eleven o'clock
` Not in the coffin ? ' Hugo whispered , as if to himself . His whole frame trembled , shook , and his heart , leaping , defied his intellect . When at eleven o'clock that same winter night Hugo stood hesitating , with certain tools and a hooded electric lamp in his hand , on the balcony in front of the drawing-room window of Francis Tudor 's sealed flat , he thought what a strange , illogical , and capricious thing is the human heart . He knew that Camilla was dead . He had had the very best and most convincing evidence of the fact . He knew that Ravengar 's suspicions were without foundation , utterly wrong-headed ; and yet those statements of his enemy had unsettled him .