one o'clock in the morning
`` And to think of that cop running away with the idea that I did n't see him when he hid in a doorway after I passed the corner ! Well , well , strange -- is n't it ? '' With another glance down the street , a whimsical lift of his shoulders , he headed west into the dilapidated tenement quarter that huddled for a handful of blocks near by , just south of Washington Square . It was a little after one o'clock in the morning now and the pedestrians were casual . Jimmie Dale read the street signs on the corners as he went along , turned abruptly into an intersecting street , counted the tenements from the corner as he passed , and -- for the eye of any one who might be watching -- opened the street door of one of them quite as though he were accustomed and had a perfect right to do so , and went inside . It was murky and dark within ; hot , unhealthy , with lingering smells of garlic and stale cooking . He groped for the stairs and started up .