Mr Ludwig loses his favourite socks, and a trail of tiny footprints leads him to a very odd surprise in the bathroom.
Mr Ludwig was a very proper gentleman. Every morning he ate his porridge, smoothed his moustache, and chose a pair of fresh socks from the drawer beside his bed. But this morning, when he opened it, he stopped so fast his slippers nearly fell off.
Empty.
He blinked. He lifted out the drawer. He peered behind it. No polka-dot socks. No striped socks. Not even one lonely sock with a tiny hole in the toe.
"Oh dear," said Mr Ludwig. "My socks have vanished."
Then he noticed something else. On the wooden floor were not ordinary footprints, but tiny colourful ones, as if a very small dancer had tiptoed through the house wearing his socks. The prints zigzagged through the living room, bounced over the rug, leapt across the sofa, startled Filemon the cat, and vanished behind the bathroom door.
Mr Ludwig fetched a magnifying glass and put on his hat, which he always wore when something curious happened. He followed the trail as carefully as if he were tracking a fox made of confetti. At the bathroom door, he took one deep breath, turned the handle, and opened it wide.
Something inside made a soft, suspicious snort.