The Poisoned Arrow (14 page)

The head teacher looked like he’d recently arisen from the grave, and the Spykeside team were (left to right) three bug-eyed uglies and a fuzzy blur. The Brainiator was a bruiser who
looked like he’d eaten a bag of nails for breakfast. And then eaten another bag of nails, just to show how tough he was.

‘What a bunch,’ I whistled. ‘Do you suppose this was taken in a distorting mirror? I can only
hope
this was taken in a distorting mirror.’

‘There’s the silent Mr Electron on the right,’ said Izzy. ‘He must have moved his head just as the picture was taken.’

I held the paper up close to my nose. I squinted a bit, and angled the picture into the sunlight that was flooding through the dining hall windows, but nothing revealed any further details.

‘I wonder,’ I said, ‘if this Mr Electron person doesn’t want to be heard, perhaps he doesn’t want to be seen either.’

‘You think he’s trying to stay anonymous?’ asked Izzy.

‘I think the whole team is trying to stay as anonymous as possible,’ I replied. ‘But this Mr Electron person is keeping himself positively invisible. Can I keep this
picture?’

‘Sure.’

‘I think I’ll take it over to Muddy’s lab after school. He might have some gizmo which will get us a better look at it.’

My great friend George ‘Muddy’ Whitehouse was St Egbert’s School’s unofficial Head of Technical Wizardry. Anything he didn’t know about the world of gadgets
probably wasn’t worth knowing.

Later that day, while Izzy was digging around for any more information which might be useful, I went to see Muddy in the garage attached to his house – or his Development
Laboratory, as he prefers to call it. He was busy adapting a couple of old bikes into a go-cart. As always, his school uniform was littered with an assortment of oil stains, food stains and plain
old-fashioned grime. He wiped his greasy hands on his shirt before taking Izzy’s printout from me.

‘Is this the best photo you can find?’ he said, scrunching up his face to peer closely at it.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I said.

‘Brilliant!’ he declared. ‘It’ll give me a chance to try out the Whitehouse OptiScope Mark 3.’

He clattered his way through the debris of odds and ends which half-filled his lab. Clearing a space on his workbench by sweeping a load of electrical components off it with his sleeve, he
placed the photo down, face up.

‘Any definite leads yet?’ he said, while he rooted around for various gizmos.

‘No, not really,’ I said. ‘Half the problem is that Spykeside School is miles away and I’ve got no way of investigating the place. And the other half of the problem is
that I’m stumped.’

Muddy set up a kind of tripod around the printout, at the top of which he fixed something which might once have been a camera. Or possibly an electric whisk.

‘Put this together from half a pair of binoculars and the innards of my dad’s phone,’ said Muddy, making a few delicate adjustments. ‘Designed to catch fast-moving action
at sports events. Only it takes a while to set up, so it’s not very good for that. If I fiddle with the lens, we should be able to see the picture much more clearly. So, you’ve no real
clues, as such?’

‘Weeellll,’ I said, a bit embarrassed, ‘I’m, y’know, keeping an open mind and, umm, y’know . . .’

‘That bad, huh?’ He tapped a tiny screen on the side of the device and it flickered into life. He started pressing a few buttons.

‘There is one thing I’m sure of,’ I said. ‘The way the Spykeside team are hiding behind nicknames is significant. They’re a funny-looking bunch, as you can see from
that picture, and they’re being very sneaky about their cheating methods. But without knowing who any of them are, it’s very hard to work out what to do next. We know they’re
getting hold of the quiz questions in advance, but since we have no way of identifying any of them —’

Muddy suddenly turned and looked at me. Even under the layer of dirt on his face, I could tell he’d gone pale with horror.

‘No way of identifying them?’ he said quietly. ‘We have now. Look.’

He pointed at the little screen. I leaned in close. Then I went pale with horror too. I must have done, because my stomach did a somersault and the rest of my insides did much the same. My
entire body felt like an athletics meeting!

On the screen, the photo had been brightened, and sharpened, and twisted slightly. All the faces in it were now even weirder-looking than before. But the blurred one, the face of this Mr
Electron person, had gained a distinct outline.

