quarter after twelve
Steel made no reply for a moment . He was restless and ill at ease to-night , and it seemed just possible that his imagination was playing him strange tricks . But , no . The Moorish clock in its frame of celebrities droned the quarter after twelve ; the scent of the Dijon roses floated in from the conservatory . `` I have told nobody as yet , '' Steel said , hoarsely . `` Who in the name of Heaven are you ? '' `` That in good time .