She held out the handkerchief—a small blue-bordered one, rather grubby. Joey's name, in Mums' marking-ink, stared up at her from one corner. It was certainly hers—it was, in fact, the handkerchief she had used last night; she remembered drying her hands with it after helping Barbara to carry the cauldron of boiling water across the stage. She had thrust it back into her sleeve, she remembered, when Noreen demanded she should tell the audience how many syllables the charade had.
"Yes; it's mine all right—but I don't know how it got there," she said, staring at it.
"Is there anything that you would like to say to me quite alone?" Miss Conyngham asked her.
"You don't think I went to the Lab when I've said I didn't? I don't tell lies," Joey flared.
"No, I believe your word of honour, Jocelyn," Miss Conyngham said, and she looked very straight at the Professor.
Joey heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that's all right. Thanks awfully. Do you want me any more, Miss Conyngham, or can I go now? For Noreen and Gabby are frightfully keen to hear about the things I saw last night."
She turned to the Professor. "I say, were you walking round the place all the time between ten and twelve? You must have got wet! If it had been one of us, we'd have caught it from Matron for staying out in the rain."
"What do you talk of? I picked up the handkerchief, suspecting not-ting, and returned to the Lodge," the Professor said annihilatingly. "It was not till I visit the Laboratory to make a leetle experiment this morning, that I find my eyes haf not deceive me—and then I looked at the name on the handkerchief, and learn who do me this injury."
"I've told Miss Conyngham I didn't go into the Lab," Joey declared, growing angry in her turn. "I haven't been near the place since you were so frightfully cross with me for tidying the day I came. And you needn't be surprised that I thought you were walking about all that time, for you were there at twelve, when you were signalling. I saw you. I dare say you came back to do it—only, it was a natural thing for me to think, wasn't it?—not rudeness, like doubting a person's word. I'm sorry if I've been rude, though; and I think you signal splendidly—so jolly fast. I couldn't keep up with you."
The Professor made a contemptuous gesture with his hands, stained and blunted at the fingertips.