If you hadn’t ever met Mr Electron in real life, you still might not have been able to tell who it was in the photo. But I
had
met him in real life. We all had.

This Mr Electron person was someone I thought I was rid of for good, someone I’d hoped I wouldn’t meet again. It was my arch-enemy – that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft.

‘W
E NEVER DID FIND OUT
which school he’d gone to, did we?’ said Muddy. ‘Now we know.’

(If you don’t know who Harry Lovecraft is, here’s a quick explanation: he’s a low-down rat. If you
do
know who Harry Lovecraft is, you’ll be as horrified as I was.
That villainous worm, whose underhand schemes I’d foiled many times, had left St Egbert’s after the events of my case file
Five Seconds to Doomsday
. I really thought we’d
seen the last of him. I should have known better!)

I could hardly believe my eyes. No, on second thoughts, my eyes were telling me what I should already have guessed.

‘Of
course
!’ I cried, slapping a hand to my forehead. ‘This case has got Harry Lovecraft written all over it!’

‘But there’s just this Mr Electron nickname here,’ said Muddy, examining Izzy’s printout.

‘Noooo,’ I said. ‘I mean this sort of cheating is typical of what that low-down rat gets up to.’ I slapped a hand to my forehead again. ‘Of
course
!
That’s
the reason the Spykeside team are using nicknames.
That’s
the reason they want to stay anonymous.
That’s
the reason Harry moved as this photo was being
taken, so his face would be obscured.’

‘What reason is that, then?’ asked Muddy.

‘Every team knows which other schools are in the competition, right?’ I said. ‘It’s been posted up on the Brain Boom Schools Quiz Challenge website from the start. So
Harry
knew
a team from St Egbert’s – his old school – were taking part. He knew that if we realised he was one of the Spykeside team, we’d smell a low-down rat
instantly
.

‘So he made sure that the identities of all four Spykeside team members were as hidden as possible, just so
we
wouldn’t know he was involved until it was too late. Of
course
!’ I nearly slapped a hand to my forehead again. But I didn’t. It was giving me a headache. ‘
That’s
why Mr Electron hasn’t answered one question so
far! Harry knew we’d be listening in. He didn’t want to run the risk of us recognising his voice!’

‘I don’t get it, said Muddy. ‘Surely he realised we’d be on to him eventually? What if St Egbert’s had been drawn to play Spykeside in round one?’

‘If Harry’s been able to get the questions in advance,’ I said, ‘he may also have been able to influence who’s played who. It may be that he’s rigged the
competition so that St Egbert’s wouldn’t have any contact at all with Spykeside, unless St Egbert’s also reached the grand final.’

‘Which we have,’ said Muddy.

‘Which we have,’ I agreed.

‘So, he’s been banking on our team not making it to the final.
Or
making it through, turning up for the final, and only
then
realising that he’s been involved all
along?’

‘Absolutely right,’ I said. ‘And at that point, it’d be too late. The final would be about to happen, live on Vibe FM. We wouldn’t have time to gather any proof. If
we started saying “Ooooh, we know that kid and he’s not to be trusted”, it’d simply sound like sour grapes. He’s gambled that his identity would stay hidden from us
long enough for Spykeside’s cheating to go unsuspected.’

‘But his gamble hasn’t paid off,’ said Muddy. ‘We’ve rumbled him one day early. To day’s Friday, and the final is tomorrow afternoon. We’ve got time to
go to Vibe FM and blow Spykeside out of the water.’

I thought carefully for a few moments. ‘No. We shouldn’t do that.’

‘Huh?’ gasped Muddy. ‘Why? Let’s go!’

‘We still don’t know
how
Spykeside have set this up. We don’t know if Harry’s got someone working for him at the radio station. If we go charging into Vibe FM, we
might alert Harry’s helper and the whole scheme might be shredded and covered up before we can expose what Spykeside have been up to.’

‘But surely the whole questions-answered-early thing proves Spykeside have been cheating?’ said Muddy. ‘What more do we need?’

