They left the drawing-room and entered the dining-room. From here they passed into a short corridor which contained an inlaid ebony sideboard, the marble statue of a centaur and its foal, and a painting of Salome carrying St John’s head on a silver platter. There were two doors ahead of them. The one on the right had an unfamiliar look to Lascelles, as if he had never seen it before. Mr Norrell led them through it and they immediately found themselves – back in the drawing-room.

“Wait,” said Mr Norrell in confusion. He looked behind him. “I must have … No. Wait. I have it now! Come!”

Once again they passed through the dining-room into the corridor. This time they went through the door upon the left. It too led straight back to the drawing-room.

Mr Norrell gave a loud, despairing cry. “He has broken my labyrinth and woven another against me!”

“In some ways, sir,” remarked Lascelles, “I could have wished that you had not taught him so well.”

“Oh! I never taught him to do this – and you may be sure that he never learnt it from any one else! Either the Devil taught him or he learnt it this very night in my house. This is the genius of my enemy! Lock a door against him and all that happens is that he learns first how to pick a lock and second how to build a better one against you!”

Lucas and the other servants lit more candles as if light could somehow help them see through Strange’s spells and help them distinguish reality from magic. Soon each of the three apartments was ablaze with light. Candlesticks and candelabras were crowded upon every surface, but it only served to confuse them more. They went from dining-room to drawing-room, from drawing-room to corridor – “Like foxes in a stopt earth,” said Lascelles. But, try as they might, they could not leave the three apartments.

Time passed. It was impossible to say how much. The clocks had all turned to midnight. Every window shewed the black of Eternal Night and the unknown stars.

Mr Norrell stopt walking. He closed his eyes. His face was as dark and tight as a fist. He stood quite still and only his lips moved slightly. Then he opened his eyes briefly and said, “Follow me.” Closing his eyes again, he walked. It was as if he were following the plan of an entirely different house that had somehow got wedged inside his own. The turns he took, the rights and lefts, made a new path – one he had never taken before.

After three or four minutes he opened his eyes. There before him was the corridor he had been searching for – the one with the floor of stone flags – and at the end of it the tall shadowy shape of the library door.