They would probably think she had changed her mind, and gone off in

one of the brakes, and tell Cousin Greta's chauffeur so. He would go

back to Mote without her, and Cousin Greta would think her a girl who

had been even ruder than on the former occasion, with less excuse; and

John would think her a slacker, which was worse. Joey felt despairingly

miserable at the thought of John's contempt; and with that misery came

naturally the thought why John had wanted her to come to-day. She was

not very clear as to the reason herself; but it was certainly something

to do with the Professor's signalling. And somewhere at that point a

suspicion lifted its head.

Joey groped for a box in the darkness, and sat down to consider. All

kinds of queer things about the Professor kept shifting in a muddled

kaleidoscopic whirl across her memory--his curious anger on the first

day they had met, the afternoon when she had tried to perform the

duties of a scholarship kid by tidying the Lab; the violet handkerchief

he used, with the queer marks on it; his prowls and signalling at night.

Sitting there in the darkness, with her fingers pressed tightly on

her eyeballs to help her to think, Joey saw again that handkerchief

hung out to dry upon the nursery guard of the First Form Room, and the

little yellow marks that came out with the heat, and disappeared when

the handkerchief was cool again. They might just have been washing

marks--if washing marks ever did a thing like that.

Joey pressed so hard upon her eyeballs that she saw violet stars

instead of handkerchiefs, and then, in the midst, she saw again

distinctly those funny little marks which had shown themselves between

the red-worked initials of the Professor's name, --.--...--

Dash, dot, dash, and dot, dot, dot, dash--that was Morse, and it spelt

two letters, K and V. What could they stand for? The Professor's name

was Achille, so he had informed Noreen, when, greatly daring, she had

inquired one day a week or so back, after a particularly peaceful

"stinks" class, when she had not been addressed as Fathead. Besides,

what person in their senses would have a name first worked, and then

fixed on in some kind of invisible ink, and in Morse?

K V! K stood for Kenneth or Kitten or Kultur, or Kamerad, or Kaiser.

(It was odd how many German words came unbidden to her mind.) And V

might be Vauxhall or Vaterland! Yes, Vaterland was spelt with a V,

though it sounded as if it were an F. Joey found that the two words

Kaiser and Vaterland fixed themselves in her mind, and joined together

with John's odd tone about the signalling, and the Professor's midnight

expedition, and that lettering that she had read--the figures--31,

and then the answer _Ja_. The 31st was to-day, and Ja, as Noreen had

used it in the wonderful charade, meant Yes. What was going to happen

to-day, and who had answered the Professor's signal?

Joey's mind went back slowly over the ground of this exciting month at

Redlands, till it reached that Sunday spent at Mote, when she had come

back to school alone, and been caught by the sea-roke, and had taken

shelter in the Round Tower. The jumpy young man had certainly been

doing odd things down below, and he had not been at all pleased to see

her there at first; that was certain, though he had been quite kind

and nice afterwards, and told such interesting stories. It had never

occurred to Joey that the stories might have been intended to have a

deterrent effect upon her.

But could the young man's obvious jumpiness have anything to do with

the mysterious business? Noreen had thought so, but Joey hoped it

hadn't, for if it were he who had answered Ja it meant he was a German,

and she didn't want him to be that. It was much easier to think of the

Professor as a German; Joey had rather liked the young man, in spite of

a slight natural contempt for his nervousness. And then, quite suddenly

it all came over her; a sense of some great danger, which was none the

less frightful, but rather the more, because it was all so vague.

Colonel Sturt had thought that Germans were creeping back into the

country--Germans in no way altered by the wars, inside. And they were

clever, everyone knew that--quite clever enough to call themselves

French, and talk with a French accent that was good enough to take

people in. Suppose she were right in what she guessed, and the

Professor was not French at all but German, what was he doing in the

school Lab? And what had he taken away with him from the Lab this

31st October, when the only person who could see what he was doing

was locked into the closet, and likely to remain there till the girls

came home from the match, and a proper search was instituted? Joey

remembered that curious little box which through the keyhole she had

seen the Professor fit so carefully into his cigar case. It was not

only something precious to him, but it was something he did not wish

anybody else to see. And if he were a German, it was something that no

one must see, because it was something that would do harm--not just to

an insignificant person like herself, but to England. When Joey thought

that she had to hold herself in, hard; or she would have flung herself

upon the door, and beaten upon it in a frenzy till she was worn out.

For everybody who might look for her was away, and no one knew anything

except her imprisoned self; and the Professor was probably away by now

with the mysterious box, putting every minute more distance between

himself and Redlands.

But she forced herself to keep cool. She would want all her powers if

she was to do any good.

She had heard the great clock from the old clock tower strike one quite

a long time ago; yes, the School would have started. And there was not

the tiniest bit of a window in her prison; it was all dark and close

and filled with bottles that rattled and fell over if she moved, and

boxes with sharp corners that cut her shins.

Mingled with the other stuffy smells there was the rank smell of newly

fallen plaster. Though it was dry enough now there had been a good deal

of rain last week, and Noreen had mentioned casually that the Professor

had been very cross because some rain came through the closet roof and

spoilt one of his "preparations."

Joey stood up cautiously, and, crouching on the floor, felt for

the fallen plaster, groping before her with both hands. Of course

she banged her head against a shelf, and upset a bottle, which

smelt overpoweringly, but she found the plaster, and stood up again

considering. Somewhere there must be a tile off; and if one had gone,

she could surely pull away more, and attract attention from above.

Only how did one get up there? Shelves, of course! Joey cleared a

space on the lowest shelf, as well as she could in the darkness, and

scrambled on to it, clinging to the one above. There was a crash and

the tinkle of broken glass, but she was reckless now. It didn't matter

if she smashed all the bottles in the "Stinks Shop," as long as she got

out before it was too late.

Hanging on with one hand, she pushed away some bottle from the next

shelf, and pulled herself up on to it; and so, with much bruised shins,

she landed at the top and stood upright, the roof in her reach at last.

She had expected to find a hole through which she could put her hand,

but she actually only felt a cold whistle of wind, and had to pick at

the lath and plaster for a good five minutes in the darkness before she

could see any light through, and then only a chink.

She pushed with all her might, but nothing happened. There was a great

shrieking and whistling above her head, and she realised that the wind

must be rising; but nothing happened for all her efforts. She had

thought that when one tile was off the others would follow naturally,

but it seemed that only happened when you didn't want it to do so.

She must have something to push with--a shoe would do, only she must

remember to put it on again before she stepped down upon the broken

glass strewing the floor.

Joey unlaced one of her strong shoes, not without upsetting another

bottle in the process, and, standing on tiptoe on the top shelf, began

a violent assault upon the breach in the roof. If she could only make a

hole large enough to get her head through, she thought, she would shout

and shout and shout till somebody heard and came to let her out.

It is very tiring to stand on tiptoe, especially when one foot has no

shoe on, and bang at something above you. Joey's arms ached and her

toes ached, and her back; the height at which Calgarloch had stood

amazed was hardly enough for her purpose; she had to stretch to her

utmost capacity. "Lucky it wasn't Gabrielle who got shut up," she

thought to herself, and then, through all her anxiety and struggling,

came the thought of her two friends, Noreen and Gabrielle, and the

plans they had made together for the afternoon. What were they doing

now? Joey wondered. Were they remembering to look out for her? Yes, she

felt sure they would do that; they were the kind of friends who stood

by you. If only she had them to stand by her now!

Her attack on the roof did not appear to have any effect but that of

bringing down unwanted showers of plaster that made her choke and

sneeze and, more than once, gave her a nasty knock. But she kept on

doggedly at her task--she had to do it somehow. English people couldn't

wait to ask whether the job was do-able when your country wanted it

done. And all the time she was imprisoned here the Professor was free

to do what harm he liked, because nobody knew about him but herself.

Joey redoubled her efforts, and a tile went at last. She could hear

it fall on to the ground below. One gone--perhaps the next would be

easier. She dropped her tired arms for a moment to rest them, and in

that moment the big clock struck two. Only half an hour to the time the

match would start--that gave her a fresh sense of urgent need of haste.

She smashed furiously at the roof, and her shoe went through it and

stuck so fast that she nearly came off the narrow shelf in her effort

to dislodge it. In spite of her anxiety and her aching arms, she had

to giggle at the thought of how absurd a shoe must look from below,

sticking up through a hole in the roof.

It came away at last, and something happened at the same moment: there

were steps outside and the key turned in the lock--somebody was coming

in.

Joey shouted at the full pitch of her lungs, as she tumbled down

recklessly from the shelf and hopped across the broken glass to the

door.

"Oh, let me out! I'm shut in."

There was an exclamation, and the voice of Frances, the superior

parlour-maid who had opened the door to Joey on her arrival, called,

"There, Miss Tiddles! You were right--she _was_ here."

A key slipped about in the lock of the closet door. "Miss Jocelyn, what

have you done with the key?" Frances demanded.

Hope died in Joey's heart. "The Professor took it."

"I think he's just gone," Frances said. "I'll try this key again; the

locks are nearly the same."

