The Ogre Downstairs by Diana Wynne Jones

a dark little shop there. The name over the window was Magicraft Ltd and in the window were a variety of toys, including a chemistry set like the ones the Ogre had bought. It looked a good shop.
    Malcolm pushed open the door. An old-fashioned bell tinged, and their labouring lungs drew in strange spicy smells. An old man in crescent-moon-shaped spectacles pottered out from the dark space behind a scarred and aged counter, and pushed his glasses up to stare at them. They stood, thoroughly out of breath and rather shy, staring back at him and at the string bags full of footballs, the miniature golf clubs, the toolsets and dolls which dangled above the counter and framed the old man.
    “Speak up, speak up,” said the old man. “Early closing today. I close in five minutes.”
    “Well,” said Caspar, “you know those chemistry sets—”
    The old man nodded, and they saw he had a gold-embroidered skullcap on his head. “I do indeed. Those are one of our best lines. But all our goods give satisfaction or money back, you know. I hope you haven’t come to complain.”
    “No, not really,” said Malcolm. “It’s that powder called Misc. pulv .—”
    “Failed to give results?” said the old man, with his eyebrows mounting nearly to his skullcap. He looked with interest from one to the other and – though, maybe, it was simply that his eyebrows being raised so high made his face seem so droll – he appeared to be highly but secretly amused by what he saw. “Now that surprises me,” he said.
    They were fairly sure the old man knew just what had happened. That, in a way, was a relief, although it did not seem fair to them that he should laugh at their troubles. Both opened their mouths to explain further, but as they did so the bell tinged behind them. Someone else came into the shop. Caspar and Malcolm looked at one another. It was going to be fairly embarrassing to explain in front of another customer. Nevertheless, Malcolm said, “Yes. It gave results. But—”
    The old man shifted his half-moon glasses and looked beyond him. “Good day to you, my dear sir.”
    To their consternation, the Ogre’s voice replied, “Good day to you.” Caspar’s brown eyes met Malcolm’s grey ones, and they both wondered whether to turn and run. “Hallo you two,” said the Ogre genially. “Preparing to be late this afternoon as well, are you?”
    “I think we’d better go now,” said Caspar, in Malcolm’s primmest manner.
    “I’ll drive you back,” said the Ogre. “Fascinating place, this, isn’t it? What’s your latest line?” he asked the old man.
    “I’ve some very nice footballs,” said the old man, andhe turned a moon-spectacled eye on Caspar and Malcolm. He might have been calculating whether footballs would please them, but they both thought the look was distinctly malicious. “Just wait while I fetch them down, sir.”
    The two boys stood helpless while the old man brought a boathook and hooked down a string bag of bright pink footballs, and the Ogre, hands in pockets and pipe in mouth, admired them. The Ogre was the last person they wanted to know about Misc. pulv . Caspar and Malcolm were perfectly sure that the old man knew it and that he was not going to tell them the antidote if he could help it. He chattered to the Ogre about how good these footballs were, and how poor most footballs were these days, and the Ogre agreed that footballs were not what they were in his young days, until Caspar and Malcolm grew desperate. One after another, they bobbed forward and tried to whisper to the old man.
    “Ah, you can see they’re keen,” said the old man gleefully to the Ogre. “Boys always know a good football when they see one.”
    “I’ll take two,” said the Ogre.
    “What’s the antidote?” Caspar managed to whisper.
    “Eh?” said the old man. “That’ll be eighty pence, sir, and cheap at the price, if I may say so. And can I trouble you to leave now, as I’m closing? My early day, you