midnight
`` You will please give me that paper , Mr. Saltire , '' she pleaded , `` and you will please all of you forget the ravings of poor Dick Saxby . It is true that I knew him in the past , and that he followed me here , but the rest , as you must realize , are simply hallucinations of a poisoned brain . '' Andrew McNeil 's dour face had grown bewildered , but softened . Christine -- if she had not seen a little too much , if she had not known that lovely golden hair hanging in rich plaits about the woman 's shoulders covered the crisped head of a white negress , if she had not overheard impassioned words at midnight , if she had not loved Roddy so well -- might have been beguiled . But there was one person upon whom the artist 's wiles were wasted . `` I 'm afraid it ca n't be done , Mrs. Saxby , '' said Saltire gravely . `` The testimony of a dying man is sacred -- and Saxby 's mind was perfectly clear . ''