"Oh, Frances, do try, like a brick!" poor Joey cried in a frenzy. The

Professor only just gone; there might be time to stop him yet. Fennell

the gardener was a large man, and he was probably somewhere about the

place.

The key rattled, half-turned, stopped. "Bother!" cried Frances. "Run,

Miss Tiddles, there's a dear, and see if the Professor's gone yet."

Wonder of wonders. Tiddles must be in or near the Lab--Tiddles who had

such a horror of it. But Joey had not time for astonishment. "Stop

her! Don't let her go!" she cried. If the Professor knew that she was

escaping from her prison!

Frances seemed to be bending all her powers to the turning of the key.

She was a determined person, accustomed to resisting the onslaughts of

the Lower School upon the sugar basin, when she poured out the tea.

"Almost got it--there!" she said, with a gasp.

The key wheezed and turned; the door opened--Joey was free. "_Thank

you_, Frances!" she gasped, and fled past Frances, past little Tiddles

standing solemn-eyed and scared at the top of the Lab steps, and away

towards the house. She had put on her other shoe while Frances was

wrestling with the key; but it was a dirty, hatless girl, with torn

stockings and scratched hands, who flung herself round the angle of

the house, as the steadily decreasing throb, throb of a motor-bicycle

announced that the Professor was making full speed down the drive, and

out to the world beyond.

Joey did not call the gardener. The Professor had gone; he would be no

good now. She dashed through the side door, and fled like the wind to

Miss Conyngham's room. It would be empty now, of course; there never

was such an emptiness anywhere as there was about the College to-day.

But the telephone was there, and the telephone was what she wanted just

now. John was the one person she could think of as able and willing to

help; one wouldn't go to Frances with an unsupported story like hers.

Frances would look at you as though she was thinking "Not another

lump--one is plenty, Miss Jocelyn," and there would be an end of it.

But John would understand.

She put the call through with feverish haste, and a hand that shook a

little. Her knees were trembling too, and her mouth was dry, but it did

not strike her that she had had no dinner. Other things were mattering

so much.

A maid's voice answered her. "Can I speak to Mr. John Sturt?" Joey

asked, trying to sound ordinary and business-like. "Oh--would you

give him a message and say it's dreadfully important, please? Say I'm

coming, and I don't think the Professor is French after all--he'll

know--and he's just gone off in a tearing hurry, and he took things

from the Lab in his cigar case, and he's on a motorbike, and he locked

me in." Joey jammed on the receiver, and, without waiting to get coat

or hat, fled out of the front door and down the drive. She hoped Miss

Conyngham wouldn't be very vexed by what she was going to do; but

anyhow she would have to do it. She set out running through the iron

gates and along that straight marsh road, along which the Professor

must have gone first. She had forgotten to ask that a car should be

sent to fetch her, but somehow she had no doubt that would be done.

Only, she could not wait.

Her faith in John was justified. John must have beaten all speed

limits. She hadn't run a mile, battling with the fierce side-wind that

seemed to take all her breath away, when a cloud of dust in front of

her, resolved itself into a long-nosed grey racing-car; there was a

rending screech, and John's voice hailed her.

"Good! Thought I'd meet you; jump in. Mind my crutches."

Joey scrambled up, and he backed and turned the car neatly. "Did you

meet him?" she demanded breathlessly.

"Who? The Professor? No."

"Didn't you? I thought he'd go to the station or something," Joey said

blankly. "John, I believe he's a German in disguise."

"Bright Kid," John agreed. "I 'phoned to the Police Station before

coming to meet you, but we could do with some more information. What's

this about his locking you in?"

Joey told breathless reams, without a single comma.

John whistled. "H'm! Now, where's the beggar gone?--that's the

question."

The car had reached the point where the roads branched, to the right to

Mote Deep Station and so on to the Grange; to the left towards the sea

and Deeping Royal.

"If he only left just before you 'phoned I ought to have met him,"

mused John. "There isn't a train for three-quarters of an hour--and

you bet a Hun knew that--they're so thorough. He must have gone to the

Junction, and then he would pass Mote, of course."

"Think he went to have a squint at the hockey match?" suggested Joey

doubtfully. John shook his head at her, more in sorrow than in anger.

"Joey! Joey! Think I left my distracted relations in the middle of

lunch, and brought my own special and particular car, just sent me by

the Governor--you shall see all her points later on when we've settled

this little affair--to hear you making cracked suggestions like that.

If our gentleman is out for mischief, he won't be specially keen to

locate himself in the midst of a large crowd of astute Redlanders, you

bet. Stand up in the seat--hold on to my shoulder, that's sound enough,

and see if you can locate him anywhere."

Joey obeyed. She was breathless with excitement, and though John had

jeered at her suggestion about Deeping Royal, he had certainly seemed

impressed by her story, particularly by the violet handkerchief and the

box packed in the fat cigar case. Of course, one would expect a big boy

of seventeen, in naval uniform, to laugh at a girl of only thirteen; he

wouldn't be human if he didn't.

She got upon the driving seat, holding to John's shoulder with one hand

and trying to clear her hair out of her eyes with the other. The wind

was furious; she found it quite hard to keep her footing, though John's

car was low--a typical racer, if she had known more about cars. John's

father had known his son's taste to a nicety; John wasn't out for

ornament.

She saw the twisted chimneys of Mote Grange far away, and the

corrugated iron roof of the station in the foreground. Then she looked

along the road to the left.

Clear in the intensely clear atmosphere that often goes with furious

wind, she saw the twin towers of St. Philip and St. James standing

against the grey line of the sea. But not one thought did she give to

the great match that would be starting there in a very few minutes from

now; for not so very far away, upon the white raised road, a figure was

on foot beside a motor-bicycle, pushing it, running with it--_on foot_!

She grabbed John's shoulder. "Oh, John, I'm sure it's him--the

Professor--and his bicycle won't go, or something."

"By Jove!" John cried. He glanced up at Joey with a grin. "I suppose

I ought to scoot to Mote and get help, and drop you in Aunt Greta's

charge."

"John! he'd get away!" shrieked Joey.

John grinned again. "He probably would. We won't do what we ought. Get

down, Kid. I'm going to let her rip."

Speed record certainly did not concern John just then--the long-snouted

racer leapt forward, bumping wildly with the pace which John got out of

her.

Joey crouched low in the car, feeling as though her hair was being torn

from her head, but blissfully happy all the same. She had absolute

confidence in John; he would deal with the Professor. It did not occur

to her that seventeen-year-old John on crutches might not be a match

for a determined man in perfect health. Her only fear was that the

motor-bicycle might get going too soon.

There are few bends in a fen road. Those who made them may have had the

roads of Russia in their minds, for fen roads tend to be drawn with a

ruler from end to end.

They saw the Professor, still struggling with his bicycle, more than a

mile away. They saw him run pushing his machine, and this time it fired

and went.

Joey said, "Oh!" in deep disappointment. John grinned again.

"Some race, Joey! Hold tight--if he can rip, so can we."

He only spoke once again. "You might loosen my dirk, Kid; it's your

side."

Then he bent himself to the wheel, and got every inch of speed out

of the car that was in her. The distance between car and bicycle

diminished slowly.

The wind roared and tasted salt to the lips; the towers of St. Philip

and St. James stood higher and higher. And now the high parapet of the

reservoir was in sight. When they passed that, Deeping Royal was not

three-quarters of a mile away.

"He must be going to see the match after all!" shrieked Joey. She had

to scream to run any chance of being heard above the roar of wind and

the racing, lurching car.

There was still half a mile between car and bicycle when the bicycle

was up to the reservoir, and the Professor clapped on his brakes, and

dashed for it on foot.

"John!" Joey screamed. The play, which the occupants of Blue Dorm had

acted to celebrate Miss Craigie's return, rushed suddenly into her

mind. She remembered the box of tiny bottles hidden in the cigar case,

and the thin cruel smile she had seen on the Professor's face as she

looked at him through the keyhole.

Perhaps John had the same thought in his mind. The car bumped

furiously, and all but overturned.

The Professor disappeared round the angle of the reservoir.

CHAPTER XX

THE PROFESSOR'S DRIVE

It all happened so quickly that there was no time to think or wonder,

hardly time even to cry out.

Something that looked like a hand, emerging from a white cuff and a

dark coat sleeve, appeared for one instant above the parapet of the

reservoir just by the angle, and almost the same instant two heads,

surmounted by the close green hats of the Redlands girls, shot up

to one side of it. The arm waved wildly, and then disappeared with

suddenness below the parapet, the two heads diving down after it with

startling celerity.

If ever John's new car travelled, it travelled then!

Joey forgot everything else--the match--the roaring furious wind, the

sense of cold and hunger--what _was_ happening at the reservoir? And

then they were there!

John ran the car into the grass of the roadside; the reservoir stood

a little back from the road. He brought the car to a standstill, and

grasped the crutches which Joey had ready for him. Together they tore

round the angle of the great reservoir, Joey leading.

On the ground below it sat the Professor, one hand clasping the back of

his head. He held something close in his other hand.

Before him stood Noreen and Gabrielle, the latter really apologetic,

the former certainly inclined to giggle, though she was making a

valiant effort to restrain herself.

