, and I came downstairs here and did
her practising for her, while she explored the secret passage and did
a little shopping on her own account in the village."

"Then it was you, and not Raymonde, whom we saw sitting at the piano!"
exclaimed Veronica.

Violet nodded.

"Exactly so! I guessed I was going to be found out, and daren't turn
my head when you spoke."

"Did you see the notes put into the drawer?" enquired Miss Beasley.

"No, but I saw them afterwards, lying just on the top of some other
papers. I locked the drawer before I left the room, and put the bunch
of keys inside the pocket of Raymonde's dress, which I had on. I meant
to tell her about it, but I forgot. She was in such a hurry when she
came back, and said she'd be late for prep., so we each scrambled into
our own clothes, and she tore off downstairs, and I went home."

"This, unfortunately, does not bring us any nearer to the solution of
the puzzle--what has become of the notes?" said Miss Beasley.

"Raymonde couldn't have spent them in the village, when she had gone
out before they were put there!" ventured Veronica.

"And I certainly didn't abscond with them!" declared Violet. "Though I
really believe Ray thinks so. Confess you do, old sport!"

Raymonde blushed crimson.

"I thought you'd taken them for a joke," she said in a low voice.

"Is that why you refused to explain?" interposed the Principal
quickly. "You were afraid of getting your friend into trouble?"

"Yes, Miss Beasley."

"But what's become of the wretched notes?" asked Violet; "They must be
somewhere. Have you looked properly through this old bureau? I know
these queer shallow drawers by experience, and things sometimes slip
over the backs of them. Have you had the drawer right out? It's stuck,
has it? Oh, it probably only wants a good pull! Lend me your key! Here
goes!"

Violet exerted all her strength in a mighty tug, and the drawer
tumbled out with a jerk. She put in her hand and felt about in the
space behind. There was a large hole in the back of the bureau, and
her fingers went through it into a cavity in the wall.

"There's something queer here!" she exclaimed, drawing out a round
ball of shreds of paper. "Mrs. Mouse's nursery, if I don't mistake!
Sorry to intrude, but we'll take a peep at the children!"

Very gingerly she pulled aside the torn pieces of paper, and disclosed
to view four little atoms not much bigger than bluebottles.

"Baby mice!" squealed the