six minutes past twelve
Flares of brightness continued to pass before his eyes , and , disinclined to the possibilities of sleep , he propped himself up with an extra pillow . Then , illogically , he wondered if he had locked the door ; at the instant of rising to find out , he restrained himself -- if , subconsciously , he had , chance and not he had worked ; for or against him , what did it matter ? He looked at the illuminated dial of his watch ; the hands , the numerals , greenly phosphorescent , were sharp ; it was midnight . After apparently an interminable wait he looked again -- six minutes past twelve . The rumble of an elevated train approached , hung about the room , and receded . Death could be no more dragging than this . Why , then , did n't he fall asleep ?