"I'm frightfully sorry we startled you so," Noreen was explaining. "We

didn't mean to; we were just watching for Joey, and then we saw you,

and thought it would be fun to take you by surprise. I never thought we

should make you fall back. Honour! and as to Gabrielle, it wasn't her

plan at all, so you can't blame her."

Noreen's clear carrying voice reached Joey without any difficulty, as

she slipped and stumbled over the coarse, sandy grass. The Professor

was getting dazedly to his feet while she was speaking; he did not

appear to be much mollified by her apology.

"You haf giv me de bad fall," he said. "You haf made me de headache; I

cannot smoke...."

He raised his right arm, as though to hurl away in a temper the thick

cigar case that he held. It was open; he crushed his thick thumb down

on one of the tiny blown-glass bottles that filled it. Joey gave a leap

like a young chamois and caught his arm. "The cigar case!" she panted,

and Gabrielle caught it as it dropped from the Professor's hand in the

surprise and shock.

He turned furiously upon Joey. "You!" he shouted, and flung her

violently away from him, snatching at the little case in Gabby's hand

before she was prepared.

"John!" Joey screamed; but John was finding it hard going with crutches

over the uneven grass, and he was not yet up with them. The Professor

broke through the little crowd of girls and dashed for his bicycle.

He was on it--if only it would refuse to start! No such luck--he was

turning it in the road--he was off!

John dropped one crutch, and stooped down. Next moment his dirk was

hurtling through the air, thrown with an accuracy that just got the

back wheel tyre. John had bowled for Dartmouth. There was a loud

explosion, and bicycle and Professor were mixed up in a heap on the

road.

"Lucky you loosened the dirk," John said to Joey, and then they all

hurried breathlessly to their fallen enemy.

The Professor was lying quite still half underneath his bicycle.

"Is he killed?" asked Gabrielle, in a quiet awestruck little voice.

[Illustration: "I'M FRIGHTFULLY SORRY WE STARTLED YOU SO"]

John bent over him, and unbuttoned his waist-coat, putting his hand

inside. "He's only stunned. Take the case, Joey."

The Professor had flung it into his coat pocket; Joey took it out and

gave it to John. He opened it, and took one of the unbroken bottles

out, looking at it anxiously. "I expect this was what he worked in the

Lab to get done unsuspected."

"Think he's got poisonous germs or something bottled there?" asked

Noreen.

"I'm no chemist; but you bet it's some putrid game, like spreading a

rotten disease by water. We've got to hand it over to the police any

way, and some bacteriologist will tell us all about it. But first we'll

have this chap into the car. Can you spare one of those sash things you

wear? We'd better tie his hands behind him, or he'll be getting away

when he comes to."

Three white braid sashes were at once forthcoming; John took Noreen's,

and tied the Professor up thereby securely.

"Doesn't he look different without his moustache!" Noreen observed.

"Oh, he's shaved that, has he?" John asked.

"He took it off in the Lab; it wasn't a real one," Joey explained.

John whistled, and grinned approvingly.

"You saw a fair lot through your keyhole! Well, I suppose it's pretty

clear that our gentleman was in the habit of altering his appearance

for reasons of his own. Another item in his bill. But he didn't show

the usual Hun attention to detail--when he took the key out before he

had finished everything, did he?"

"He thought no one would know where he was. He forgot Tiddles, I

expect," Joey contributed.

John tied the last knot with a flourish, just as the Professor began to

show signs of returning consciousness.

"Tiddles? Oh, the Belgian baby! Yes, I expect he forgot her. So she

knew you were there."

"Yes; I think she saw my shoe sticking out of the hole I made in the

roof, and fetched Frances--the pet!" Joey said. "I say, Gabrielle, _do_

you think I'll be in a fearful row with Miss Conyngham again? for I've

done dreadful things in the Lab, besides coming out all untidy."

"I doubt if you'll get it in the neck from your Miss Conyngham this

time," John told her cheeringly. "But now we must attend to business.

How do you find yourself now, sir? Can you get into my car, or do you

want to be helped there?"

The Professor for all answer made a struggle with his hands, but the

braid was strong, and John knew how to tie his knots.

"No go," said John. "You had better come quietly. I'm sorry we had to

tie you up; but we'll make you as comfortable as we can."

The Professor regained his breath and his senses.

"I do not understand dis outrage," he said. "I shall spik of it to Miss

Conyngham instantly. Dese girls shall be punished...."

"I'm afraid you've cut your cheek a bit," John said concernedly. "Let

me get your handkerchief--do you keep it in your pocket or up your

sleeve? It's the violet handkerchief I want, the one where the code

letters come out when you hold it to the fire--K V, you know."

The shot went home. "What is this fairy tale," the Professor asked

contemptuously. But he had paused before he asked it--the pause had

been perceptible.

"Now will you get into the car, Professor Trouville," John said

politely. "I think you see that we have some grounds for this--outrage."

He turned to the girls. "I'll drive you to the match if you like, and

then this gentleman on to the police station."

The Professor struggled unwillingly to his feet. Joey looked at

Gabrielle and Noreen. The match had ceased to be of the first

importance.

Besides John was very lame; if the Professor got loose, by any chance,

he might need their help. She turned to Gabrielle. "Do you think we

might go with John? John, this is Gabrielle, she's Head of the Lower

School and a frightful knut, and can give leave for all kinds of

things. The other is Noreen, and they're both special friends."

"Look here," said John to Gabrielle, "I really think you had better

give leave for the three of you to see the affair through. The

circumstances are exceptional--and I doubt if there will be much of a

match to-day in this wind, anyhow. Besides I'll run you back to Deeping

Royal before anyone's missed you, and then you can explain to your

boss."

"Well I think we might, and thank you ever so much," Gabrielle answered

very properly, but with eyes that sparkled.

"Right!" John said, and then they all bundled into the car, Professor

and all, leaving the damaged bicycle in the road. It was a terrible

squeeze, of course, to get five into a two-seater; but much can be done

when people are determined. The Professor, yellow and strained-looking,

was wedged in between John and Gabrielle; while Joey and Noreen

squeezed somehow into the little emergency seat behind. The car dashed

back along the road they had come.

As they had tucked themselves in Joey noticed that Noreen's shoes were

squelching with wet.

"Did you sit on the edge and put your feet in the reservoir?" she asked.

Noreen laughed. "No, but when I wedged my feet at the angle it seemed

to have sprung a leak. Hush! Don't tell Gabrielle. She'll probably

think we ought to go back like the Dutch kid, and stop it with a

finger."

"I expect it will do all right if we report it at the police station,"

Joey said. "But it must be a healthy leak, if it's made you as wet as

all that."

"It's always happening," explained Noreen, the experienced. "The

reservoir was done with scamped work in the first instance--haven't

you heard our beloved Miss Craigie draw a moral for our benefit? Oh,

well, if you haven't, you will. And they're always having to shore up

one bank or another.... I say, you're shivering; it is jolly cold for

motoring."

John caught the words, and rammed on his brakes. "What an ass I am! Put

on my coat, Kid."

He began to struggle out of his motor-coat. His arms were half in and

half out when the Professor sprang to his feet, his hands freed, the

frayed ends of the braid sash hanging. He had John's dirk in his left

hand; he had released himself by rubbing up against it; in his right

was a small revolver.

"Now I think we shall talk rather differently," he snarled. "You will

drive me to the station, young gentleman, and these young ladies will

get out to walk to Deeping Royal or Redlands--I care not which."

The Professor was holding the revolver within an inch of John's neck.

Joey wondered whether it was all a bad dream, or a reality in which

she ought to make a snatch at the revolver, and try and overpower the

Professor. But John settled the question before she had time to decide.

"Get out, girls," he said. "You had better go straight to Deeping

Royal. I'll drive the Professor along as he suggests."

Joey got out obediently, and the other two followed suit.

"Hurry!" the Professor snarled.

John got his hands free of his coat in leisurely fashion. The girls

stood close together on the road. "Let's go for him," whispered Noreen;

but Joey was looking at John.

John's thin brown face was perfectly impassive, but his right eyelid

lay dead upon his cheek. Joey knew quite well that John, alone, and

with a very game leg, had nevertheless something up his sleeve.

"Get on!" reiterated the Professor. His French accent was dropping from

him, Joey noticed; he spoke good English now, though with the hard

guttural which hardly any Englishman achieves.

The car was a self-starter. John whirled off without remark, leaving

the three Redlands girls stranded rather forlornly on the wind-swept

road.

They all three shivered a little as the car grew smaller and smaller

in the distance. They were afraid for John, and also puzzled by his

acquiescence in the situation--an acquiescence so out of keeping with

the little bit of ribbon on his jacket. Added to which they were all

three very cold, and a longish walk and drive lay between them and tea.

Noreen broke the silence. "I vote we get on to Deeping Royal, and

tell Miss Conyngham what has happened. Some story anyhow, if she does

row us for sloping off. Won't she be jolly excited to know about the

Professor? What do you say, Gabrielle and Joey?"

"Yes, I think we had better go now," Gabrielle agreed. "I'm afraid we

can't do anything for John, and Miss Conyngham ought to know."

