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Updated: May 11, 2025
Perhaps she laid it on so heavy about my lack of "finish," as she called it, that when my one moment came to speak and say in my plain way a word or two, it gagged me in my throat and would not slide out. In those days a French Jew, named Vorpin, had a place just off the Grand Canal, called "Trois Folies," and by waiting till mid-evening for dinner, we could find the café well-nigh empty.
That rendezvous of Broadway was fairly thronged despite the slack mid-evening hour, between the dinner and the supper crushes; but Lanyard reviewed in vain the little knots of guests and loungers; if "Karl" were among them, he was nobody whom Lanyard had learned to know by sight on board the Assyrian. With as little success he searched unobtrusively all public rooms on the main floor.
Bedient slept; that is, his body lay moveless from mid-evening to broad daylight, that first night at the hacienda. Always she regarded him with some strange terror that would not let her speak.
Meantime he was here: and it was but Saturday, mid-evening, and a whole beautiful Sunday lay ahead.... From the piazza, after a turn or two, Miss Heth and Mr. Canning sauntered on to a little summer-house, which stood on the hotel front-lawn, not far from the piazza end.
So on Tuesday night I dropped in an hour or so late, to tell the truth, since I'd forgotten about the engagement until mid-evening. He was reading in a room as disorderly as ever. "Humph!" he grunted. "Time changes everything but habit, I see. You were a good student, Dick, but I seem to recall that you always arrived in class toward the middle of the lecture."
We could not think why we should be wanted. It was the darkness of mid-evening when we left the Planetara for Halsey's office. It was not a long trip. We went on the upper monorail, descending into the subterranean city at Park Circle 30. We had never been to Halsey's office before. Now we found it to be a gloomy, vaultlike place in one of the deepest corridors. The door lifted.
But he made no serious effort to free himself. He had been tied there, supposedly by the Master's command. And, as a well-trained dog, it was his place to stay where he was, until the Master should free him. So, apart from an instinctive tug or two at his moorings, he submitted to his fate. But, in mid-evening, something occurred, to change his viewpoint, in this matter of nonresistance.
Toward mid-evening the man Victor Vassilyevski and his creature Sturm sat where the lamp of hand-wrought brass made the top of the teakwood table an oasis of light amid a waste of shadows, their heads together over a vast glut of books and papers maps printed and sketched, curious diagrams, works of reference, documents all dark with columns of figures and cabalistic writings intelligible only to initiated eyes.
Mid-evening he drove this creature of his own fashioning out to Jake's Place, and deposited him in the parlour with the open fire, the table of drinks, and the easy chairs. His plans from this point on were based on the fact that he had started Keith out on an expedition that should last all night.
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