But any minor business matter connected with magic could be attended to in his absence.  Mr. Higgins spending so much of his time on the battlefield at present, a good deal of the routine work had to be done in any case by the speaker, his confidential clerk.

Passports to America?  Perfectly simple.  The office had simply to issue blank sheets treated in a certain way, and every official to whom the sheet should be presented would read upon it what he would want.  But Mr. Higgins would have to affix his mark and seal.  Mr. Higgins would be in the office sometime to-night, probably within the hour.

How many passports?

“Two,” said Sarah Brown.  “One for my friend and one for me.  A dog doesn’t need one, does he—­a British dog?  I will book the berths to-morrow.  I can pawn my—­or rather, I can sell my War Loan.”

As she hung up the receiver, the ferryman asked:  “Are you having a party up at the Shop, in the superintendent’s absence?”

“Not intentionally,” replied Sarah Brown.  “Why?”

“Well, I just wondered.  There’s a noise like a thousand mad gramophones playing backwards, coming from there.”

Sarah Brown’s misgivings returned like a clap of thunder.  She rushed back to the Shop.

The lantern was standing in the middle of the floor, its glass was shattered, and out of each of its eight panels streamed a great flame six or seven feet high, like the petal of an enormous flower.  Facing these flames stood Miss Ford and Mr. Tovey, hand in hand, each singing a different song very earnestly.  Lady Arabel had found somewhere a patent fire extinguisher, and was putting on her glasses in order to read the directions.  Mr. Frere was hesitating in the background with a leaking biscuit tin full of water.  The Mayor was gone.

“Great Scott!” said Sarah Brown.  You’ll burn the place down.  Look at that row of petticoats up there, catching fire already.  What have you done with the Mayor?”

“We made him invisible by mistake,” whispered Mr. Tovey.  “But sh—­sh, he doesn’t know it yet.”

“Nothing matters,” said Miss Ford.  “We are all going to America.”  And she continued her song, which was an extempore one about the sea.

“But that’s no reason why you should burn the house down,” said Sarah Brown.

“That’s what I thought,” agreed Mr. Frere.  “But water won’t put out that flame.”

The singers fell silent.  Only the voice of the invisible Mayor could be heard, singing, “If those lips could only speak,” in a loud tremulous voice, to the accompaniment of his own unseen stamping feet.

“You’ve been putting magic into that flame,” said Sarah Brown distractedly.  “I told you it was dangerous.  Nothing will put magic out, except more magic.  What will the witch say?”

“It doesn’t matter what anybody says,” said Miss Ford.  “We are all going to America.  No place and no person matters when I am not there.  There are no places and no people existing where I am not.  I have suspected it before, and now I am sure that everything is all a pretence, except me.  Look how easy it was to dismiss that gross grocer from sight.  He was just a bit of background.  I have painted him out.”