But Joey stood still stubbornly by the roadside. "I don't care if she

ought; I'm going to wait for John," she said. "At least, I mean, I'm

going along to Mote to tell Cousin Greta what's happened to him."

Joey tried to speak as though she did not mind a bit about the

three-mile tramp, or anything. "You two go along to the match, and tell

Miss Conyngham. I'll try and square up the disobedience and being so

untidy, and letting Redlands down, afterwards, when there's time."

Joey thought she had never realised till then what her two friends

could be. Each seized an arm.

"Slink back to the match, and leave you to be in a row all by yourself?

Likely, isn't it, you juggins?" Noreen inquired scornfully. And

Gabrielle--Gabrielle, Head of the Lower School, who had never been

known to break a rule since Joey had known her, added calmly:

"We'll all go to Mote, Joey; I think you are right. Of course it is

disobeying the Redlands rule; but I will explain to Miss Conyngham why

we did it, afterwards. In any case we couldn't leave you."

"I say, you are bricks!" Joey said rather chokingly, and then the

three set out together at a run towards the turning to Mote. They had

passed it in the car, and were indeed now within about half a mile

of the Round Tower. Joey found herself noticing, for all her anxiety

about John, how gaunt and sinister it looked, standing up against the

shivering sodden grass, and the dreary wind-swept sky, in that minute

before she and the others turned their backs upon it, and began to

struggle towards Mote in the teeth of a wind that seemed to have grown

overwhelmingly strong in the last few minutes.

Now that they faced towards the sea it was truly terrific. Noreen and

Gabrielle had their close school hats jammed low upon their foreheads,

and even then it was almost impossible to keep them on. Joey, being

hatless, was not affected by this difficulty; but her djibbah flapped

furiously about her, her hair was all over the place, and she found it

really difficult to keep her footing. It was extraordinary how much the

gale had grown within the last twelve or fifteen minutes.

But the three friends locked arms and fought their way on determinedly.

Joey meant to get somehow to Mote, and let John's people know what he

was doing.

"And after that we shall probably meet the school--going home,"

Gabrielle gasped out; "and we can get ourselves picked up. They'll have

to come back; they can never play the match out in this wind."

"I hope they come along soon; it's going to pour by the look of the

sky, and we haven't got macs," Noreen said. "There! I felt a splash of

rain in my face already."

"So did I; but it wasn't rain, it tasted salt," panted Gabrielle.

"Spray couldn't come out here, could it?" asked Joey. "We're a long way

from the sea."

"About a mile," Noreen screamed in her ear.

"Oh, no, spray couldn't come out here, even at the most extraordinarily

high tide."

Another dash in their faces. "_That_ came from the river," said

Gabrielle.

They had almost reached the low-arched bridge that spans the river

Mentle, about three-quarters of a mile beyond the Round Tower. The

water was surging angrily against the arches, and, at intervals of a

minute or so, sending up a great splash over the very low stone border

and into the road.

"Funny, because it can't be high tide yet," said Noreen. "I looked

it up to see if there was any chance of the Team getting splashed in

Fishmarket Field. It isn't till 3.40."

"Then it's going to be an extra specially high one," remarked the

experienced Gabrielle, looking down at the surging, bankless Mentle.

"I should think they would get some healthy splashes in the field; the

spray comes right over the old sea-wall in a really rough tide."

"Oh, never mind the old tide--let's get on to Mote!" urged Joey.

And just as she said it, the thing happened.

There was a sudden appalling roar--a long, crashing roar. The river

gave a sort of shuddering sigh, and then, far off along its brimming

level, something seemed to rise up--a great grey wall, foam-tipped.

Joey stared at it, fascinated, but not frightened.

But Gabrielle knew the fens. She grasped Joey roughly by the arm,

Gabrielle, who was always so gentle in her ways.

"Come on! Run! Run back from the river," she screamed. "That's an

Eigre!"

Joey hadn't a notion what an Eigre might be, but there was urgency in

Gabrielle's tone. They all three turned and ran back along the road

that they had come. Only Joey looked over her shoulder, and thought she

never would forget what she saw as long as she lived.

The wall of water, curling as it came, swept nearer; then suddenly it

broke with a noise like thunder, and, with a great swirl and rush, the

water was over the bridge in a whirl, was spreading far and wide, was

about their feet.

"_Run!_" Gabrielle shouted again, as a second great surge brought the

water washing against their knees. And run they did, through a world

that seemed all water, as far as the eye could reach.

No one who was at Redlands then, least of all those three friends, will

ever forget that wild 31st of October, when the old sea-wall went down,

and the highest tide that men had known for thirty years burst in upon

the Deeps of Little Holland!

CHAPTER XXI

IN THE ROUND TOWER

There are white posts set at intervals along the fen roads to guide

travellers in the dark. A necessary precaution as the roads are often

ditch-bordered, and for half the year those ditches brim.

The posts are barely two feet in height; by the time the girls had

reached the spot where John had left them, only the tops of those posts

were left uncovered; the tide was plainly driving in with terrific

force, and wherever they looked they saw nothing but the waste of

tossing water.

Not one of the three would have owned to being frightened, and it was

in quite a cheerful voice that Noreen put their worst danger into words.

"Hurry up, you two. We must get somewhere before the posts cover, or we

shan't be able to find the road."

Joey remembered the deep slanting ditches; to slip into one of them had

been a very real danger on that foggy Sunday when she had come back

alone from Cousin Greta's; to do so now would be almost certain death.

She did her best to splash along faster, though she was beginning to

feel decidedly conscious that it was a long time since breakfast, and

that she was chilled to the bone. It seemed as though the three of them

had been splashing through that cold swirly water for years, and there

didn't seem any particular end to it; and what had happened to John?

"Where are we going?" she asked dully. "The Round Tower is nearest."

She had to look round, as she spoke, to make sure that the tower was

there. All the familiar objects looked so different, standing in this

vast sea.

"Yes, it's nearest, but we won't go there," Gabrielle said, in her

sensible way. "You see, though it's uncomfortable and very cold to go

wading along like this, we are quite safe on the road till the water

is a good bit deeper. To try and get across the Deeps with the floods

out would be almost as risky as it would have been to try and cross

the river just now when it was pouring across the bridge. If we just

keep along quietly we shall come to the turning off to Hesgate Church

and Rectory, and we can get shelter there till the tide goes down, or

someone comes for us."

Gabrielle's matter-of-fact tone had a very cheering effect. She was the

smallest of the three, but she was quite the Head of the Lower School

just then, and no one thought of disputing her verdict.

"What do you think the others are doing?" Joey asked anxiously. She

had been afraid to ask that question before, but Gabrielle seemed so

undisturbed by the ways of floods that she felt things could not be as

bad as they had seemed.

"I think they will be quite all right," Gabrielle said. "You see

Deeping Royal is used to high tides and things of that sort, and

people always take refuge in the churches there. The towers were built

frightfully strong on purpose. Miss Conyngham once told us about a big

flood, in 1830 it was, I think, and the people had to stay in the twin

towers all night, while the great waves surged round. One man was so

grateful that he gave a new peal of bells to both towers, and put a

text on the biggest bell: 'The flood arose, the stream beat vehemently

upon that house and could not shake it.'"

"I like that," Joey said.

"Yes, wasn't it decent, and he never gave his name either; he was a

stranger in Deeping Royal, and he just sent the bells from London when

he had got away safely. The Vicar had 'The gift of a grateful heart,'

carved below his text on the bell, and they ring a peal every year on

the anniversary of the great flood in memory of him. That day comes

in the spring; we always get high tides--special tides, you know--at

spring and autumn."

"Well, this one will have come to its highest pretty soon, I expect,"

Joey said. "You've got a watch, Gabrielle; what's the time?"

Gabrielle looked. "Five past three; and we're just opposite the Round

Tower; that means it isn't much more than a mile to Hesgate Rectory. We

shall...."

What they might have done remained unknown. There was a curious

sound behind them, nothing very loud, but loud enough to make them

look round. The water all around them seemed to upheave violently.

Instinctively they clung together, and it was a mercy that they did.

There was a terrific suck and gurgle about them, and next moment the

white posts were all obliterated, and they were swaying helplessly in

a great waste of water, which had suddenly grown frighteningly deep.

"What is it?" Joey gasped, as the first shock passed, and they found

themselves still on their feet, but with the water washing nearly to

their waists.

"I don't know," Gabrielle said, staring around her, but Noreen gave a

little choke. "You bet it's the reservoir--that weak bank gone--and

it's still forty minutes to high tide."

Joey woke up. "We must get across to the Round Tower."

"It's locked, isn't it?" asked Noreen. It was a proof she was inwardly

frightened that she did not add, "you juggins!"

"And there's a bad ditch somewhere near it, Joey," Gabrielle added. "We

could never find it now."

"I could," Joey spoke confidently. "I've been there, remember. Hold on

to me, Gabby; I'm sure I can dodge that ditch; I know where it was."

Gabrielle hesitated for a moment; while Noreen and Joey looked

anxiously at her. Every one knew that Gabrielle could not swim. Noreen

was not much of a performer; but Gabrielle had been too delicate to

learn at all so far.

