Eight o'clock
Sylvia and Echochee , therefore , had just come under suspicion of intending to escape -- and we were in the nick of time , although I felt staggered by the job ahead of us . After another wait the fellow at post one again flashed his torch -- on his watch , no doubt , because from time to time there were other flashes and , after the last of these , he called half-past seven . That was good for us , too -- the half hours ! Eight o'clock came , then half after , then nine . The lights in the camp had been extinguished . A real owl hooted mournfully somewhere back in the forest . I was waiting for post one to be called again when a voice , not twelve inches from my face , whispered : `` All right ; come ; slow like me .