II
In a small room on the first floor, Ann Shapland, Miss Bulstrode’s secretary, was typing withspeed and efficiency. Ann was a nice-looking young woman of thirty-five, with hair that fitted herlike a black satin cap. She could be attractive when she wanted to be but life had taught her thatefficiency and competence¹ often paid better results and avoided painful complications. At themoment she was concentrating on being everything that a secretary to the headmistress of afamous girls’ school should be.
From time to time, as she inserted a fresh sheet in her machine, she looked out of the windowand registered interest in the arrivals.
“Goodness!” said Ann to herself, awed², “I didn’t know there were so many chauffeurs³ left inEngland!”
Then she smiled in spite of herself, as a majestic⁵ Rolls moved away and a very small Austin ofbattered age drove up. A harassed-looking father emerged from it with a daughter who looked farcalmer than he did.
As he paused uncertainly, Miss Vansittart emerged from the house and took charge.
“Major Hargreaves? And this is Alison? Do come into the house. I’d like you to see Alison’sroom for yourself. I—”
Ann grinned and began to type again.
“Good old Vansittart, the glorified⁶ understudy,” she said to herself. “She can copy all theBulstrode’s tricks. In fact she’s word perfect!”
An enormous and almost incredibly opulent Cadillac, painted in two tones, raspberry fool andazure blue, swept (with difficulty owing to its length) into the drive and drew up behind Major theHon. Alistair Hargreaves’ ancient Austin.
The chauffeur⁴ sprang to open the door, an immense bearded, dark-skinned man, wearing aflowing aba, stepped out, a Parisian fashion plate followed and then a slim dark girl.
That’s probably Princess Whatshername herself, thought Ann. Can’t imagine her in schooluniform, but I suppose the miracle will be apparent tomorrow….
Both Miss Vansittart and Miss Chadwick appeared on this occasion.

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