three o'clock
... '' Never before had Holmlock Shears felt the struggle between Arsène Lupin and himself grow so intense as now . With his prodigious intuition , he guessed that , under this excessive gaiety , Lupin was concentrating his formidable mind and collecting all his faculties . Lupin had gradually drawn closer . The Englishman stepped back and slipped his fingers , as though absent-mindedly , into his pocket : `` It 's three o'clock , M. Lupin . '' `` Three o'clock already ? What a pity ! ... We were having such fun ! ''