‘It couldn’t be one of my kids,’ said the teacher, ‘they’re not angels, but I can’t see any of them doing this.’
Headmaster Fourmile ran his fingers through his hair, thoroughly rattled. ‘Well, someone stole them, and I’m damn well certain it wasn’t one of us.’
A wooden board housing the keys to every door in the building hung on the wall behind the headmaster’s desk. Only the wiliest of students dare walk into his office uninvited, so the culprit had to be one of his ‘regulars,’ one of the kids who had made a career out of flouting the rules he bombarded them with at every school assembly. He flipped through his detention log, skipping ahead without hesitation to the older students; specifically the boys. A younger child wouldn’t possibly have had the gumption to try it, and girls just didn’t possess the cunning. Mr Gannet, the maintenance man, appeared in the doorway, arms folded.
‘Sorry, John; you may as well go home. I’ll have a locksmith out as soon as I can.’
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