“I see,” said Mr Murray.

“Building a Quiliphon would take too long,” said Tom, firmly. “I suggest we turn our attention to De Chepe’s Prophylaxis.⁴ That is very quick to implement and, correctly done, should hold off Norrell’s magic for a while – long enough to get a message to Mr Strange.”

Just then the door opened and an untidy-looking fellow in a leather apron entered the shop. He was somewhat discomfited to find the eyes of all the room upon him. He made a little bobbing bow, handed a piece of paper to Shackleton and quickly made his escape.

“What is it, Shackleton?” asked Mr Murray.

“A message from Thames-street. They have looked inside the books. They are all blank – not a word left upon any of the pages. I am sorry, Mr Murray, but The History and Practice of English Magic is gone.”

William Hadley-Bright stuck his hands in his pockets and gave a low whistle.

As the hours progressed it became clear that not a single copy of Strange’s book remained in circulation. William Hadley-Bright and Henry Purfois were all for calling Mr Norrell out, until it was represented to them that Mr Norrell was an elderly gentleman who rarely took exercise and had never been seen with a sword or a pistol in his hand. There were no circumstances under which it would be fair or honourable for two men in the prime of life (one of them a soldier) to challenge him to a duel. Hadley-Bright and Purfois accepted this with a good grace, but Purfois could not help looking hopefully about the room for a person of equal decrepitude to Mr Norrell. He gazed speculatively at Shackleton.

Other friends of Strange appeared to condole with Mr Murray and give vent to some of the fury they felt at what Mr Norrell had done. Lord Portishead arrived and gave an account of the letter he had sent to Mr Norrell breaking off their friendship and the letter he had sent to Lascelles resigning as editor of The Friends of English Magic and cancelling his subscription.

“Henceforth, gentlemen,” he told Strange’s pupils, “I consider myself as belonging solely to your party.”

Strange’s pupils assured his lordship he had done the right thing and would never regret it.

At seven o’clock Childermass arrived. He walked into the crowded room with as much composure as if he were walking into church. “Well, how much have you lost, Mr Murray?” he asked. He took out his memorandum book and picked up a quill from Mr Murray’s desk and dipped it in the ink.

“Put your book away again, Mr Childermass,” said Mr Murray. “I do not want your money.”

“Indeed? Be careful, sir, how you let these gentlemen influence you. Some of them are young and have no responsibilities …” Childermass gave a cool glance to Strange’s three pupils and to the several officers in uniform who stood about the room. “And others are rich and a hundred pounds more or less is nothing to them.” Childermass looked at Lord Portishead. “But you, Mr Murray, are a man of business and business ought to be your first consideration.”