two o'clock in the
morning
He found the suitcase undisturbed where he had left it and soon had his canoe in the water . A moment later he was driving into the thick wall of fog with strong , practiced strokes , heading straight across the bay for Centre Island . The fog gave him little concern . This land-locked Toronto Bay he knew like a well-marked passage in a favorite book and at two o'clock in the morning it was not necessary to nose along cautiously , listening for the approach of water craft . Away to the right the lights of the amusement park on Hanlan 's Point had gone out long ago , before the fog settled down like a wet blanket . The ferries had stopped running for the night . Even the `` belt line boat , '' _ Lulu _ , -- last hope of bibulous or belated Islanders -- was back in her slip , funnel cold , lights out .