“Come along, do, dear,” said the sudden voice of the Mouldiwarp. “The clock’s all ready.”
A soft light was pressing against their eyes—growing, growing. They saw now that they were in a great chalk cave—the smugglers’ cave, Edred had hardly a doubt. And in the middle of its floor of smooth sand was a great clock-face—figures and hands and all—made of softly gleaming pearls set in ivory. Light seemed to flow from this, and to be reflected back on it by the white chalk walls. It was the most beautiful piece of jeweller’s work that the children—or, I imagine, any one else—had ever seen.
“Sit on the minute hand,” said the Mouldiwarp, “and home you go.”
“But I can’t go,” said Edred grimly, “till I’ve heard what Richard was saying.”
“You’ll be caught, then, by the King and his soldiers,” said the witch.
“I must risk that,” said Edred quite quietly. “I will not go near the white clock till Richard has told me what he means.”
“I’ll give him one minute,” said the Mouldiwarp crossly, “not no more than that. I’m sick to death of it, so I am.”
“Oh, don’t be cross,” said Elfrida.
“I bain’t,” said the Mouldiwarp, “not under my fur. It’s this Chop-and-change, and I-will-and-I-won’t as makes me so worritable.”
“Tell me, what did you mean—about my father?” Edred said again.