“I’ve no idea,” he answered. “But I have come to get my own bag of magic tools and carry them to Glinda. She is so much more powerful than I that she may be able to discover the truth by means of my magic, quicker and better than I could myself.”

“Hurry, then,” said Dorothy, “for we’re all getting terr’bly worried.”

The Wizard rushed away to his rooms but presently came back with a long, sad face.

“It’s gone!” he said.

“What’s gone?” asked Scraps.

“My black bag of magic tools. Someone must have stolen it!”

They looked at one another in amazement.

“This thing is getting desperate,” continued the Wizard. “All the magic that belongs to Ozma, or to Glinda, or to me, has been stolen.”

“Do you suppose Ozma could have taken them, herself, for some purpose?” asked Betsy.

“No, indeed,” declared the Wizard. “I suspect some enemy has stolen Ozma and, for fear we would follow and recapture her, has taken all our magic away from us.”

“How dreadful!” cried Dorothy. “The idea of anyone wanting to injure our dear Ozma! Can’t we do anything to find her, Wizard?”

“I’ll ask Glinda. I must go straight back to her and tell her that my magic tools have also disappeared. The good Sorceress will be greatly shocked, I know.”

With this he jumped upon the back of the Sawhorse again and the quaint steed, which never tired, dashed away at full speed.

The three girls were very much disturbed in mind. Even the Patchwork Girl was more quiet than usual and seemed to realize that a great calamity had overtaken them all. Ozma was a fairy of considerable power and all the creatures in Oz, as well as the three mortal girls from the outside world, looked upon her as their protector and friend. The idea of their beautiful girl Ruler’s being overpowered by an enemy and dragged from her splendid palace a captive was too astonishing for them to comprehend, at first. Yet what other explanation of the mystery could there be?

“Ozma wouldn’t go away willingly, without letting us know about it,” asserted Dorothy; “and she wouldn’t steal Glinda’s Great Book of Records, or the Wizard’s magic, ’cause she could get them any time, just by asking for ’em. I’m sure some wicked person has done all this.”

“Someone in the Land of Oz?” asked Trot.

“Of course. No one could get across the Deadly Desert, you know, and no one but an Oz person could know about the Magic Picture and the Book of Records and the Wizard’s magic, or where they were kept, and so be able to steal the whole outfit before we could stop ’em. It must be someone who lives in the Land of Oz.”

“But who—who—who?” asked Scraps. “That’s the question. Who?”