Of course, German spies used to signal in wartime, but then the Professor wasn't German: his name was French, and the look of him was more French than German, and he spoke with a French accent, and, most important proof of all, he had laughed and been quite genial about the play, instead of giving himself away as Hamlet's uncle had done. Besides, English people had settled they wouldn't have Huns creeping in among them again, and though Colonel Sturt had seemed to think they might be doing it, Cousin Greta had not agreed with him. Joey set to work to see if she could remember the signalling; if the Professor were really keen on it, and went on being in the pleasant temper he had shown to-night, perhaps she might ask him some questions. Dash, dash, dash, dot, dot. She went through the alphabet; there were no letters like that; then it must be a numeral. John had taught those as well. The long numerals were the ones he had insisted on, because he thought it made things so slow to have to signal f--i--before you sent a numeral. Dot, dot, dot, dash, dash--Joey had it: it was three. And immediately after it--a pause between--dot, dash, dash, dash, dash--31. Thirty-one. That had been all. The other signal had been an answer, and that was a good deal more puzzling. For surely dot, dash, dash, dash, stood for J and dot-dash for A, and yet Ja had no sense. Joey supposed she must have forgotten the alphabet, and went to sleep at last, trying to remember. The play influenced her dreams more strongly than the signalling. It acted itself again through her sleep, only it refused to act itself straightforwardly. Everything and everyone seemed to stick and repeat, including Noreen--so ready of tongue. Her German, which Joey, who had never learnt any, had so admired last night, had quite deserted her; the only word she seemed able to make use of was _Ja_. No "Tod und Teufels." No "Ach Himmels." She said, "Ja! ja!" and that was all, and then the dressing-bell sounded, and Clara the housemaid came in with a clatter of cans, and it was morning. Joey was sleepy, and did not get up till the last possible minute; and then it meant a frantic scramble to get dressed in time, and no chance of talking to the others. As it was, she was just a moment late, but grace had not yet been said, for the girls were still standing round the tables, so she hoped to escape the order mark which was her due. She slid noiselessly into her place, and then became aware that Miss Conyngham was speaking--Miss Conyngham, who never appeared at breakfast, but had it in a stately manner, befitting Head Mistresses, in her own room. She was standing at the top of the long centre table, where Ingrid and other great seniors sat, and there was a little line drawn between her eyebrows, as though she were worried. She was evidently in the middle of a sentence. Joey listened, trying to make out what it was all about.