eleven o'clock
Jimmie Dale 's lips tightened . It was a small safe , almost ludicrously small ; but to such height as the art of safe design had been carried , that design was embodied in the one before him . `` Type K-four-two-eight-Colby , '' muttered Jimmie Dale . `` A nasty little beggar -- and it 's eleven o'clock now ! I 'd use ` soup ' for once , if it were n't that it would put Stangeist wise , and give him a chance to make his get-away before the district attorney got the nippers on the four of them . '' The light went out . Jimmie Dale dropped to his knees ; and , while his left hand passed swiftly , tentatively over dials and handle , he rubbed the fingers of his right hand rapidly to and fro over the carpet .