Owing to the influential connections at Meadowbank the murder of Miss Springer had been played down very tactfully in the Press. It had become a sad fatality rather than a mysterious murder. The impression was given, though not said, that possibly some young thugs had broken into the Sports Pavilion and that Miss Springer’s death had been more accident than design. It was reported vaguely that several young men had been asked to come to the police station and ‘assist the police’. Miss Bulstrode herself was anxious to mitigate any unpleasant impression that might have been given to these two influential patrons of the school. She knew that they wanted to discuss the veiled hint that she had thrown out of her coming retirement. Both the duchess and Henry Banks were anxious to persuade her to remain on. Now was the time, Miss Bulstrode felt, to push the claims of Eleanor Vansittart, to point out what a splendid person she was, and how well fitted to carry on the traditions of Meadowbank.

On Saturday morning Miss Bulstrode was just finishing off her correspondence with Ann Shapland when the telephone rang. Ann answered it.

‘It’s the Emir Ibrahim, Miss Bulstrode. He’s arrived at Claridge’s and would like to take Shaista out tomorrow.’

Miss Bulstrode took the receiver from her and had a brief conversation with the Emir’s equerry. Shaista would be ready any time from eleven-thirty onwards on Sunday morning, she said. The girl must be back at the school by eight p.m.

She rang off and said:

‘I wish Orientals sometimes gave you a little more warning. It has been arranged for Shaista to go out with Giselle d’Aubray tomorrow. Now that will have to be cancelled. Have we finished all the letters?’

‘Yes, Miss Bulstrode.’

‘Good, then I can go off with a clear conscience. Type them and send them off, and then you, too, are free for the weekend. I shan’t want you until lunch time on Monday.’

‘Thank you, Miss Bulstrode.’

‘Enjoy yourself, my dear.’

‘I’m going to,’ said Ann.

‘Young man?’

‘Well—yes.’ Ann coloured a little. ‘Nothing serious, though.’

‘Then there ought to be. If you’re going to marry, don’t leave it too late.’

‘Oh this is only an old friend. Nothing exciting.’

‘Excitement,’ said Miss Bulstrode warningly, ‘isn’t always a good foundation for married life. Send Miss Chadwick to me, will you?’

Miss Chadwick bustled in.

‘The Emir Ibrahim, Shaista’s uncle, is taking her out tomorrow Chaddy. If he comes himself, tell him she is making good progress.’

‘She’s not very bright,’ said Miss Chadwick.

‘She’s immature intellectually,’ agreed Miss Bulstrode. ‘But she has a remarkably mature mind in other ways. Sometimes, when you talk to her, she might be a woman of twenty-five. I suppose it’s because of the sophisticated life she’s led. Paris, Teheran, Cairo, Istanbul and all the rest of it. In this country we’re inclined to keep our children too young. We account it a merit when we say: “She’s still quite a child.” It isn’t a merit. It’s a grave handicap in life.’