Together they came across the park space opposite the House of Silvery
Voices in time to witness the final scene.

The new clock struck the half after eight as they reached the turn in
the path. A long, quavering howl, mingled of rage and desperation,
answered in Willy Woolly's voice.

"You hear?" said Stepfather Time anxiously to the Little Red Doctor.
"The dog is not himself."

They saw him rear up against the clock case. He seemed to be trying to
tear it open with his teeth.

"Willy!" cried his master in a tone such as, I suppose, the well-loved
companion had not heard twice before in his life. "Down, Willy!"

The dog drooped back. But it was not in obedience. For once he
disregarded the master's command. Perhaps he did not even hear it in the
absorption of his dread and rage. Step by step he withdrew, then rushed
and launched himself straight at the timepiece. Slight though his bulk
was, the impetus of the charge did the work. The clock reeled, toppled,
and fell outward through the window; then--

From the House of Silvery Voices rose a roar that smote the heavens. A
roar and a belch of flame and a spreading, poisonous stench that struck
the two men in the park to earth. When they struggled to their feet
again, the smoke had parted and the House of Silvery Voices gaped open,
its front wall stripped bodily away. But within, the sound of the busy
industry of time went on uninterrupted.