"Pam's playing," Prue declared excitedly to Meggie. "They've given in."
Though Prue had followed Monica's advice and had not divulged the hiding-place of the sticks to any of her other followers, of course they all knew by now that she was one of the instigators of the plot. There was no need for any more secrecy. Very soon the facts would be known to the whole school, so she and Meggie lost no time in satisfying the curiosity of their companions and related the story to an admiring and appreciative audience—and with a considerable amount of complacency on the part of the narrators.
Going to their study directly after breakfast the next morning Madge and Deirdre found another sheet of dirty notepaper lying conspicuously on the table, and quickly read the following message:
ALLTHO THE SWIMING BARF IS CLOSED AT THE END OF SEPT. NO DOUT MOST OF THE HOKKEY XI ARE IN NEAD OF A GOOD WASHE.
ONE HOO NOES.
Madge's face was a study. The slower-witted Deirdre merely looked dazed.
"Well, if we aren't a set of prize idiots!" spluttered Madge at last. "No one ever thought of looking in the swimming-bath. That's where our sticks are. Just because it's been closed and locked up for the winter, we didn't give it a thought. Besides, who would dream of hiding anything in a swimming-bath! And we went so near—we searched the gardeners' shed and looked under all the cabbages!" For a moment conflicting emotions struggled for the mastery, then her sense of humour prevailed and she burst into a roar of laughter. Deirdre, recovering from her bewilderment, followed her companion's example, for nothing is more infectious than laughter; and the two girls sat and rocked till the tears rolled down their cheeks.
"How are we going to get them?" asked Deirdre, wiping the tears from her eyes. "The baths are locked up now."
"Miss Cazalet has the key," Madge replied. "She is better and is getting up to-day. We'll ask her for the key and tell her the whole story. She'll enjoy the joke immensely, I know. To think how we searched every impossible chink and cranny in the building, where one couldn't hide a pencil, let alone a hockey stick!" And Madge went off into a fresh gale of laughter.
The swimming-bath, which was situated in the farthest corner of the grounds and certainly in rather a remote spot, was duly entered—and there were all the missing sticks, lying just as they had been dropped in the deepest end of the white-tiled tank. Each owner seized her own particular stick with a delightful feeling of familiarity at holding a much-tried and well-known weapon in her hands once again. The grey rain clouds had lifted, the rain had stopped and the rays of the sun were flooding the watery fields with pale but welcome light. With joyous cheers, and feeling as if they had been let out of prison, the girls made a bee-line for the hockey field and, unhindered by the fact that the rain had long since washed out all the marks, were soon waging a pitched battle with tremendous enthusiasm and energy.