one o'clock in the morning
he whispered to himself . He crept down the corridor , past the open door of the room where the young woman still sat fast asleep , and , his mask in his pocket again , stepped softly into the vestibule , and from there to the street . Jimmie Dale hurried now , spurred on it seemed by a hot , insensate fury that raged within him -- there was still one other call to make that night -- still those remaining and minute details in the latter part of her letter , grim and ugly in their portent ! It was close upon one o'clock in the morning when Jimmie Dale stopped again -- this time before a fashionable dwelling just off Central Park . And here , for perhaps the space of a minute , he surveyed the house from the sidewalk -- watching , with a sort of speculative satisfaction , a man 's shadow that passed constantly to and fro across the drawn blinds of one of the lower windows . The rest of the house was in darkness . `` Yes , '' said Jimmie Dale , nodding his head , `` I rather thought so .