"Ah, de Belgian baby dat fear me," said the Professor, showing his teeth in a curious smile. "It is a strange idea you schoolgirls have of me, n'est-ce pas? To one I am an expert signaller—to another a fierce ogre."
"We all think you were frightfully decent though to square it with Miss Conyngham," Joey said, with conviction. "Do you know we are all going to the match—all the school! It's never been known before."
"Yes, I know dat," the Professor said. "You all go, mistresses and all at 1.15; except for you."
"Did you know I was going to my cousin's?" Joey asked surprised. She had never thought Professor Trouville would take half so much interest in what the schoolgirls did. He had never seemed to think anything about them, except that they were very stupid at chemistry.
However, she had no time for wondering. "Please, where would you like me to start tidying?" she asked, looking round the big, untidy place.
The Professor was bending over something on the table—a little square wooden box, into which he appeared to be fitting a small glass tube with care. He did not even look up.
"I need many bottles from the closet," he said.
"Shall I get them?" asked Joey politely.
She dived into the innermost recesses of the closet. As she did so she heard quick steps across the floor, and the closet door slammed, making the place quite dark.