between us . Buried in an armchair Rouletabille sat and smoked steadily , his brow in thought and a far-away look in his eyes . On the stroke of ten he took off his boots and signalled to me to do the same . As we stood in our socks he said , in so low a tone that I guessed , rather than heard , the word : `` Revolver . ''