Noon
`` What yuh think of him ? '' At noon ! At the seventh noon , the whistle was to blow ! The Seventh Noon _ The Black Dog _ `` The right to die ? '' Professor Barstow , with a perplexed scowl ruffling the barbette of gray hairs above his keen eyes , shook his head and turning from the young man whose long legs extended over the end of the lean sofa upon which he sprawled in one corner of the laboratory , held the test-tube , which he had been studying abstractedly , up to the light . The flickering gas was not good for delicate work , and it was only lately that Barstow , spurred on by a glimpse of the end to a long series of experiments , had attempted anything after dark .