Cordelia leaned over the edge of the balcony. Suddenly she sat upright and said, “Hey, Lindsay, there’s something going on down there.” Lindsay followed her pointing finger and saw Margaret Macdonald rushing up the hall, looking agitated. The velvet curtains were still swinging with the speed of her passage. She headed straight for Pamela Overton and whispered in her ear. The headmistress immediately rose to her feet and the two women hurried off backstage.

“Well, well! I wonder what that’s all about? Something more serious than sneaking a cigarette in the loos, by the look of it.” As Cordelia spoke, the bell rang signaling the end of the interval, and the audience began to return to the hall. Meanwhile, Miss Macdonald came scuttling back through the hall, gathering Chris Jackson and another mistress on her way.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” mused Cordelia. At that moment, Pamela Overton emerged on to the stage. So strong was her presence that, as she stepped toward the microphone, a hush fell on the hall. Then she spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am deeply sorry to have to tell you that Lorna Smith-Couper will be unable to perform this evening as there has been an accident. I must ask you all to be patient with us and to remain in your seats for the time being. I regret to inform you that we must wait for the police.” She left the stage abruptly and at once the shocked silence gave way to a rumble of conversation.

Lindsay looked at Cordelia, who had gone pale. When she met Lindsay’s eye, she pulled herself together and said, “Looks like someone couldn’t stand any more of the unlovely Lorna.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Lindsay, you’re the journalist. What sort of ‘accident’ means you have to stay put till the police get here? Don’t you ever read any Agatha Christie?”

Lindsay could not think of anything to say. Around them, the girls chattered excitedly. Then Paddy came down the gallery to the two women. Her skin looked gray and old, and she was breathing rapidly and shallowly. She put her head close to theirs and spoke softly.

“You’d better get backstage and see Pamela Overton, Lindsay. We’ve got a real scoop for you. Murder in the music room. Someone has garroted Lorna with what looks very like a cello string. Pamela reckons we should keep an eye on our journalist. You’ve been summoned.”

Lindsay was already on her feet as Cordelia exclaimed, “What?”

“You heard,” said Paddy, collapsing into Lindsay’s seat, head in hands. “No reason to worry now, Cordelia. Dead women don’t sue.”

6