“Yes, Miss Woodhull.”
“Then reply at once.”
“I found it in the south wing,” she said hesitatingly.
“Ah!” The word was exhaled triumphantly. “In the lower end of that wing?”
“Yes, Miss Woodhull.”
“Near Suite 10?”
She recalled the tall, acrobatic visitor of All Saints’ Eve. She had always suspected Beverly and her suspicions had been confirmed when Admiral Ashby asked her to sanction visits from Athol and Archie. “You did quite right to come to me with this letter. It is far too serious a matter to be dealt with by my subordinates. I highly commend your discretion. I shall sift the matter to the bottom.”
Eleanor winced. That “sifting” might change from a small affair to a large one, as a snowball may grow into an avalanche. Then she said with well-assumed contrition, “Oh, Miss Woodhull, I would not for the world accuse anyone. It may be just fun——”
“There is no element of fun in such a letter as this, and absolutely no humor. I have realized for some time that a decided atmosphere was being created in this school, but have been unable to discover its origin, and this,” giving the letter the vicious shake a terrier would give a rat, “may prove the touchstone. I need hardly enjoin absolute secrecy upon your part. You have already proved your discretion. If you make any further discoveries you will, of course, come to me at once. By-the-way, when did you find the letter?”