ten o'clock
When Braun had disappeared , Ben Timmins drained a brandy and soda to his eternal discomfiture . '' ` Ere 's ` oping the bloomin ' ship founders with the old beggar , '' growled the Londoner , who had noted Braun sweep away the last thirty dollars in the till . '' ' E might have left me a few pennies . '' It was ten o'clock when Randall Clayton , pacing up and down the street , nervously eying the darkened front door of 192 Layte Street , saw a lad nimbly dart up the front steps , touch a bell-push , and then vanish in a few moments , as the door closed . Ciayton could only distinguish vaguely the bundles with which the boy had been loaded down . He lingered there in agony , afraid to approach that portal . But , a half-hour later , a portly man , in a light-colored coat , with easy leisure , strolling up the steps , inserted a latch-key , and the baffled lover could only see that the hallway was dark , with one half-turned-up gas jet .