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."