Meanwhile, Nurd and Wormwood were standing on a rise and watching a small van tootling merrily across the Desert of Bones while playing “(How Much Is) That Doggie in the Window?” Nurd and Wormwood knew that the piece of music was called “(How Much Is) That Doggie in the Window?” because at least four voices were singing along to it, adding “woof-woof” noises after each mention of the word window, and the words waggle-waggle to the bit about “the one with the waggly tail.”

“What’s a doggie?” asked Wormwood. “And why do they want one?”

“A doggie is a small creature that barks, like Boswell, Samuel Johnson’s dachshund,” said Nurd. “It goes ‘woof-woof.’ This one, though, also appears to have a tail that is waggly, which makes it more desirable, I suppose.”

“They do seem to want it very badly,” said Wormwood.

“It doesn’t appear like a good idea to go shouting about it, though,” said Nurd. “The kind of things with waggly tails that live around here tend to have big waggly bodies too, and waggly heads with sharp, waggly teeth.”

“If it’s from the world of men, then maybe Samuel is in there too.”

Nurd shook his head. “No, I’d sense him if he were so close.” Nurd strained to read the writing on the side of the van. “It says something about ice cream on the side. And candy.”

“Candy?” said Wormwood.

“Candy,” said Nurd.

They looked at each other. Their faces brightened, and both said, simultaneously: “Jelly beans!”

Seconds later, they were in hot pursuit of the ice-cream van.

Constable Peel very much wanted to die. More than that, he wanted to die and take four dwarfs with him, and maybe a driver of an ice-cream van for good measure. He’d been listening to “(How Much Is) That Doggie in the Window?” for a good four hours now, and was on the verge of insanity.

“Stop singing,” he said to the dwarfs.

“No,” said Angry.

“Stop singing.”

“No.”

“Stop singing.”

“Say ‘please.’”

“Please.”

“No.”

Constable Peel banged on the glass connecting the back of the van to the front compartment, in which Sergeant Rowan and Dan, Dan the Ice-Cream Man were sitting.

“For the last time,” he pleaded, “there must be some way to turn that music off.”

Dan shrugged. “I’ve told you: it comes on automatically with the engine. I haven’t been able to work out how to make it stop without messing up the wiring.”

“You’re messing up my wiring,” said Constable Peel. “Can’t I at least sit up front with you?”

“There isn’t really enough room,” said Sergeant Rowan, who didn’t like being cramped.

“Then why don’t we swap places for a while, and you can sit back here?”

“With that lot singing? I don’t think so. It’s bad enough up here.”