a quarter past Twelve
`` By all that 's blue ! it ca n't be , though it is , by Jupiter ! '' The gas was still burning brightly . Mr. BOB PETERS had caught sight of his watch as it was reflected in the mirror , with the hands pointing to a quarter past Twelve . With great rapidity he grasped the repeater , stabbed it into his fob , crushed his demoralized hat upon his head , looked regretfully about the room , turned off the gas , and in another moment was stealthily groping his way down stairs , toward the front door . The door yielded to his hand , but no JOCKO was there . `` I suppose , '' murmured Mr. PETERS to himself , `` I suppose the faithful fellow is praying for me somewhere in the kitchen , with his hands resting on a jar of sweetmeats .