nearly
midnight
Was there time for -- this ? He was staring at the little torn scraps of paper in his hand . He thrust them suddenly into his pocket , and jerked out his watch . It was nearly midnight . The broad , muscular shoulders seemed to square back curiously , the jaws to clamp a little , the face to harden and grow cold until it was like stone . With a swift movement he emptied his glass into the cuspidor , set the glass back on the table , and stepped out from the stall . His destination was Max Diestricht 's .