When Marjorie took an idea into her head it generally for the time filled the whole of her mental horizon. She had never liked Miss Norton, and she now mistrusted her. The evidence that she had to go upon was certainly very slight, but, as Marjorie argued, "Straws show how the wind blows", and anyone capable of sympathizing with Germans might also be capable of assisting them. She felt somewhat in the position of Hamlet, doubting whether she had really surprised a dark secret or not, and anxious for more circumstantial evidence before she told others of her suspicions. She strictly charged Dona not to mention meeting Miss Norton in the little hamlet of Sandside, which Dona readily promised. She was not imaginative, and was at present far more interested in rows of cauliflowers or specimens of seaweeds than in problematical German spies.

Marjorie, with several detective stories fresh in her memory, determined to go to work craftily. She set little traps for Miss Norton. She would casually ask her questions about Germany, or about prisoners of war, to judge by her answers where her sympathies lay. The mistress, however, was evidently on her guard, and replied in terms of caution. One thing Marjorie learned which she considered might be a suspicious circumstance. Miss Norton received many letters from abroad. She had given foreign stamps to Rose Butler, who had seen her tear them off envelopes marked "Opened by the censor". The stamps were from Egypt, Malta, Switzerland, Spain, Holland, and Buenos Ayres, a strange variety of places in which to have correspondents, so thought Marjorie.

"Of course they're opened by the censor, but who knows if there isn't a secret cipher under the guise of an ordinary letter? They may have all kinds of treasonable secrets in them. Norty might get information and send it to those friends in foreign countries, and they would telegraph it in code through a neutral country to Berlin."

She ascertained through one of the prefects that Miss Norton intended to spend her holidays in the Isle of Wight. This again seemed extraordinary, for the teacher notoriously suffered greatly from the heat in summer, and yearned for a bracing climate such as that of Scotland; further, she was nervous about air raids, so that the south coast would surely be a very unsuitable spot to select for one who wished to take a restful vacation. Patricia, whose parents had been on a visit to Whitecliffe, and had taken her out on a Saturday afternoon, reported that at the hotel some foreigners—presumably Belgians—were staying, and that she had noticed Miss Norton drinking coffee with them in the lounge.

"Are you sure they were Belgians?" asked Marjorie with assumed carelessness.

"Why, the people in the hotel said so."

"What were they like?"

"Oh, fair and rather fat! One of them was a Madame Moeller. She played the piano beautifully; everybody came flocking into the lounge to listen to her."

"Moeller doesn't sound like a French name."

"Well, I said they were Belgians."

"It has rather a German smack about it. What language were they speaking to each other?"

"Something I couldn't understand. Not French, certainly."

"Was it German?"

"I don't know any German, so I can't tell. It might have been Flemish."

Marjorie several times felt tempted to confide her suspicions to Winifrede, but her courage never rose to the required point. She had an instinct that the head girl would pooh-pooh the whole matter, and either call her a ridiculous child, or be rather angry with her for harbouring such ideas about her house mistress. Winifrede liked to lead, and was never very ready to adopt other people's opinions; it was improbable that she would listen readily to the views of an Intermediate, even of one whom she was patronizing. A head girl is somewhat in the position of the lion in Æsop's fables: it is unwise to offend her. Knowing Winifrede's disposition, Marjorie dared not risk a breach of the very desirable intimacy which at present existed between them. She yearned, however, for a confidante. The burden of her suspicions was heavy to bear alone, and she felt that sometimes two heads were better than one. Except on exeat days she saw little of Dona, and discussing matters with that rather stolid little person was not a very exhilarating performance. In her dilemma she turned to Chrissie. The two had shared the secret of the Observatory window, and Chrissie, one of the most enthusiastic members of their patriotic society, would surely understand and sympathize where Winifrede might laugh or scold. Marjorie felt that she had lately rather neglected her chum. Their squabbles had caused frequent coolnesses, and each had been going her own way. She now made an opportunity to walk with Chrissie down the dingle, and confided to her the whole story of her doubts. Her chum listened very attentively.

