The small man glanced behind him and in doing so happened to knock his elbow against A Plaine Discouverie of the Whole Revelation of St John. He gave Mr Norrell a cool look for filling up so very small a space with so very large a book.

“I have said that I am disappointed,” continued the small man, “but I am not at all surprized. You do not know him as I do. Oh! I can assure you he has a pretty shrewd notion of his value. No one can have a better. A man who buys a house in Hanover-square knows the style in which things ought to be done. Oh, yes! He has bought a house in Hanover-square! You had not heard that, I dare say? He is as rich as a Jew. He had an old uncle called Haythornthwaite who died and left him a world of money. He has – among other trifles – a good house and a large estate – that of Hurtfew Abbey in Yorkshire.”

“Ha!” said the tall man drily. “He was in high luck. Rich old uncles who die are in shockingly short supply.”

“Oh, indeed!” cried the small man. “Some friends of mine, the Griffins, have an amazingly rich old uncle to whom they have paid all sorts of attentions for years and years – but though he was at least a hundred years old when they began, he is not dead yet and it seems he intends to live for ever to spite them, and all the Griffins are growing old themselves and dying one by one in a state of the most bitter disappointment. Yet I am sure that you, my dear Lascelles, need not concern yourself with any such vexatious old persons – your fortune is comfortable enough, is it not?”

The tall man chose to disregard this particular piece of impertinence and instead remarked coolly, “I believe that gentleman wishes to speak to you.”

The gentleman in question was Mr Norrell who, quite amazed to hear his fortune and property discussed so openly, had been waiting to speak for some minutes past. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

“Yes?” said the small man sharply.

“I am Mr Norrell.”

The tall man and the small man gave Mr Norrell two very broad stares.

After a silence of some moments the small gentleman, who had begun by looking offended, had passed through a stage of looking blank and was beginning to look puzzled, asked Mr Norrell to repeat his name.

This Mr Norrell did, whereupon the small gentleman said, “I do beg your pardon, but … Which is to say … I hope you will excuse my asking so impertinent a question, but is there at your house in Hanover-square someone all dressed in black, with a thin face like a twisted hedge-root?”

Mr Norrell thought for a moment and then he said, “Childermass. You mean Childermass.”

“Oh, Childermass!” cried the small man, as if all was now perfectly plain. “Yes, of course! How stupid of me! That is Childermass! Oh, Mr Norrell! I can hardly begin to express my delight in making your acquaintance. My name, sir, is Drawlight.”