"We might keep the road," she said; "but we mightn't, and it's a mile.

We'll risk the ditch--on one condition, Joey. If we slip--and we'll

be going into deeper water anyhow, you know--you and Noreen must save

yourselves, and not bother about me."

"We're not going to slip, but we're going to hurry," Joey said. "I'll

go in front, because I know the way. You hold on to me, Gabby, and

Noreen hold on to you. We'll have to jump the roadside ditch; it isn't

a wide one, but it will make a beastly splash. When I say Now!"

They turned sideways. "Now!" shrieked Joey. They all jumped, and Noreen

failed to clear the ditch, and had to be pulled out, spluttering and

choking, by the other two.

They had landed in water that was more than waist high, for the road

was raised. The question was how much more the fen dipped before they

reached the tower. Joey plunged on, but cautiously, putting one foot

well in advance of the other, in terror of that yawning ditch. It was

all very well to say so confidently that she remembered its exact

position; how was one to be sure of the exact position of anything with

all the world water, and a sense that at any moment one might step

clean out of one's depth? Joey had swum well out of her depth on the

last seaside holiday the family had shared, but then Father was beside

her to call, "Steady! and don't hurry your stroke"; and "Put your hand

up on my shoulder," when she was getting tired. Swimming now would be

a very different matter with Noreen, who had only just achieved the

width of the Redlands swimming bath last summer, and Gabrielle, who was

helpless, to bring to safety besides herself. All the same she never

thought for an instant that she might not be able to do it; that sort

of thought was not for English people. One just must.

The tide was rushing in at a truly terrific pace, but the three,

gripping desperately to each other, kept their footing and struggled

on. And so, after what seemed an eternity of nightmare struggling

through the deepening water, they flung themselves against the wall of

the Round Tower at last.

"Hold on, Gabby; I have to find the door," Joey cried cheerfully. The

worst was over now, she thought; the tower floor was well raised,

and inside there was a ladder. She waded round to the narrow ledge,

scrambled up, and felt the door.

It was bolted as before, and this time she had no knife in her pocket.

To be accurate she had no pocket in her djibbah; when she had begun

this long queer day her handkerchief had been up her sleeve. Now it was

probably whirling hither and thither about the Deeps.

Joey stooped a little, and put her mouth to the chink. She must make

the young man hear.

"I say, do let us in. We're outside your door."

She had shouted at the top of her voice, and she got an answer, though

it was not the answer she expected. It was a queer muffled cry, but it

was a word, and the word was "Help!"

Joey looked down from her slippery stand upon Noreen and Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was shoulder deep; she was clinging silently to the rough

wall of the tower, but there was nothing much to take hold of. Joey

must get the door open and go to her help at once.

"Got a knife, either of you?" she jerked at them.

"I have," called Noreen.

Joey did not dare tell them to move from their precarious position. The

water was washing hard against the tower; Gabrielle at least could be

washed away from it quite easily if she loosened her grip.

"Chuck it here!" she shouted, and prayed that she might not muff the

catch. Noreen fumbled and threw. Joey, leaning a little away from the

door, with one hand clinging, caught the knife as it flew across the

water, and held it--safe!

She had it open in a second, and forced the bolt a minute later.

Kneeling in the doorway, she undid her braid sash, meaning to fling it

out to Noreen and Gabrielle.

"Get hold; we're all right now."

And as she spoke she heard again that muffled call for help from

somewhere underneath. Then, of course, she remembered her first visit,

and the jumpy young man who had come up through the trap-door.

The floor of the Round Tower was hardly under water yet; but what

was it like underneath? That last call had been the choked effort of

someone who couldn't breathe.

Joey stood irresolute for one second--but only one. The jumpy young man

was probably a German, since he and the Professor had been signalling

to one another; but when you were English you couldn't leave even a

Hun to die when he had called for help. Father had risked his life to

bring in a wounded German who was lying in agony in a shell-swept reach

of No-Man's Land. She would not even have hesitated for that second,

if it had not been for the thought of Gabrielle and Noreen holding on

precariously, with the deepening water washing round them, waiting for

her help. In her heart she knew that her friends would not want her to

hesitate.

She darted across the floor to the corner where the trap-door was, and

then she saw what had happened. The owner of the tower had been right

in considering it rather shaky, and none too safe. A great stone had

come down, and lay upon the trap-door, making it quite impossible to

push up from below.

Joey flung herself upon the great stone. "All right--I'll get it open,"

she shouted; but there was no answer. That faint choked call was not

repeated.

She pushed at the stone with all her strength, but it did not budge.

She pushed again, with a terrible nightmare feeling that Gabrielle, her

friend, could not keep her footing in the water, and was drowning while

she wasted time. She took a deep breath, and pushed, with cracking

muscles, for the third time, and the stone rolled over with a loud

splash, and the trap was free.

"Can you push?" she shouted. When she had seen him before the young

man had come up a ladder propped against the side, and pushed the trap

up from below. But now there was no sound or answer. Joey thought of

Gabrielle's story of the man who had been drowned in the room below

the Round Tower in just such another flood, and hunted desperately for

something she could catch at and pull the trap-door up.

She found a ring at last, and tugged with all her might. The trap

raised, and water sluiced down into the opening, water that was washing

in through the open door. The water from above met the water from below

with a great splash. There was no other sound.

Joey peered down the wide trap. Two groping hands and a dead white face

with staring eyes showing dimly through the darkness. Black water, of

an unknown depth, washed to and fro.

She flung herself face downwards on the edge, and dropped her braid

sash straight between the groping hands. "Catch hold!"

The hands fumbled blindly, and then gripped. There was a fierce tug on

the impromptu rope. Joey dug her toes into the floor, in the effort to

escape being pulled in.

"That's right, hold on, and get to the ladder," she shouted. "Make

haste."

She looked at the side where the ladder had been; it was gone! And the

water below was still a good long way below the level of the floor, and

the trickle washing in would not raise it till too late for Gabrielle

and Noreen.

Joey looked round desperately for something to which she could secure

one end of her sash. At all costs she must hurry to the help of the

other two. But there was nothing at all, nothing except the ladder on

the farther side of the tower, fixed to the wall; and to reach that

would require a sash of treble the length. No, there was only one thing

to be done, unless she meant to abandon the young man to his fate--and

one couldn't let an enemy drown when one was a soldier's daughter.

"It's all right. I'll pull you up; but please keep quiet and don't

jerk, or you'll drag me in," she called down, trying to speak

confidently. "Don't start to come up till I say 'Now'!" she added

hastily, as a frantic jerk to the rope all but had her through the trap.

She slithered back over the floor to the farthest extent her sash would

give her, and got behind the stone that she had moved with so much

difficulty. Then she looped the end of her sash, got a desperate grip,

took a long breath, and shrieked "Now!"

It was a frightful tug. Her straining body pushed the heavy stone with

it nearer and nearer to the edge. Her hands seemed as though they were

being wrenched away from her wrists, and her arms from her shoulders.

The toes and her knees scraped the stone of the floor as she dug them

in fiercely to gain hold, and she was dragged forward all the time.

It never occurred to her to let go, but she knew vaguely that it was

only a question of seconds before she went through the trap for all her

efforts. And then a hand caught the edge of the trap, and the strain

slackened suddenly.

Joey fell backwards, and lay there panting and speechless for a second,

while the young man exhaustedly dragged himself up to safety. But she

only lay for one moment; then struggled up and to the door.

Her heart was thumping with hammer strokes; she felt sure that she

would not see her friends. It seemed such years that she had been

wrestling with the trap-door, and trying to grip on to that slippery

sash.

But they were there; clinging tightly--Noreen with her arm round

Gabrielle, both with their heads turned anxiously to the door. Noreen

spoke quite cheerfully, though with chattering teeth.

"I say, buck up with that sash, you juggins!" she grinned. "We're

getting wet."

Joey didn't answer, because there was such a lump in her throat that

she couldn't. She threw the pulled and ravelled sash, and Noreen caught

it. Steadying themselves with it and the wall of the tower she and

Gabrielle came safely to the door, and scrambled up into the tower.

Joey hugged them both, regardless of the young man's presence. "Oh, you

dears!"

"What made you such an age?" Noreen inquired. "Did you stop to explore

the tower or something?"

The young man answered the question. "She saved my life. I was

suffocating there, and drowning, and she pulled me up. I owe her my

life."

"Oh, that's all right," Joey said, rather flustered. "Anyone would have

lent a hand, of course. But do you mind telling us now whether you are

in league with our Stinks Professor--you signal to him, don't you? But

I hope you aren't doing beastly things like poisoning water, for you

don't seem that sort."

The jumpy young man stared at the three Redlands girls, till his eyes

seemed ready to start from his head. Then he gasped, "How do you know?"

"Because we've got the Professor--at least I think John has--and anyhow

we've spoilt his game," Joey announced triumphantly. "But we want to

know if you've been doing those kind of beastly spy things too--because

we don't want to be hateful, but we couldn't shake hands with you and

be friends if you have!"

