With a wry twist of his neck he peered out through the darkness to where the freshening air, the steady, monotonous slosh-slosh-slosh of rain, the pale intermittent flare of stale lightning, proclaimed the opening of the cave. "For Heaven's sake, wh-at what time is it?" he faltered. "Why, I'm sure I don't know," said little Eve Edgarton. "But I should guess it might be about eight or nine o'clock.