midnight
We pressed on without a halt , for every moment was of importance , and for the most part we went in silence . For myself , I was already , in my thoughts , clasping my mother and Carette in my arms once more , and then speeding across to Peter Port to rouse them there with the news of Torode 's murderous treachery . Le Marchant was the more practical man of the two . As we passed some windmills , and came swinging down towards the western coast , soon after midnight , he gave a cheerful `` Hourra ! '' and in reply to my stare , cried , `` The wind , man ! It 's as dead as St. Magloire . Monsieur Torode will never get round La Hague like this . ''