Twelve o’clock
` Now , ' says D. to himself , ` if I hear a door softly opened in this part of the house , I shall know for certain it is Mrs. Beauly 's door ! ' Upon that he closes his own door , leaving the tiniest little chink to look through ; puts out his light ; and waits and watches at his tiny little chink , like a cat at a mouse-hole . The corridor is the only place he wants to see ; and a lamp burns there all night . Twelve o'clock strikes ; he hears the doors below bolted and locked , and nothing happens . Half-past twelve -- and nothing still . The house is as silent as the grave . One o'clock ; two o'clock -- same silence .