Eleven o'clock
He lowered himself to the floor , and slipped cautiously between the portieres . From somewhere in the house , a clock began to strike . Jimmie Dale counted the strokes . Eleven o'clock . It was getting late -- TOO late ! Stangeist was likely to be back at any moment . The flashlight , in Jimmie Dale 's hand now , circled the room with its little round white ray , lingering an instant in a queer , inquisitive sort of way here and there on this object and that -- and went out .