These speeches, suggesting some slight eccentricities in the regulation of Mr Green’s household, seemed to offer hope of an explanation.

“Could you not have mistook the place where you put it?” offered Mr Shackleton.

“Perhaps the laundress took it away with your sheets?” suggested Mr Murray.

“No, no!” declared Mr Green.

“Could someone have borrowed it? Or moved it?” suggested Shackleton.

Mr Green looked amazed at this suggestion. “Who?” he demanded.

“I … I have no idea. Mrs Green? Your servant?”

“There is no Mrs Green! I live alone! Except for Jack Boot and Jack Boot cannot read!”

“A friend, then?”

Mr Green seemed about to deny that he had ever had any friends.

Mr Murray sighed. “Shackleton, give Mr Green another copy and his money for the second book.” To Mr Green he said, “I am glad you like it so well to buy another copy.”

“Like it!” cried Mr Green, more astonished than ever. “I have not the least idea whether I like it or not! I never had a chance to open it.”

After he had gone, Mr Murray lingered in the shop a while making jokes about linen-baskets and hard-boiled eggs, but Mr Shackleton (who was generally as fond of a joke as any one) refused to be entertained. He looked thoughtful and anxious and insisted several times that there was something queer going on.

Half an hour later Mr Murray was in his room upstairs gazing at his bookcase. He looked up and saw Shackleton.

“He is back,” said Shackleton.

“What?”

“Green. He has lost his book again. He had it in his right-hand pocket, but by the time he reached Great Pulteney-street it was gone. Of course I told him that London is full of thieves, but you must admit …”

“Yes, yes! Never mind that now!” interrupted Mr Murray. “My own copy is gone! Look! I put it here, between d’Israeli’s Flim-Flams and Miss Austen’s Emma. You can see the space where it stood. What is happening, Shackleton?”

“Magic,” said Shackleton, firmly. “I have been thinking about it and I believe Green is right. There is some sort of spell operating upon the books, and upon us.”

“A spell!” Mr Murray opened his eyes wide. “Yes, I suppose it must be. I have never experienced magic at first hand before. I do not think that I shall be in any great hurry to do so again. It is most eerie and unpleasant. How in the world is a man to know what to do when nothing behaves as it should?”

“Well,” said Shackleton, “if I were you I would begin by consulting with the other booksellers and discover if their books are disappearing too, then at least we will know if the problem is a general one or confined to us.”

This seemed like good advice. So leaving the shop in charge of the office-boy, Mr Murray and Shackleton put on their hats and went out into the wind and rain. The nearest bookseller was Edwards and Skittering in Piccadilly. When they got there they were obliged to step aside to make way for a footman in blue livery. He was carrying a large pile of books out of the shop.