“Locked up might be a start,” muttered Angry.

“I heard that!” said Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley. “Don’t think I didn’t!”

He opened a drawer in his desk, removed a hammer, and brought it down hard on the Christmas tree. While the dwarfs watched, he continued hammering at the tree until it was reduced to little shards of green plastic. From somewhere in its workings, a final faint tinkle of bells could be heard before the tree expired. Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley moved a bin into place with his left foot and used his right hand to sweep the remains of the Christmas tree into it. They fell on the remains of lots of other Christmas trees. From what Angry could see, the bin contained nothing else.

Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley restored the hammer to its drawer, opened another drawer, and took a Christmas tree from it. He positioned it in precisely the same place occupied by the previous tree.

“Right,” said Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley. He smiled. “Where were we?”

There was a long, careful silence.

“A job?” said Jolly. “For us?”

“Of course! Elves, by any chance?”

“Er, if you like.”

“Oh, fine by me. You seem just the sorts. Very festive. Very small. We like our elves small. Doesn’t work if they’re big. Doesn’t work at all. This week good for you to start? Nine until six on regular days, an hour for lunch, two tea breaks of not more than fifteen minutes each, although for the grand opening on Thursday you don’t have to get here until sixish. Don’t eat too many biscuits: they’ll make you fat, and we don’t want that, do we? Fine for Father Christmas, but bad for elves. Bad, bad, bad! Sign there.”

He pushed the pen and blank sheet of paper toward them.

“There’s nothing on it,” said Dan.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley. “All friends here.”

“What about money?” said Jolly.

“Oh, I don’t take bribes,” said Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley. “That would be wrong.”

He leaned forward, placed a hand against his face, and whispered conspiratorially.

“And you’re supposed to offer me the bribe before you get the job,” he said. “Doesn’t work otherwise. Bear it in mind for next time, eh?”

“Er, no, I meant that we do get paid, don’t we?”

“Oh! I see! Ha! Forget about the bribe stuff, then. Only joking. Our secret, eh? Yes, money. How much would you like? A lot? A little? How about something in between? What about ten pounds an hour?”

“That sounds—” Jolly began to say, when Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley interrupted him.

“Okay, eleven.”

“What?”

“Twelve, but you drive a hard bargain.”

“I think— ”

Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley puffed his cheeks and wiped his brow.

“Thirteen, then, but that’s my final offer.”

“If you’re—”

“Fourteen, but you’re robbing me, ho ho! You’re stealing me blind!”

The dwarfs had no problem stealing anybody blind, but on this occasion they weren’t even trying. It bothered them. It didn’t seem fair somehow.

“Listen—” said Angry, but Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley was too quick for him.