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Theresa?
    Miss Hodge took the broom out of Nan’s unresisting hands and propped it neatly behind the door. “Sit down, all of you,” she said. She was very put out. She had intended to come quietly into a nice quiet classroom and galvanize 6B by confronting them with her scheme. And here they were galvanized already, and with a witch’s broom. There was clearly no chance of catching the writer of the note or the witch by surprise. Still, she did not like to let a good scheme go to waste.
    “I thought we would have a change today,” she said, when everyone was settled. “Our poetry book doesn’t seem to be going down very well, does it?” She looked brightly round the class; 6B looked back cautiously. Some of them felt anything would be better than being asked to find poems beautiful. Some of them felt it depended on what Miss Hodge intended to do instead. Of the rest, Nan was trying not to cry, Brian was licking a scratch on his arm, and Charles was glowering. Charles liked poetry because the lines were so short. You could think your own thoughts in the spaces around the print.
    “Today,” said Miss Hodge, “I want you all to do something yourselves.”
    Everyone recoiled. Estelle put her hand up. “Please, Miss Hodge. I don’t know how to write poems.”
    “Oh, I don’t want you to do that,” said Miss Hodge. Everyone relaxed. “I want you to act out some little plays for me.” Everyone recoiled again. Miss Hodge took no notice and explained that she was going to call them out to the front in pairs, a boy and a girl in each, and every pair was going to act out the same short scene. “That way,” she said, “we shall have fifteen different pocket dramas.” By this time, most of 6B were staring at her in wordless despair. Miss Hodge smiled around them and prepared to galvanize them. Really, she thought, her scheme might go quite well after all. “Now, we must choose a subject for our playlets. It has to be something strong and striking, with passionate possibilities. Suppose we act a pair of lovers saying good-bye?” Somebody groaned, as Miss Hodge had known somebody would. “Very well. Who has a suggestion?”
    Theresa’s hand was up, and Dan Smith’s.
    “A television star and her admirer,” said Theresa.
    “A murderer and a policeman making him confess,” said Dan. “Are we allowed to torture?”
    “No, we are not,” said Miss Hodge, at which Dan lost interest. “Anyone else?”
    Nirupam raised a long thin arm. “A salesman deceiving a lady over a car.”
    Well, Miss Hodge thought, she had not really expected anyone to make a suggestion that would give them away. She pretended to consider. “We-ell, so far the most dramatic suggestion is Dan’s. But I had in mind something really tense, which we all know about quite well.”
    “We all know about murder,” Dan protested.
    “Yes,” said Miss Hodge. She was watching everyone like a hawk now. “But we know even more about stealing, say, or lying, or witchcraft, or—” She let herself notice the broomstick again, with a start of surprise. It came in handy after all. “I know! Let us suppose that one of the people in our little play is suspected of being a witch, and the other is an inquisitor. How about that?”
    Nothing. Not a soul in 6B reacted, except Dan. “That’s the same as my idea,” he grumbled. “And it’s no fun without torture.”
    Miss Hodge made Dan into suspect number one at once. “Then you begin, Dan,” she said, “with Theresa. Which are you, Theresa—witch or inquisitor?”
    “Inquisitor, Miss Hodge,” Theresa said promptly.
    “It’s not fair!” said Dan. “I don’t know what witches do!”
    Nor did he, it was clear. And it was equally clear that Theresa had no more idea what inquisitors did. They stood woodenly by the blackboard. Dan stared at the ceiling, while Theresa stated, “You are a witch.” Whereupon Dan told the ceiling, “No I am not.” And they went on doing this until Miss Hodge told