Joey was up next morning with a punctuality that highly exasperated the other occupants of Blue Dorm. But in the face of so much excitement, she would have found it almost impossible to stay in bed, even if she had not wanted to telephone to Cousin Greta before breakfast, to ask if after all she might go to her on Sunday.

Miss Conyngham had given gracious permission for the use of the 'phone overnight, and if Joey was to be at the Lab at 12, she would not have a minute to spare, most likely, till the match was over. And this was Saturday.

She leaned far out of her window first thing to see if the weather was smiling on the all-important match. It was quite fine and clear, with a sky that looked a long way off slightly flecked with fine mares' tails, and a sea that seemed comparatively near, lying silver grey on the luminous horizon.

"Oh, get back to bed," groaned Noreen, from half under the bedclothes; but Joey got up, all the same, and dashed downstairs to the 'phone.

The housemaids had just finished with Miss Conyngham's room and were sweeping the hall; Joey shut the door to get away from the dust and noise, and asked for Colonel Sturt's number at the Exchange.

She got it; but it was an unfamiliar voice that answered her:

"Her ladyship is not yet down, and cannot be disturbed."

"Is Miss Grace there?" asked Joey.

"Miss Grace is not yet down."

"Is anybody?" Joey asked, hoping sincerely that she would not be obliged to talk to Colonel Sturt.

"Mr. John is, miss; would you wish to speak to him?"

"Please," Joey said, relieved; and a minute later heard the heavy thump of crutches, and a decorous voice saying, "A young lady to speak to you, sir."

Joey squeezed the receiver vigorously. "That you, John? It's Joey speaking. Can you really walk about now? How topping!"

"Yes, rather—I'm getting along fine with crutches," was John's cheerful answer. "I say, why can't you come on Sunday, young 'un? You'll find Gracie quite different this time...."

"I can come now, if Cousin Greta doesn't mind my changing," Joey explained. "The Coll got gated, and now it's un-gated, that's all; and I'm going to the match at Deeping Royal this afternoon, and I'd like to come over to you to-morrow no end if I may, and tell you about it."

"Righto. I'll tell my aunt. She'll be awfully pleased. You may take it she'll fetch you for lunch. I say, like to do some more signalling?"

"Oh yes, John. Do you know our Stinks Professor here is frightfully good at that? I saw him the other night...."

"What? Don't you go to bed at night at Redlands?"

"Of course, you stupid. The Professor was doing it at night, not me. I saw him out of my window."

"Signalling practice all by himself in the middle of the night? Tell that to someone younger, my dear Kid."

Joey took no notice of the jeer. "John, isn't dot, dash, dash, dash, J?" she demanded.

"Yes, rather!"

"And dot-dash is A?"

"Of course."

"Then what does Ja spell?"

"All by itself?"

"All by itself."

"It's the German for yes," John told her, after a second's pause. "But your Stinks man is French, isn't he?"

"Yes; Professor Trouville."

"Was that all his signalling you saw?"

"That wasn't his signalling."

"Whose was it?"

"I don't know. It seemed to come from a long way off."

"You said the Professor signalled?"

"Yes; he did first."

"What?"

"It seemed like 31."

"Thirty-one?"

"Yes."

"Funny—that's to-day," John said. "Joey."

"Yes."

"I think you had better come over here; I'll ask Cousin Greta to send for you. Come to-day, I mean, and not wait for to-morrow."

"John? I can't to-day—it's the match."

"Well, I'll take you on to it in the car."

"It's frightfully nice of you—but, you see, I was going with Gabby and Noreen, my specialist friends."

"I'll ask Aunt Greta to ask the whole boiling of you to lunch then," John said, impatiently. "So long, Joey. I can't tell you any more till I know it myself. But you come along if you're sent for."

"But, John, I can't come to lunch, because I've promised to tidy the Lab," Joey began, and then stopped, because she had been rung off. She went in to breakfast, feeling very doubtful whether she wanted to go to lunch at Mote to-day, even with the company of Noreen and Gabrielle. It would be much more fun to go with the Team, and it was more than possible that Cousin Greta might not see the great importance of being in time for the match.

Then Miss Conyngham made an announcement at breakfast that made her absolutely sure she did not want to go.

"I am glad to know that it seems possible I suspected a Redlands girl unjustly," Miss Conyngham said in the clear voice that reached without effort to every corner of the big refectory.