They stood ankle-deep in the water, and stared at one another, Joey and

the man whose life she had saved. There was a dead silence for a whole

minute; then he said:

"I have worked with him, and I knew something of his plans, but _mon

Dieu!_ how I hated them and him. For my home is in Alsace, and my

father and mother were French. The Professor, who is no more French

than you are, had lent my father money, and I was to work it out as his

assistant. And since the War he has forced me to work for him in this

country, knowing I was too much implicated to betray him. And that is

the truth, Mademoiselle."

Joey held out her hand. "You'll chuck it now, of course, and I'm sure

Colonel Sturt will see about your not getting into trouble; and, if you

don't mind, I could speak to Mademoiselle de Lavernais about you--she

comes from Alsace too. We're no end glad you're all right, really."

"Rather!" said Noreen and Gabrielle with great heartiness, and all

three shook hands with the Alsatian solemnly.

"What's your name?" asked Joey, feeling that she ought to act as

mistress of the ceremonies in right of her former acquaintance with the

jumpy young man.

"I was baptized 'Hans'; when the doors and windows were all shut my

parents called me 'Jean,' 'Jean Corvette,'" he said.

"Righto, we'll call you that," Joey said. "I thought you couldn't be a

Hunnish kind of German when you were so decent to me that Sunday, you

know. We'll introduce ourselves, and then it will all be as right as

rain. This is Gabrielle Arden, and here's Noreen O'Hara, and I'm Joey

Graham."

Two drowned rats bowed politely in acknowledgment of Joey's

introduction; but the jumpy young man was not looking at them. He was

staring at Joey.

"Graham--Graham--" he muttered; then suddenly: "I was with the

gardeners that night you act in the big hall, and you have the look of

him then, Mademoiselle. Was your father a major of the name of Graham?"

"Yes, he was; but the Huns killed him with their beastliness to him

when he was wounded and a prisoner," Joey said.

"You saved my life; I will tell you all I know," the young man said.

"When the Professor sent for me to come here, two months ago, Major

Graham was _not_ dead, but alive and working in the salt mines at

Kochnecht."

"_What?_" Joey gasped. "He was reported killed."

"Many are reported so, but not all are dead. Some day perhaps a search

will find Englishmen left behind in Germany. Your Major Graham is

one--I gave him water when he was wounded, and no woman would have

pity, and he thanked me and said I was 'a good chap,' and smiled as

you smile, Mademoiselle, so I remember him. But the Count that used

to shoot at Calgarloch Castle had a spite against your father, and

returned him 'killed.'"

The tower room swam with Joey for a moment; she felt sick and queer.

"I say, you're not going to faint or anything rotten like that, are

you?" cried Noreen; "because it's a beastly damp place to do it in."

"Don't, Noreen, it's her pater." That was Gabrielle speaking. Joey

pulled herself together.

"I'm all right--only it's ... it's so heavenly. _Did_ you hear,

Father's _alive_!"

Noreen seized her round the waist. "Yes, I heard, and it wasn't

heartlessness, only you did look funny for a minute. Joey, I _am_ glad;

and isn't it queer and topping that everything's gone and happened like

this. If there had been no flood, or John had driven us to Deeping

Royal as he intended, we should have been up the twin towers with the

rest, and you would never have heard this."

"And if I hadn't been caught in the sea-roke that Sunday, and known you

were down the trap-door, I shouldn't have known where to look for you

when you called 'Help!'" Joey said to Jean Corvette.

"And if you had not risked your life to rescue me, Mademoiselle Joey, I

should never have talked again," he said.

"And if we hadn't been Joey's special friends and waited for her at the

reservoir, I suppose the old Professor would have got away, and most

of this wouldn't have happened," Gabrielle suggested seriously. "We're

all very wet, and Matron _will_ be cross to-morrow; but it's all been

gloriously worth while."

"Hasn't it just!" Joey cried ecstatically. "And now, if Jean doesn't

mind, let's get up that ladder. You bet John will be looking out for us

as soon as he has settled the Professor, and I know he had some plan

when he said he would drive him."

Jean made no objection, though he was still too much exhausted to

go with them. But the three friends, undeterred by wet and clinging

garments, climbed the shaky ladders to what was left of the top floor

of the tower, where they found the electric torch which Jean must have

used lying close under a loop-hole window.

"Of course a torch-flash isn't easy to read in daylight, but there's no

sun, and it's getting darker," Joey suggested.

"Then it must be past high tide," Noreen said joyfully. The three stood

at the loop-hole, looking out for a minute in silence over the dreary

grey waste of water. A wicker hen-coop and a large bath-tub washed

aimlessly about near the walls of their refuge, farther off a poor

drowned sheep showed, half submerged.

Gabrielle put her arm through Joey's. "We might have been drowned too,"

she said, "and instead we're all right, and your father's alive."

Joey couldn't answer that for a second: then she said huskily, "Thanks

awfully, and I _am_ glad we're all in it together."

"And always will be for ever and ever, Amen," chipped in Noreen the

irrepressible. "Gabrielle will be Upper School next term, Miss Craigie

thinks, but she'll never desert the alliance, I know. It's going to be

for always."

"I say, I am jolly glad I came to Redlands," Joey said from her heart.

They took turns after that to work the torch, sending S.O.S. signals

out into the wet world, while the tide steadily sucked back and back,

leaving the tops of the white posts uncovered once more. And then

over the grey waste a boat came, and they tore down the ladders at a

breakneck pace to welcome John, rowed by a sturdy policeman.

"What's happened to him--the Professor?" shrieked Noreen, as soon as

the boat came into hailing distance.

"Oh, you're all right, you three, thank goodness!" John sent back,

as he steered the boat carefully for the tower door. "I felt rather

jumpy about you, when the sea burst in. But I might have known Joey

would come out top. The Professor?--oh, he is safely in the lock-up,

with his violet handkerchief--which it seems is the secret insignia of

his crowd--and his precious bugs. The flood was really a convenience,

otherwise I meant to run my car into a ditch, and have him that way if

poss. As it was, the tide burst in and swamped us, and he can't swim

and was in a blue funk of drowning, so I had no bother at all. Just

left him hanging on to the car, without his bugs, revolver, or hanky,

and swam for help. I could have waded, of course, but swimming was

easier for my game leg, and more impressive. And they're all right at

Deeping Royal; they're sending boats. So you have nothing to do, but to

let us get you back to Redlands."

Hanging on to the door, Joey stooped to whisper to John. "John, be nice

to this man here, because he's told me Father is alive in Germany."

"What, your pater alive after all! Top-hole!" John said. "That _will_

be something to tell Aunt Greta!"

Joey looked back at the Round Tower, as she and the rest were rowed

quickly away from it. How little she had guessed, when she had first

come to Redlands, and looked at it with so much interest, what it would

mean to her!

* * * * *

That night, while a disapproving Matron, armed with an immense bottle

of sal volatile, stood by, urging bed for everyone, Joey Graham was

cheered at tea by the entire school.

CHAPTER XXII

THE GREAT ELECTION

It was wonderfully quiet in the Queen's Hall, considering that six

hundred girls were assembled there. Of course, there was not the

absolute pin-drop silence of the times when Miss Conyngham read

prayers, but that was not to be expected because The Election--(it was

always _the_ Election at Redlands)--was in progress. For the last hour

there had been a steady tramp of feet going to and returning from the

platform on which there sat in silent dignity the "Heads of the Upper

and Lower School."

Before each was a large waste-paper basket, and into one or other of

those receptacles each girl dropped a folded paper containing the name

of a candidate for the highest dignity the school could offer.

The Head of the Upper School must be chosen from the Upper or the Lower

Sixth; the Head of the Lower from Remove II. A or B, that was the one

restriction. It gave a choice of forty girls in the Upper School and of

sixty in the Lower. Every College girl had the right to vote, with the

exception of the retiring dignitaries; even Tiddles had her buff slip,

and was laboriously printing something on it with a much-sucked pencil.

No Redlands girl would have forgone the privilege of voting for the

world.

Six weeks had gone by since that exciting 31st of October; six

wonderful weeks for Joey. Weeks when extraordinary things happened;

among others a day in town with Colonel Sturt (who wasn't gruff at all)

and with Cousin Greta, when she was taken to the War Office to answer

the keen, interested questions of a couple of splendid-looking staff

officers, who were very kind to her, and promised that the business

of searching for her father should be put in hand without a second's

delay. They shook hands with Joey, and congratulated her when they had

finished. She went to lunch at the Ritz afterwards, feeling deliriously

happy, and much older. The only bar to her perfect bliss was the fact

that she might not tell Mums about that wonderful hope forthwith.

Cousin Greta said it would be cruel, until the hope was a certainty,

and Cousin Greta had been so wonderfully kind and understanding of

late that Joey felt sure she must be right. Still not even the lovely

little gold wrist-watch bracelet which her cousin chose for her in

Bond Street, when lunch was over, could make up for having to keep

silence to Mums. It was a better consolation when Lady Greta said she

was going to ask Mums down for the "Old Girls' Day" at the end of the

term, so that Joey could show her the school and her friends, and they

could travel back to Scotland together. Joey thought it would be a

particularly pleasant thing to show the school to Mums just now, when

everyone was being so extraordinarily nice to her. Even Ingrid Latimer

and her friend Joan Chichester, that big Sixth Former who had put Joey

on the table the day that she and Gabby and Noreen were going to meet

Miss Craigie, condescended to a good deal of notice. Joey felt her cup

of pride would brim over if she could bring Mums up to these majestic

people and say, carelessly, "I'd like you to know my mother," as she

had heard Joan Chichester do when her people came down at Mid-term. Of

course, in old days it would have been unheard-of cheek for any member

of the Lower School, except for Gabrielle, who breakfasted with Miss

Conyngham when school matters needed attention, and could say, "I say,

Ingrid, oughtn't we...."