"It looks queer!" she commented. "Yes, more than queer! I always set Miss Norton down as a pro-German. Those foreign letters ought to be investigated. I wish I could get hold of some of them. It's our duty to look after this, Marjorie. You're patriotic? Well, so am I. We may be able to render a great service to our country if we can track down a spy. We'll set all our energies to work."

"What are we going to do?" asked Marjorie, much impressed.

"Leave it to me, and I'll think out a plan of campaign. These things are a battle of brains. She's clever, and we've got to outwit her. Who were those foreigners she was talking to in the hotel, I should like to know?"

"That was just what I thought."

"For a beginning we must try to draw her out. Oh, don't ask her questions about her German sympathies, that's too clumsy! She'd see through that in a moment. Let's work the conversation round to military matters and munitions, and get the girls to tell all they've heard of news from the front, and watch whether Norty isn't just snapping it up."

"Wouldn't that be letting her get to know too much?"

"Well, one's obliged to risk something. If you're over-cautious you never get anything done."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. We'll try on Sunday evening after supper. She always comes into the sitting-room for a chat with us then."

Chrissie seemed to have taken up the matter with the greatest keenness. She was evidently in dead earnest about it. Marjorie was agreeably surprised, and on the strength of this mutual confidence her old affection for her chum revived. Once more they went about the school arm in arm, sat next to each other at tea, and wrote each other private little notes. St. Elgiva's smiled again, but the girls by this time were accustomed to Marjorie's very impulsive and rather erratic ways, and did not take her infatuations too seriously.

"Quarrelled with Winifrede?" enquired Patricia humorously. "I thought you were worshipping at her shrine at present."

"Marjorie is a pagan," laughed Rose Butler. "She bows down to many idols."

"I should call Winifrede a more desirable goddess than Chrissie," added Irene.

"Go on, tease me as much as you like!" declared Marjorie. "You're only jealous."

"Jealous! Jealous of Chrissie Lang! Great Minerva!" ejaculated Irene eloquently.

It was about two days after this that Marjorie, passing down the corridor from Dormitory No. 9, came suddenly upon Chrissie issuing out of Miss Norton's bedroom. Marjorie stopped in supreme amazement. Mistresses' rooms were sacred at Brackenfield, unless by special invitation. Miss Norton was not disposed to intimacy, and it was not in the knowledge of St. Elgiva's that she had admitted any girl into her private sanctum.

"Did Norty send for you there?" questioned Marjorie in a whisper.

"Sh, sh!" replied Chrissie. "Come back with me into the dormitory."

She drew her friend inside her cubicle, looked round the room to see that they were alone, then patted her pocket and smiled.

"I've got them!" she triumphed.

"Got what?"

"Norty's foreign letters, or some of them at any rate."

"Chris! You never went into her room and took them?""That's exactly what I did, old sport! I'm going to look them over, and put them back before she finds out."

Marjorie gasped.

"But look here! It doesn't seem quite—straight, somehow."

"Can't be helped in the circumstances," replied Chrissie laconically. "We've got to outwit her somehow. It's a case of 'Greek meets Greek'. How else are we to find out anything?"

"I don't know."

The idea of entering a teacher's bedroom and taking and reading her private correspondence was intensely repugnant to Marjorie. Her face betrayed her feeling.

"You'd never do on secret service," said Chrissie, shaking her head. "I thought you were patriotic enough to dare anything for the sake of your country. Go downstairs if you don't want to see these letters. I'll read them by myself."

"I wish you'd put them back at once," urged Marjorie.

"Not till I know what's in them. Here comes Betty! I'm going to scoot. Ta-ta!"

Marjorie followed Chrissie downstairs, but did not join her in the garden. She was not happy about this latest development of affairs. It was one thing to watch Miss Norton by legitimate methods, and quite another to try underhand ways. She wondered whether the service of her country really demanded such a sacrifice of honour. For a moment she felt desperately tempted to run to Winifrede's study, explain the whole situation, and ask her opinion, but she remembered that Winifrede would be writing her weekly essay and would hardly welcome a visitor, or have time to listen to the rather lengthy story which she must pour out. After all, it was an affair that her own conscience must decide. She purposely avoided Chrissie all the evening, while she thought it over. Having slept upon the question, she came to a decision.

