midnight
The blood in The Rat 's veins ran quickly and made him feel hot as he remembered certain thoughts which had forced themselves into his mind during the past weeks . As his brain had the trick of `` working things out , '' it had , during the last fortnight at least , been following a wonderful even if rather fantastic and feverish fancy . A mere trifle had set it at work , but , its labor once begun , things which might have once seemed to be trifles appeared so no longer . When Marco was asleep , The Rat lay awake through thrilled and sometimes almost breathless midnight hours , looking backward and recalling every detail of their lives since they had known each other . Sometimes it seemed to him that almost everything he remembered -- the Game from first to last above all -- had pointed to but one thing . And then again he would all at once feel that he was a fool and had better keep his head steady . Marco , he knew , had no wild fancies .