"Noreen, will you promise, honour! not to go telling Miss Conyngham you were the one till after Prep at least?" poor Joey urged in desperation. "Oh, do promise, Noreen." "What's the good of waiting, you cuckoo?" "Oh, the real girl might speak--or I might find a way out." "The cheek of you! Because you got a scholarship, you think...." "Oh, talk sense, Noreen; of course I don't. Only I might find a way. Promise!" "Righto. Till after Prep, then, but not a minute longer. Understand." Noreen disengaged her arm, and departed hastily. Joey stood still considering. Everything that was in her revolted against Noreen's plan; and yet what was there to do? Even her inherent hopefulness found it hard to believe that the culprit would come forward at this eleventh hour, and if she didn't--the guests of the Team were all held up for the match, and the gating of the whole College might go on for an indefinite period--possibly even to the end of the term. Joey had herself already realised the practical drawbacks of the punishment: she had received a particularly kind letter from Cousin Greta asking her for the day next Sunday, and Miss Conyngham had said, "Write and decline." Of course it was nothing in comparison with the match; still, now Cousin Greta had been so nice and understanding about her reprehensible proceedings on the former visit, she would have quite liked to go again. Besides, she wanted to ask John about the Professor's signalling. And yet to allow Noreen to tell a lie and accuse herself of an act of unforgivable meanness--that couldn't be right. Joey looked up at the Lab; if only the Professor had not been so wide awake that night! She supposed he was quite sure of what he saw; after all, it was a very dark night. And then there came to Joey the bold thought of going to ask the Professor if he were really quite sure. He was in the Lab; she could see his head moving between wall and window, and there would be just time before the bell rang for Prep. Joey made one dart for the steps, and hammered at the door. "Please, it's not anyone come to worry you when you're busy," she called out. "I'm Joey Graham, and I want to ask something dreadfully important, but it will only take about half a sec." There were steps inside the Lab; a key turned, the door opened. The Professor stood there before her, dressed in the long white linen coat he wore when he was working. The violet handkerchief protruded from one pocket. "May I come in just a moment?" Joey asked humbly. "I want to ask you...." "I am very busy," the Professor told her, in no very promising voice. "Well, but it's frightfully important," Joey tumbled out in desperate haste for fear he should shut the door in her face. "If I could help you clearing up or anything like that after, to make up for wasting your time now, I would like a shot if you'd let me, but...."