"If you ask me," said a third voice, "the old man's knuckled under.
If time has stopped flowing in Never Lane, it can only mean he switched it off himself, in other words, he knows he's beaten.
Where is he, the old mischief-maker? Let's finish him off!"
The men in gray were looking around when one of them had a sudden thought.
His voice sounded even grayer, if possible, than the rest. "Something's wrong, gentlemen," he said.
"The clocks - look at the clocks! Every one of them has stopped, even this hourglass here."
"I suppose he must have stopped them," another voice said uncertainly.
"You can't stop an hourglass," the first man in gray retorted.
"See for yourselves, gentlemen - the sand's suspended in mid-air and the hourglass itself won't budge! What does it mean?"
He was still speaking when footsteps came pounding along the corridor
and yet another man in gray squeezed through the little door, gesticulating wildly.
"We've just had word from our agents in the city," he announced.
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