Perhaps I had better begin this chapter by telling you exactly how Edred “got even with old Parrot-nose,” as he put it. You will remember that Master Parados was the Ardens’ tutor in the time of King James I., and that it was through his eavesdropping and tale-bearing that Edred and Elfrida were imprisoned in the Tower of London. There was very little time in which to get even with any one, and, of course, getting even with people is not really at all a proper thing to do. Yet Edred did it.
Edred had got Elfrida out of the Tower just as Lady Nithsdale got her lord out, and now he and she and Cousin Richard were at Arden House, in Soho, and the old nurse, who was also, astonishingly, the old witch, had said that there was no time to be lost.
“But I must be even with old Parrot-nose,” said Edred. He was feeling awfully brave and splendid inside, because of the way he had planned and carried out the Nithsdale rescue of Elfrida; and also he felt that he could not bear to go back to his own times without somehow marking his feelings about Mr. Parados.
As to how it was to be done. Cousin Richard was not to have anything to do with it, because while they would be whisked away by some white road that the Mouldiwarp would find for them when they called it to their help by spoken poetry, he would be left behind to bear the blame of everything. This Edred and Elfrida decided in a quick-whispered conference, but Cousin Dick wanted to know what they were talking about, and why he wasn’t to help in what he had wanted to do these four years.
“If we tell you,” said Elfrida, “you won’t believe us.”
“You might at least make the trial,” said Cousin Richard.
So they told him, and though they were as quick as possible, the story took some time to tell. Richard Arden listened intently. When the tale was told he said nothing.
“You don’t believe it,” said Edred; “I knew you wouldn’t. Well, it doesn’t matter. What can we do to pay out old Parrot-nose?”
“I don’t like it,” said Richard suddenly; “it’s never been like this before. It makes it seem not real. It’s only a dream really, I suppose. And I always believed so that it wasn’t.”
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” said Edred, “but what we’ve been saying’s true anyhow. Look here.” He darted to the dark corner of the parlour, where he had hidden the camera behind a curtain. “Look here, I bet you haven’t got anything like this. It comes from our times, ever so far on in history—out of the times where we come from—the times that haven’t happened yet—at least now we’re here they haven’t happened yet. You don’t know what it is. It’s a machine for the sun to make pictures with.”