"Chris," she said, catching her chum privately after breakfast, "I vote we don't do any more sneaking tricks."

"Sneaking?" Chrissie's eyebrows went up high.

"Yes, you know what I mean. We'll keep a look-out on Norty, but no more taking of letters, please."

Chrissie gazed at her chum with rather an inscrutable expression.

"Right oh! Just as you like. We'll shelve that part of the information bureau and work on other lines. I'm quite agreeable."

That particular day happened to be Miss Broadway's birthday. She lived at St. Elgiva's, so the girls determined to give a little jollification that evening in her honour. There would not be time for much in the way of festivities, but there was a free half-hour after supper, when they could have the recreation room to themselves. It was to be a private affair for their own hostel, and only the mistresses who resided there were invited. The entertainment was to consist of a magic lantern show. Photography had raged lately as a hobby among the Intermediates, and several of them had taken to making lantern slides. Patricia—an indulged only daughter—had persuaded her father to buy her a lantern; it had just arrived, and she was extremely anxious to test its capabilities. She put up her screen and made her preparations during the afternoon, so that when supper was over all was in readiness, and her audience took their places without delay.

Miss Norton, Miss Parker, and Miss Broadway had specially reserved chairs in the front row, and the girls filled up the rest of the room. Some of them, to obtain a better view, squatted on the floor in front of the chairs, Chrissie and Marjorie being among the number. The lantern worked beautifully; Patricia made a capital little operator, and managed to focus very clearly. She first of all showed sets of bought slides, scenes from Italy and Switzerland and photos of various regiments, and when these were finished she turned to the slides which she and her chums had made themselves. There were capital pictures of the school, the cricket eleven, the hockey team, the quadrangle in the snow, the gardening assistants, and the tennis champions. They were received with much applause, Miss Norton in particular congratulating the amateur photographers on their successful efforts.

"We haven't had time to do very many," said Patricia, "but I've got just a few more here. This is a good clear one, and interesting too."

The picture which she now threw on the screen showed the road leading to Whitecliffe, up which a contingent of German prisoners appeared, guarded by soldiers. In the foreground was a long perambulator holding a little boy propped up with pillows. It was an excellent photograph, for the contingent had been caught just at the right moment as it faced the camera; both prisoners and guards had come out with remarkable clearness. Something impelled Marjorie to glance at Miss Norton. The house mistress was gazing at the picture with an expression of amazed horror in her eyes. She turned quickly to Irene, who was squatting at her feet, and asked: "Who took that photo?"

"Marjorie Anderson took it, but I made the lantern slide from her film," answered Irene proudly. "We think it's quite one of the best."

"I suppose it was just a snapshot as she stood by the roadside?"

"Yes; it was a very lucky one, wasn't it?"

Marjorie, sitting close by, nudged Chrissie, but did not speak. Miss Norton made no further remark, and Patricia put on the next slide. Afterwards, in the corridor, Marjorie whispered excitedly to Chrissie:

"Did you notice Norty's face? She was quite upset by my photo of the German prisoners."

"Yes, I noticed her."

"Significant, wasn't it?"

"Rather!"

"It's like the play scene in Hamlet. It seems to me she gave herself away."

"She was taken unawares.""Just as the King and Queen were. You remember how Hamlet watched them all the time? What's happened to-night only confirms our suspicions."

"It does indeed!"

"Perhaps some of her German friends were among the prisoners and she recognized them."

"It's possible."

"Well, it evidently gave her a great shock, and that would account for it."

"The plot thickens!"

"It thickens very much indeed. I'm not sure if we oughtn't to tell somebody."

"No, no! Not on any account!"

"You think so?"

"I'm certain of it. You'll spoil everything if you go blabbing!"

"Well, I won't, if you'd rather not; but I'm just longing to ask Winifrede what she thinks about it all," said Marjorie regretfully.

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