It was that "we" which was so wonderful, really; much more so than

breakfasting with the Head!

Still, for all she was a mere Remover II. B girl, Ingrid had been

most uncommonly gracious since the flood; Joey thought that one might

perhaps risk an introduction, and thanked Cousin Greta warmly.

Cousin Greta patted her hand. "And I hope you will have a little

welcome to spare for your old cousin too, my dear; for I want to come

too, and to bring Gracie as well as John."

"Oh, are you coming? How topping!" Joey cried, and the remark was quite

truthful as far as Cousin Greta and John were concerned, though Joey

wasn't quite sure how she felt about Gracie. And then Cousin Greta said

something so astounding that it took her breath away.

"Joey, I want you to be kind to Gracie and show her round the school,

because--she is coming to Redlands as a weekly boarder next term."

"_What?_" Joey had jerked out, forgetting manners. Gracie at Redlands,

being talked to candidly by people like Noreen and Syb and Barbara! It

was hard to picture.

"Yes, she is coming," Cousin Greta repeated, with a smile. "Her father

and I both think that Redlands will be good for Gracie. You are not

such a bad specimen of a Redlands girl, you know."

"You should see Ingrid--wish she weren't leaving," Joey told her, with

conviction; "and Noreen and Gabrielle. Now they _are_ toppers."

Lady Greta smiled, and said she would take Joey's word for it; but Joey

must bring any of her special friends that she liked with her to Mote,

subject, of course, to Miss Conyngham's permission. Altogether life had

been extraordinarily pleasant during the last six weeks.

Jean Corvette was to go back to the home which was not any longer

under the German heel. Joey's faith in Colonel Sturt's power "to put

it right" for the poor fellow had been justified. She never knew what

Colonel Sturt said to the police and the War Office, or they to him;

but the fact remained that Jean's unwilling share in the Professor's

plots and plans was all condoned, and he was to go back to Alsace with

Mademoiselle de Lavernais at the end of the term.

Mademoiselle's departure was an open secret by the time that was

settled, and most of the girls were sorry, in spite of their not

infrequent grumbles at her strictness. It was Joey who suggested to

Gabrielle the idea of a farewell offering from the Lower School,

but the whole of the Lower School jumped at it, and also at Joey's

further plan of learning the "Marseillaise" properly in French, so

that "Maddy" should realise the alliance between France and England

was a reality even where schoolgirls were concerned. All Remove II. B

contributed a shilling per girl--not bad when the end of the term and

Christmas were near--the junior forms sixpence, and the kindergarten

babies threepence. The result was a highly respectable sum, which was

entrusted to the hands of Gabrielle, who went to Lincoln with Miss

Craigie and bought a beautiful leather dispatch case, fitted with every

luxury. And Clare, shuddering occasionally, but very valiant on the

whole, drummed the difficult tune and time of the "Marseillaise" into

the most unmusical members of the Lower School; it being a point of

honour that everyone should sing.

The presentation to Maddy was to take place after voting; Miss Craigie,

taken into confidence, had promised to arrange that Maddy should be in

the kindergarten playroom, even if she had to drag her there, directly

the election was over. The "counting" only concerned the retiring

officers, Ingrid and Gabrielle, out of all the girls, and Gabrielle

had delegated to Joey her position of spokesman and presenter of the

dispatch case and list of subscribers. There would be no time if they

waited till after dinner, she said; the "Old Girls" who always came to

the Christmas Breaking-Up would surround Maddy, and leave no one else a

chance to speak to her.

So the Lower School, with the exception of its Head, surged towards the

kindergarten playroom, as soon as they left Queen's Hall, Joey only

pausing to seize the dispatch case, with the enormous list of names in

all hand-writings tied to its handle and fluttering out from it like a

great black and white banner, and to bring it along with her.

Miss Craigie had kept her promise faithfully. "Maddy" was there in

the kindergarten with her, rusty as to front, and shabby as to dress

as ever, but somehow younger, Joey thought, than she had been on that

dreadful day when Joey asked her to "amuse" the class with stories of

the Franco-Prussian War.

Maddy looked round, surprised, as the Lower School poured in, and made

a hasty movement towards the farther door. Maddy was known to loathe a

noise! But Miss Craigie held her arm firmly and gave her no opportunity

of flight. The Lower School fell into an immense horseshoe, in treble

rows, the little ones in front, then the next size, then the tallest.

Maddy and Miss Craigie were left inside.

Clare scuffled to the piano, and struck a chord, and the Lower School

crashed joyfully into the "Marseillaise," all singing at the tops of

their voices. Maddy bore it, though some of the pronunciation was, to

say the least of it, eccentric, and Rhoda Watson, who had about as much

music in her as a cow, was shrieking into her left ear half a tone flat

throughout.

Joey advanced the moment that the music stopped. "Please, Mademoiselle,

we learnt that for you," she said, "to show we're your friends, if

you'll have us, just as France and England are friends, for ever and

ever. We're frightfully sorry you're going away, and will you please

accept this dispatch case, with a lot of love from the Lower School?"

"That's the list of us," she added hastily, as the huge paper nearly

obscured the dispatch case altogether. "I'm sorry it's such an outsize,

but you see some of the kids write so large, and we all wanted to sign."

Mademoiselle de Lavernais took the dispatch case from Joey. There was

a queer look in her tired black eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Joey, I

would not have the paper smaller," she said.

She stood quite silent for a moment; then began to speak in her level

voice that had hardly a hint of foreign pronunciation about it.

"To say thank you is a little thing, to feel thanks warmly through you

is a bigger. I carry that warmth with me for the rest of my life--and

there was a time when I was not only glad because I was going back to

my own country, but because I was leaving Redlands. Now that is not so.

I leave Redlands with regret, but I shall carry in my heart the memory

of it, and of you all. And that is something to bring back with me to

a home from which a little girl, as young as Tiddles, was driven more

than fifty years ago. Now that I am so near going back, I dare again

allow myself to see the picture of the burning château, the flames

rising behind the trees, and my nursery a blackened shell, as the front

wall fell forward. I see my cot against the wall, my doll's house,

black with flaming edge ... myself crying pitifully, but at the same

time thankful to my father who permitted me to bury my cherished dolls

in the hole he had dug to preserve our heirlooms from the conquering

German. My father himself fired the château that no German should

pollute it, and went out homeless into the wide world, deserting all,

sooner than live under German rule. I kissed my little hands to my

beloved dolls, down in the garden mould, whispering, with the faith of

childhood, that I would soon come back and dig them up again. And after

one-and-fifty years I keep that promise. I go back alone, the last of

all my family, to the home of my childhood; but I shall not be lonely

in that I take with me the love of the Lower School."

* * * * *

After that came dinner, a hasty and somewhat noisy affair, when

mistresses made no particular effort to keep order, and no one talked

of anything but the Election.

Ingrid and Gabrielle came in rather late; Joey tried to catch

Gabrielle's eye and show her there was room to squeeze in between

herself and Noreen; but Gabrielle, looking flushed and excited, only

smiled at her in answer to the invitation, and sat down at the far end

of the table. And after dinner there was the scramble to dress, to the

tune of rumbling wheels and snorting cars, as the old girls and the

more ordinary visitors poured up in an unending stream.

Then the prize-giving--one side of the Queen's Hall entirely filled

with excited girls in best frocks, the other with visitors of all ages;

old girls conspicuous among them by their proprietary air.

The school list read, as it would stand with the beginning of the new

term, going from the babies in the kindergarten up to the high and

mighty Sixth. Noreen and Joey in Remove II. A. Gabrielle in the Upper

School, the youngest girl there by a whole year. Barbara heading Remove

II. B. Syb second. The prospects for the next term were great indeed,

with the junior hockey team colours for Joey and Noreen, to add to all

the rest.

Then the prize-giving--an armful to Gabrielle, but Remove II. B Maths.

for Joey, and composition to Noreen. They grudged nobody else anything

in the world after that, and Joey wanted nothing but that her people

should be there. Cousin Greta had 'phoned that Mums had business in

town last night, and would not come to Mote till to-day; but Joey

had never thought she would be late for the prize-giving. Still she

couldn't see the door from where she sat; Mums and Cousin Greta and

John and Gracie might be standing among the group there who had come

in late, and would not disturb the performance by moving about to find

seats.

Prize-giving on Old Girls' Day always concluded with the singing of

Newbolt's stirring verses, "The Best School of All," sung only by

collegers, past and present, standing. After that would come the great

announcement--the result of the Election for the coming year.

As the first bars were played there was a stir and a movement among the

audience. In little groups--in single state--people were standing up.

