twelve o'clock
How can I tell you if I don ' know ? '' Then one evening matters reached a crisis . Marcus Schouler was in his room , the room in the flat just over McTeague 's `` Parlors '' which he had always occupied . It was between eleven and twelve o'clock . The vast house was quiet ; Polk Street outside was very still , except for the occasional whirr and trundle of a passing cable car and the persistent calling of ducks and geese in the deserted market directly opposite . Marcus was in his shirt sleeves , perspiring and swearing with exertion as he tried to get all his belongings into an absurdly inadequate trunk . The room was in great confusion .