about eleven in the evening
She might shout herself hoarse -- there was no reply . The old termagant , who had left the front of her hovel and had gone to call her assistant , shouting in the passage at the back of the store , returned cursing and swearing , and seated herself near the store in the lean-to which did duty as a kitchen : `` Where in the devil 's name has that imbecile got to ? '' she grumbled , whilst sipping with gusts from the bottom of a cup , into which she had poured a small allowance of coffee and a copious ration of rum . It was about eleven in the evening . There was not a sound to be heard . Having finished her rum and tea the old receiver of stolen goods went to the entrance of the passage : `` Cranajour ! ... Cranajour ! ''