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Fogerty put out her hands to grasp his shoulders before he should butt her to the ground.
    The child looked up at her, wide-eyed. He looked awestricken.
    'Miss Watson called me up to her window, miss, and says you're to go over there.'
    'Very well,' said Miss Fogerty, calmly. 'There's no need to get so excited. Take off your coat and hang it up. You can go to your room now.'
    The child continued to gaze at her.
    'But, miss,' he blurted out, 'Miss Watson–she–she's still in her nightdress and the clock's struck nine.'

    Miss Watson's appearance when she opened the side door alarmed Miss Fogerty quite as much as it had the small boy.
    Her nightdress was decently covered by a red dressing-gown,
but her face was drawn with pain and she swayed dizzily against the door jamb.

    'What has happened?' exclaimed Miss Fogerty, entering the house.
    Miss Watson closed the door and leant heavily against it.
    'I've been attacked–hit on the head,' said Miss Watson. She sounded dazed and vaguely surprised. A hand went fumbling among her untidy grey locks and Miss Fogerty, much shocked, put her hand under her headmistress's elbow to steady her.
    'Come and sit down. I'll ring Doctor Lovel. He'll be at home now. Tell me what happened.'
    'I can't walk,' answered Miss Watson, leaning on Miss Fogerty's frail shoulder. 'I seem to have sprained my ankle as I fell. It is most painful.'
    She held out a bare leg, and certainly the ankle was misshapen and much swollen. Purplish patches were already forming and Miss Fogerty knew from her first-aid classes that she should really be applying hot and cold water in turn to the damaged joint. But could poor Miss Watson, in her present state of shock, stand such treatment? She helped the younger woman to the kitchen, put her on a chair and looked round for the kettle.
    'There's nothing like a cup of tea, dear,' she said comfortingly, as she filled it. 'With plenty of sugar.'
    Miss Watson shuddered but made no reply. Her assistant switched on the kettle and surveyed her headmistress anxiously. Her usual feeling of respect, mingled with a little fear, had been replaced by the warmest concern. For the first time in their acquaintanceship Miss Fogerty was in charge.
    'The door-bell rang about half-past five, I suppose,' began Miss Watson hesitantly. 'It was still dark. I leant out of the bedroom window and there was a man waiting there who said there had been a car crash and could he telephone.'
    'What did he look like?" asked Miss Fogerty.

    'I couldn't see. I said I'd come down. I put on my dressing-gown and slippers and opened the front door—' She broke off suddenly, and took a deep breath. Miss Fogerty was smitten by the look of horror on her headmistress's face.
    'Don't tell me, my dear, if it upsets you. There's really no need.' She patted the red dressing-gown soothingly, but Miss Watson pulled herself together and continued.
    'He'd tied a black scarf, or a stocking, or something over his face, and I could only see his eyes between that and his hat brim. He had a thick stick of some kind–quite short–in his hand, and he said something about this being a hold-up, or a stick-up or some term I really didn't understand. I bent forward to see if I could recognise him–there was something vaguely familiar about him, the voice perhaps–and then he hit me on the side of my head—' Poor Miss Watson faltered and her eyes filled with tears at the memory of that vicious blow.
    The kettle's lid began rattling merrily and Miss Fogerty, clucking sympathetically, began to make the tea.
    'I seem to remember him pushing past me. I'd crumpled on to the door mat and I remember a fearful pain, but whether it was my head or my ankle, I don't really know. When I came round again the door was shut and he'd vanished. It was beginning to get light then.'
    'Why didn't you get help before?' asked Miss Fogerty. 'It must have been about seven o'clock then. He will have got clear by now.'
    'I was so