midnight
`` God knows what deviltry is going on here , '' muttered the lad , a coward at heart . There were fleeting figures of veiled women gliding past him through the dim entrances , the refluent stream of the Devil 's daughters . Down the gloomy side street the blue gleam of the pitiless river showed light against the somber night , the yellow blinking lights of the tugs flitting about like corpse candles . In the dark shadows of the involved angular corners , thug and ghoul lurked until midnight should bring them their prey , the careless roysterer , or the belated prosperous citizen . Out on Layte Street the flashy throng was still pouring toward the Fulton Ferry . `` I wonder if I dare , '' mused the lad , as he walked around the corner and paused before No. 192 Layte Street . The sober splendor of the richly decorated old five-story brownstone told of the vanished glories of the ante-bellum days .