Inside the shop again to where the assistant looked at me reproachfully.

“I wondered when you’d be back. You forgot to take your book.”

“Never mind that. I don’t really want that one. Do you happen to know where I could find a copy of the libretto to The Beggar’s Opera? If you have the collected works of John Gay, it would be in that.”

He was looking at me as though his worst fears were confirmed. He picked up the book of nursery rhymes.

“I’ll take this back and give you credit for it. If you’ll wait here for a moment I’ll check in the other room and see if we have the other book.”

He left — to look for my book, or maybe to summon reinforcements. I’m over six-two, and the accident has left signs of considerable wear and tear on my face. While he was gone I hobbled up and down in the store, trying again to control my arms and legs. Not so successful this time. Leo was excited, no doubt about it. But if I’d known where the events of the next five minutes would be taking me I’d have been excited too (and run out of the shop, assuming Leo would have permitted it).

Here he came again.

“This should do it, sir. Allowing for the credit on the other book, you owe us seventy pence.” The man hesitated a little before he handed over the volume of John Gay. “We’ll be closing in just a minute or two. If you would be kind enough to examine this outside, rather than in here…”

He didn’t lie well, but I didn’t mind. If this led nowhere, I’d shot my bolt anyway. Now, at what point in The Beggar’s Opera had he used that tune? Some scene between Polly and Macheath, if I remembered it right. Here we are. I leaned against the wall again, feeling that strong itching in my scalp.

Were I laid on Greenland ’s coast, And in my arms embraced my lass, Warm amid eternal frost, Too soon the half-year’s night would pass.

Da-da-DA-da-da-da-DA-da-DA-DA-DA.