eight o'clock
So he rambled on for a half hour , relating the Cragg history in all its details , including the story of Ingua and Ingua 's mother , Nan Cragg , who had married some unknown chap named Scammel , who did not long survive the ceremony . Mr. Sinclair listened quietly , seeming to enjoy his cigar more than he did the Cragg gossip . He asked no questions , letting the landlord ramble on as he would , and finally , when Hopper had exhausted his fund of fact and fiction , which were about evenly mixed , his guest bade him good night and retired to his private room . `` It ai n't eight o'clock , yet , '' said the landlord to his wife , `` but a feller with nerves is best asleep . An ' when he 's asleep he wo n't waste our kerosene . '' No , Mr. Sinclair did n't waste the Hopper kerosene . He had a little pocket arrangement which supplied him with light when , an hour before midnight , he silently rose , dressed himself and prepared to leave the hotel .