"Because I am so glad and thankful that I was mistaken, I wish to give the College an especial treat, and therefore arranged last night by 'phone that enough brakes should be here by 1.15 to-day to take the whole six hundred of us to Deeping Royal—to see, we hope, Redlands pull it off against the Lincs Ladies."

Miss Conyngham might have had more to say, but she was not allowed to say it. The whole school rose at her, and the cheering, as Noreen remarked afterwards, nearly smashed all the breakfast-cups on the table. Miss Conyngham had to hold up her hand twice for silence before she could mention that dinner would be at a quarter to one, promptly, to allow of a punctual start for Deeping Royal.

"How absolutely topping of the Head," Noreen whispered to Joey. "I say, I am glad you stopped me making an ass of myself last night. I believe she's just as bucked about it as we are, really. Bags I next place to you, old thing, in our bus."

"I'm not going," Joey explained mournfully.

"Not going?"

"Not with the rest, I mean. I've got to go to lunch with my cousin."

"What rot! You can't. Why, we should have no end of a time driving—you go quite close to the Stakes by the shore of the Wash."

Joey began to wish very acutely that she had rung up Mote again directly she was cut off, and explained that she couldn't manage Saturday. Only John had startled her just for a minute; he had seemed so oddly sure that she must come, and then the breakfast gong had gone, and it was too late.

"Absolute rubbish," Noreen persisted. "Gabby, do you hear? Joey wants to lunch with her cousins and go with them instead of with us."

"I don't want—at all," poor Joey said. "Only—John seemed to want me...."

"The conceit of the kid," laughed Barbara.

"I mean he wanted me about signalling, I think," Joey explained in a hurry.

"Oh, tell him signalling must jolly well wait. Get the Head to let you 'phone," advised Barbara, and Joey got up from table with every intention of taking her advice. But, when she found herself in the passage leading to Miss Conyngham's room, the rather urgent note in John's voice haunted her. He had seemed to think it mattered that she should come to lunch to-day, and he had been so very kind in teaching her to signal. And if for some odd inexplicable reason it should matter, it would be so poor and un-English to have stayed away just because it would be more fun going with the others. After all, Noreen, who was nearly a year older than herself, had suggested there was some mystery going; and though she had said it half jokingly, it might be true all the same. She must put up with the duller drive, and not even ask if Noreen and Gabrielle might come with her to Mote; it was quite clear they would not want to. Joey gave herself a little shake and marched up to Miss Conyngham's door.

"Please, Cousin Greta asked me to lunch to-day, at least John spoke, and they'll send and take me to the match afterwards, if it's all right," she said.

Miss Conyngham was very busy, and hardly looked up. Joey half hoped she would say "Why do they want you?" and then she would have explained about the signalling, and the Head might have said it did not matter. As it was, she only glanced up from her papers for the fraction of a second.

"Yes, you will enjoy that, Jocelyn. Get ready in good time; don't keep your cousin waiting. That will do."

Joey went back to the others to explain briefly to several disapproving friends that she had not asked the Head's leave to decline the invitation.

"You're a silly juggins," Noreen stated, with candour. "But if it's done, it's done, I suppose: the Head would never stand being bothered again. Only mind you're not late—you'll spoil the match for Gabrielle and me if you are, remember."

"I won't be," Joey promised.

She was off to the Lab on the stroke of twelve. She did not suppose that Cousin Greta would send for her till nearly 1.30, as her lunch was not till 1.45; but there had been a great deal of tidying to do, and she must leave ten minutes for getting into her best frock, and brushing hair and nails. There wasn't a moment to lose.

As she ran round the corner of the great house, she noticed that the mares' tails of the morning were spreading fast over the sky. "There's going to be a lot of wind presently," she thought, and that was all she did think about it just then, for the work she had to get done by 1.15 was decidedly uppermost in her mind, mingled with that little under current of surprise that John should be so interested in the Professor's signalling.

But just as she came within sight of the Lab she had to stop, for there was little Tiddles, walking solemnly along by herself, not seeming to mind for once that she was near the Professor's lair, and crying, not aloud as the babies did usually, but with the tears rolling slowly down her tiny cheeks.

In spite of her hurry Joey had to try and comfort the poor mite. "What is it, darling?"

Tiddles looked mournfully at her. "They won't let me go this afternoon," she said, with a sob. "They say Tiddles has a cold; but it will make her cold more ill to stay at home."

