one
o'clock
These shots all went wild . Shuddering , with teeth chattering and eyes popping , Peter dove through the matted hedge , dashed into the street , and down the street , lighted at intervals with its pin-points of mysterious light . He came to the incline station , and his footsteps seemed weighted , dragging . And the clock in the station , as he dashed past , showed one o'clock . He plunged down the first sharp twist of the hair-pin trail , fell , picked himself up dusty and dizzy , with his left arm swinging grotesquely as he ran . And behind him , riding like the dawn wind , he seemed to feel the presence of a companion , of a silent rickshaw which rattled with a grisly occupant ; and a voice , the voice of Romola Borria , shrill and terrible in his ear , cried : `` Wait ! Oh , wait ! ''