The years had rolled away from these; they were Redlanders again each

one of them, from shy Jean Hyde, who had only left last term, to old

Lady Rownham, quite blind and bent with rheumatism, but who would never

dream of forgetting that she had been a Redlands girl seventy years ago.

Visitors sat to listen to the great school song; old girls stood

to sing with the school, and for five blissful minutes forgot

everything--except that they were back at Redlands, and Redlands was

theirs, and they were Redlands' still.

Newbolt's splendid words rang out to their slow, grave marching tune.

"It's good to see the school we knew,

The land of youth and dream,

To greet again the rule we knew

Before we took the stream.

Though long we've missed the sight of her

Our hearts may not forget,

We've lost the old delight of her,

We'll keep her honour yet."

Girls and old girls had got into their swing by now; the great hall

rang!

"To speak of Fame a venture is,

There's little here may bide,

But we may face the centuries,

And dare the deepening tide.

For though the dust that's part of us

To dust again be gone,

Yet here shall beat the heart of us,

The school we handed on.

We'll honour yet the school we knew,

The best school of all,

We'll honour yet the rule we knew,

Till the last bell call.

For working-days and holidays,

And glad or melancholy days,

They were great days and jolly days,

At the best school of all."

Lady Rownham was singing with all her might, and a pathetic effort to

hold her slight stooping shoulders back; she had been Vicereine of

India forty years ago, but, excepting for that time, there had been

few years in which she had missed coming to the Old Girls' Day--and no

time when she had not been at Redlands in spirit. They had sung rather

cramped mid-Victorian words as the school song for many of those yearly

festivals that she had known; but in these very "Old Girls" had beat

the heart of the school none the less, though that earlier poet had

lacked the greatness of expression.

The last line swung out with triumphant fervour; the old girls sat

down. Miss Conyngham stood forward; on her right were the two retiring

officers, Ingrid and Gabrielle, one very tall, the other small and

childish looking. Amid an absolute silence from the assembled visitors

Miss Conyngham shook hands with each girl in turn. "We all thank you

for what you have done for the school throughout the year," she said.

At Redlands it was always the youngest girl at the school who called

the cheers. A huge Sixth Former had Tiddles ready beside the platform

and hoisted her on to it at the right moment. The mite faced the

audience unblinkingly, "Tree cheers for Ingrid Latimer! Tree cheers for

Gabrielle Arden!" she said in her tiny distinct voice. It did not reach

half the length of the hall, but everyone who had been at a "Redlands

speecher" knew what was meant by the appearance on the platform of

the youngest girl, and the cheers rang out with a will. Ingrid and

Gabrielle acknowledged them with a grave bow, and then turned and

walked off the platform and down to their respective places in the

hall, leaving only the youngest girl in the school to stand by Miss

Conyngham's side.

A sealed envelope lay before the Head upon the table. She took it up in

her long slim fingers.

"I have now to announce the result of the Election," she said, speaking

slowly and clearly, so that her voice reached every corner of the great

hall. "I do not need to remind our old girls what that election means

to Redlands; it is the visible expression of perfect trust; it means

that in the girl chosen to govern the Upper or the Lower School the

other girls feel they have someone in whose hands can be safely placed

the honour of the school. It is a great trust and a great privilege:

the heads of the Upper and Lower School are my right hand, and in their

choice I have never found the school's judgment in fault. The great

Election took place this morning; the results were checked by the

retiring officers and two mistresses, and the successful names handed

to me in this envelope, which I now propose to unseal before you all."

She ripped it open and spread out the paper it contained.

A pin could have been heard to drop as she gave out the result of the

Election.

"Head of the Upper School--_Joan Chichester_. Head of the Lower

School--_Jocelyn Graham_."

Joey sitting fizzling with excitement between Noreen and Barbara nearly

fell off her form in sheer unbelieving amazement.

"What! it's not me that's it," she whispered frantically, with a lack

of grammar that would have horrified Mr. Craigie away at Calgarloch.

Noreen gave her a friendly push. "You're not deaf are you, you juggins.

Of course it's you. I thought it might be and I'm jolly glad. I voted

for you anyway, and so did Syb and Barbara."

Joey feverishly squeezed a hand of both her neighbours. "You are

dears!" she said unsteadily.

Ingrid looked round, the Head of the Upper School still, for all she

had resigned her dignities. "No talking there!"

"The newly elected officers will come on to the platform," said Miss

Conyngham.

Joey arrived on the platform, still feeling rather giddy, and as though

she must be someone else, and Miss Conyngham pinned to her frock the

little gold star brooch that was her badge of office, and then shook

hands.

"I congratulate you, Jocelyn. I think the honour is well earned; I know

it will be treated faithfully."

She turned from Joey to Joan Chichester, and invested her. Joey ought

to have been standing at attention by that enormous and distinguished

personage, whom it was so astounding to think about as the colleague to

whom in the future one would say "we." But she was not doing what she

ought. From the platform she could see the group by the door, and what

she saw put everything else out of her head for the minute--even this

wonderful new dignity.

Cousin Greta was there, with Colonel Sturt and Gracie, the latter

looking far less superior; and John, jolly and cheery as ever,

and leaning on one crutch only instead of two. And beside them

Mums, and a tall khaki figure, worn and thin and hollow-eyed; but

unmistakable--_Father!_

Their eyes met; it was only by a supreme effort that Joey forced

herself to stand still on the platform and listen to the wonderful

things that Miss Conyngham was saying about her.

"To Collegers past and present the election of the Heads of the Upper

and Lower School is of supreme importance," she said. "The splendid

record of Joan Chichester is well known to us all; we have no doubt as

to her fitness for the honour accorded her by Redlands. Jocelyn Graham

is a new girl this term, and never before in the history of Redlands

has this honour been conferred on a new girl. I am glad that Redlands

has broken its tradition in that respect. A great opportunity came

to Jocelyn Graham six weeks ago--and she showed herself able to meet

it. We are proud of her at Redlands, and believe that in her lives

the spirit that has always actuated the Heads of the Upper and Lower

School--the spirit which has set our school where it is: a name to be

honoured wherever in the world a Redlands girl is found."

The big Sixth Former did not need to touch little Tiddles on this

occasion; she was ready.

"Tree cheers for the new Heads of the Upper and Lower School!"

They finished at last, though Noreen, the experienced, declared that

there never had been such cheering at Redlands, and Joey could dive

through the throng, moving teawards, to her people.

Father had come to town last night, and Mums, to whom the wonderful

news that Jean Corvette's Major Graham was the right one, had been

wired as soon as it was a certainty, and who had met him there. They

hadn't wired to Joey, because Mums, who knew what was going to happen

on that last day, thought the excitement would be upsetting, and she

had better know nothing till Father was there.

"Though it was a shame, when it all came about through you, Joey," Mums

said.

"Isn't it funny?" Joey remarked blissfully. "It's like the house that

Jack built--all going back and back. If I hadn't wanted the scholarship

I wouldn't have come to Redlands, and if Miss Craigie hadn't had 'flu,'

I should have travelled with her, and Noreen wouldn't have ragged

me about the Lab, and I shouldn't have found out about the violet

handkerchief, and if Gracie had been like she is now, John wouldn't

have taught me signalling, and I shouldn't have come back alone, and if

Noreen and Gabrielle hadn't been such bricks and waited for me at the

reservoir...."

"Yes," interrupted Father, "and if my eldest daughter hadn't been out

to keep her promise like an Englishman and take care of Mums, I suppose

she wouldn't have fagged for the scholarship, and then there would have

been no beginning, middle,--or very glorious end."

THE END

A Bookful of Girls

By Anna Fuller

_With 6 Illustrations. 1 Volume. 12^o_

Six stories by the clever author of _Pratt Portraits_--_Blythe

Halliday's Voyage_--_Artful Madge_--_The Ideas of Polly_--_Nannie's

Theatre Party_--_Olivia's Sun-dial_--_Bagging a Grandfather_.

One of the pleasantest things about these girls of Miss Fuller's--and

very pleasant girls they are--is that each one is too intent upon

what she is about to give much thought to herself. Indeed the

single-heartedness with which Madge, for instance, pursues her art, and

Di her grandfather, is so refreshing that the reader, young or old,

feels a sense of personal elation in the happy outcome.

G. P. Putnam's Sons

New York London

A College Girl

By Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey Author of "Betty Trevor," etc.

_12^o, Illustrated_

The sweet and forceful story of the life of Darsie Garnett from the

time she is fifteen, until she blossoms out, a full-fledged graduate of

Newnham College.

G. P. Putnam's Sons

New York London

Betty Trevor

By Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

Author of "A College Girl," "An Unknown Lover," "Lady Cassandra," etc.

_12^o. Seven Illustrations_

"Betty Trevor is as sweet as two peaches and as wholesome as perfect

wheat ... a romance from first to last delightfully told. Mrs. Vaizey

is no novice in love, but never has she written a love story more vivid

with that quality that endears it to both young and old."

_Philadelphia Record._

G. P. Putnam's Sons

New York London

End of Project Gutenberg's Head of the Lower School, by Dorothea Mary Moore