"Oh poor Tiddles!" sympathised Joey. "What frightfully hard lines. But I'll tell you all about it afterwards, darling; and it is a long drive, you know, quite nine miles, and it gets awfully cold in the late afternoon."

"You could cuddle Tiddles tight in your arms, Jo-ey; then she would not catch cold," Tiddles declared.

"But I'm not going with the brakes, duckie, so I couldn't hold you," Joey said.

"You are going to stay at home and play with Tiddles?" asked the mite, with dawning hope.

Joey shook her head, though she felt very unkind. "No, pet; but I'll tell you everything—Honour! and play with you to-morrow instead."

"Won't you play with her now, Jo-ey?" Tiddles pleaded. She had a quaint way of speaking, as though she were a personality quite distinct from the Tiddles whom the College petted and treated as a baby.

"I can't, darling; I have to go in there," Joey nodded in the direction of the Lab. "And you must let me go now, for I have to be busy."

Tiddles let go of her hand without a word, and stood looking after her with brimming eyes, but without actually crying. Joey felt a brute to leave her like that, but it had to be done. It was already nearly ten minutes past twelve; the Professor would be waiting for her.

He was. She saw that directly he unlocked the door to her, as quickly as though he had been standing just inside. His face was less impassive than usual, and it had a slightly yellowish look, while the eyes upon which Gabrielle had commented were strained. But the face relaxed a little at the sight of Joey. "You are late! I feared you would not come," he said.

"I'm so sorry; I just got kept by poor little Tiddles—she was crying," Joey explained. She did not wait to tell him why; the Professor did not care for children, and would not want to know she thought.

"Ah, de Belgian baby dat fear me," said the Professor, showing his teeth in a curious smile. "It is a strange idea you schoolgirls have of me, n'est-ce pas? To one I am an expert signaller—to another a fierce ogre."

"We all think you were frightfully decent though to square it with Miss Conyngham," Joey said, with conviction. "Do you know we are all going to the match—all the school! It's never been known before."

"Yes, I know dat," the Professor said. "You all go, mistresses and all at 1.15; except for you."

"Did you know I was going to my cousin's?" Joey asked surprised. She had never thought Professor Trouville would take half so much interest in what the schoolgirls did. He had never seemed to think anything about them, except that they were very stupid at chemistry.

However, she had no time for wondering. "Please, where would you like me to start tidying?" she asked, looking round the big, untidy place.

The Professor was bending over something on the table—a little square wooden box, into which he appeared to be fitting a small glass tube with care. He did not even look up.

"I need many bottles from the closet," he said.

"Shall I get them?" asked Joey politely.

She dived into the innermost recesses of the closet. As she did so she heard quick steps across the floor, and the closet door slammed, making the place quite dark.

Joey was startled by the suddenness of the slam and darkness; but she dared not move for fear of stumbling over the bottles that littered the floor.

"Oh, please open the door—I can't see anything," she called, and as she called it the key turned in the lock.

"Don't do that, please; I'm inside," she shouted at the top of her voice; but even while she called that fact out confidently there was an unbelievable fear looking over her shoulder—she felt she would see it, if she turned her head—and the knowledge that the Professor knew she was there all the time, and had locked her in on purpose.

She put all the courage that was in her into the effort to push that horrid thought away.

"If you're playing a trick on me, please stop it now, because there's a lot of tidying and Miss Conyngham will be fearfully vexed if I haven't changed my frock before my cousin sends for me," she urged. "They'll look for me if I'm not there when the car comes."

She talked into thick darkness and silence. She could hear the Professor moving about the room, but he returned no answer at all. She spoke into a blank wall.

The keyhole was still blocked with the key. She could see nothing, and what little she heard gave her no help at all. Still she tried hard to keep her end up.

"I wish you'd stop it now and let me out," she said firmly. "If it's a joke you've had the best of it, and if it's a punishment I should like to know what I've done. Anyhow, I don't see staying here."

The Professor came across to the closet; there was a little rattle, and the keyhole showed light. He had taken out the key, but he had not turned it.

Joey darted to the door as soon as that little ray of pale wintry daylight showed her where it was. She saw the Professor busily engaged in fitting the little wooden box into a cigar case that seemed made for it. His white linen coat had covered a neat dark tweed suit of undoubtedly English make; his moustache was gone. She saw that in the moment before he walked quietly past the locked and keyless door of the dark closet, and out through the outer door of the Lab, which he locked behind him. Joey had seen that he was smiling a little.