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them to stop. Regretfully, she demoted Dan from first suspect to last, and put Theresa down there with him, and called up the next pair.
    Nobody behaved suspiciously. Most people’s idea was to get the acting over as quickly as possible. Some argued a little, for the look of the thing. Others tried running about to make things seem dramatic. And first prize for brevity certainly went to Simon Silverson and Karen Grigg. Simon said, “I know you’re a witch, so don’t argue.”
    And Karen replied, “Yes, I am. I give in. Let’s stop now.”
    By the time it came to Nirupam, Miss Hodge’s list of suspects was all bottom and no top. Then Nirupam put on a terrifying performance as inquisitor. His eyes blazed. His voice alternately roared and fell to a sinister whisper. He pointed fiercely at Estelle’s face. “Look at your evil eyes!” he bellowed. Then he whispered, “I see you, I feel you, I know you—you are a witch!” Estelle was so frightened that she gave a real performance of terrified innocence. But Brian Wentworth’s performance as a witch outshone even Nirupam. Brian wept, he cringed, he made obviously false excuses, and he ended kneeling at Delia Martin’s feet, sobbing for mercy and crying real tears.
    Everyone was astonished, including Miss Hodge. She would dearly have liked to put Brian at the top of her list of suspects, as either the witch or the one who wrote the note. But how bothersome for her plans if she had to go to Mr. Wentworth and say it was Brian. No, she decided. There was no genuine feeling in Brian’s performance, and the same went for Nirupam. They were both just good actors.
    Then it was the turn of Charles and Nan. Charles had seen it coming for some time now, that he would be paired with Nan. He was very annoyed. He seemed to be haunted by her today. But he did not intend to let that stop his performance from being a triumph of comic acting. He was depressed by the lack of invention everyone except Nirupam had shown. Nobody had thought of making the inquisitor funny. “I’ll be inquisitor,” he said quickly.
    But Nan was still smarting from the broomstick. She thought Charles was getting at her and glared at him. Charles, on principle, never let anyone glare at him without giving his nastiest double-barreled stare in return. So they shuffled to the front of the class looking daggers at one another.
    There Charles beat at his forehead. “Emergency!” he exclaimed. “There are no witches for the autumn bonfires. I shall have to find an ordinary person instead.” He pointed at Nan. “You’ll do,” he said. “Starting from now, you’re a witch.”
    Nan had not realized that the acting had begun. Besides, she was too hurt and angry to care. “Oh, no, I’m not!” she snapped. “Why shouldn’t you be the witch?”
    “Because I can prove you’re a witch,” Charles said, trying to stick to his part. “Being an inquisitor, I can prove anything.”
    “In that case,” said Nan, angrily ignoring the fine acting, “we’ll both be inquisitors, and I’ll prove you’re a witch too! Why not? You have four of the most evil eyes I ever saw. And your feet smell.”
    All eyes turned to Charles’s feet. Since he had been forced to run around the field in the shoes he was wearing now, they were still rather wet. And, being warmed through, they were indeed exuding a small but definite smell.
    “Cheese,” murmured Simon Silverson.
    Charles looked angrily down at his shoes. Nan had reminded him that he was in trouble over his missing running shoes. And she had spoiled his acting. He hated her. He was in an ecstasy of hate again. “Worms and custard and dead mice!” he said. Everyone stared at him, mystified. “Tinned peas soaked in sewage!” Charles said, beside himself with hatred. “Potatoes in scum. I’m not surprised your name’s Dulcinea. It suits you. You’re quite disgusting!”
    “And so are you!” Nan shouted back at him. “I bet it was you who did those birds