The drapery department on the ceiling was ablaze now, and flakes of ashy petticoat, and the metal frames of buttons, showered to the floor.

“I will go and get help,” said Sarah Brown, and hurried out of doors, followed feverishly by David, who was not a very brave dog in moments of crisis, and yet liked to appear busy and helpful.  It was to the ferryman’s telephone that they returned.  Sarah Brown knew that the fire was a magic fire, and that an appeal to the L.C.C.  Fire Brigade would only bring defeat and unnecessary bewilderment upon a deserving organisation.

Sarah Brown rang up Richard’s office, and Richard, who had a heroic and almost cinematic gift for being on hand at the right moments, answered her himself.

“Come at once,” said Sarah Brown.  “The House of Living Alone is on fire.  Someone has been tampering with the magic drawer.”

“Oh deah, deah,” said Richard.  “And this is such a busy night at the office too.  Do you think it is really important?  It is my house, you know.”

“Well, I don’t see what is to prevent Mitten Island from being burnt to the water’s edge.  In fact I don’t see why, being a magic fire, it should stop at the water’s edge.  Not to mention that the Mayor——­”

“Very well, I’ll come,” said Richard.

As she stepped out of the door he arrived.

“I came by flash of lightning,” he explained, smoothing his hair and readjusting his Bill Sykes service cap, in the manner of one who has moved swiftly.  “The lightning service is getting very bad.  I was held up for quite three-quarters of a second over Whitehall.  There was some wireless war-news coming in, and the lightning had to let it pass.  Now, what’s all this fuss about, Sarah Brown?”

There was a crowd of delirious Mitten Islanders round the House of Living Alone.  While Sarah Brown and Richard were about fifty yards away, a many-forked and enormous white flame suddenly wrapped the house about, like a hand clutching and crushing it.

“The faggots round the stake are lighted,” said Richard.  “But the witch has fled.”

It seemed that the stars were devoured by the flame, so far did it outshine them.  The flame shrank in upon itself and collapsed.  There was no more House of Living Alone.

“Oh, Richard,” said Sarah Brown.  “Your mother and Miss Ford and——­”

“Was mother in there?” asked Richard placidly.  “Wonders will never cease.  Well, well, it is fortunate that no magic of any sort could ever touch mother.”

And indeed, as they pushed through the crowd, they saw all the recent occupants of the Shop arguing at the front gate.

“I didn’t blow it,” Mr. Tovey was saying in an aggrieved voice.  “I was singing, not blowing.”

“Well, all I know is that while you were on that high note something seemed to scatter the flames, and the drawer full of explosives caught fire,” said Mr. Darnby Frere aggressively, flourishing his empty biscuit tin.