quarter past eleven
Follow my uncle now . Good-night . '' We went into the yard , under the pillars of the town hall , across the silent street , through a narrow passage , and down to the sea . Old Rangsley reeled ahead of us swiftly , muttering , `` Three men to be set aboard the _ Thames _ ... quarter past eleven . Three men to be set aboard ... '' and in a few minutes we stood upon the shingle beside the idle sea , that was nearly at the full . It was , I suppose , what I demanded of Fate -- to be gently wafted into the position of a hero of romance , without rough hands at my throat . It is what we all ask , I suppose ; and we get it sometimes in ten-minute snatches .