‘We need to know exactly what this is all about,’ I said. ‘We need to know who is involved, and how, and why.
Is
it just about winning the prizes?
Could
there be
more to this than we’ve seen so far?’

‘I think you’re being too cautious,’ said Muddy. ‘If Harry Lovecraft is mixed up in this, that’s all I need to know. Let’s get the so-and-so. We don’t
have much time!’

I was still wary of rushing things. I persuaded Muddy to come with me back to Izzy’s house. I wanted to find out if she’d uncovered any more information. Luckily, Izzy agreed with
me.

‘I hate to say it, guys,’ she said, spinning slowly in her glittery swivel chair, ‘but it could still be the case that Harry is innocent. What if someone at Vibe FM is the real
villain and is controlling the Spykeside team for some reason we don’t know about yet?’

‘Rubbish,’ said Muddy. ‘Once a low-down rat, always a low-down rat.’

‘I have been wrong about Harry Lovecraft in the past,’ I said, reluctantly. ‘Well, once anyway.’

The three of us sat there for a while, staring at each other blankly. Then we stared blankly at each other for a bit longer, because we still didn’t know what to do.

At last, Izzy broke the silence. ‘I have an idea,’ she said. ‘It’s a long shot, but it might provide a few answers.’

‘And your idea is . . .?’ I said.

‘We call Mike O’Phone,’ said Izzy.

‘
Who?
’ said Muddy and I together.

‘The DJ at Vibe FM who’s the quizmaster,’ replied Izzy. ‘I told you before, he’s probably the one who’s compiling the questions. We know Harry’s team is
getting the questions in advance. See the connection? We call, tell him we’re from Spykeside, have a little conversation, no?’

‘Mike
what
?’ spluttered Muddy. ‘That
can’t
be his real name.’

‘You think?’ I said, giving him a boggle-eyed look. I turned back to Izzy. ‘Are you suggesting that we should ring up this DJ and pretend to be Harry Lovecraft? Are you
suggesting we risk this entire investigation? Are you suggesting we resort to the sort of sneaky tactics Harry Lovecraft might use?’

‘Yes.’

‘Brilliant idea,’ I said. ‘Hand me the phone.’

A few minutes’ search on the internet got us the number for Vibe FM. My fingers shook as I tapped at Izzy’s mobile.

‘Vibe FM, howcanIhelpyoooo?’ crackled a squeaky voice at the other end of the line.

‘Hello,’ I said, trying not to let my voice sound wobbly. ‘Can I speak to Mike O’Phone please?’

‘One moment please, I’ll see if he’s still in the studio, who shall I say is calliiiiing?’

‘Er, tell him it’s Harry.’

‘One moment.’ There was a click and a bouncy pop tune cut in. As I waited, I glanced up at Izzy and Muddy. They looked as scared as I felt. Ten seconds later, there was another
click.

‘Yes? H-Harry?’ said a man’s voice.

My heart hopped a couple of beats. ‘Mike,’ I said. ‘I’m calling about tomorrow’s questions.’ I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I could do a pretty good
imitation of that low-down rat’s slimy tones.

‘Y-You OK?’ asked Mike O’Phone. ‘You sound funny. Do you have a cold?’

‘Er, yes. Bad cold,’ I said. ‘All bunged up. Now, those questions . . .’

‘I-I-I emailed them y-yesterday! Honest, I did! Like I promised! I swear! P-Please, Harry, I sent them to the usual address, like you told me!’

‘I’m, umm, on a geography field trip. Send them to my webmail, which is . . .’ I snapped my fingers and pointed to Izzy’s computer. She quickly scribbled down an email
address for me. ‘. . . [email protected].’

‘. . . That’s your webmail, is it?’

‘Just do it!’

‘Y-Yes, Harry. S-Sorry. I’ll do it now.’

I switched the phone off. I let out a long breath. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘that guy is terrified of Harry. I think we’ve got our answers.’

‘Harry must have some sort of hold over him,’ said Muddy. ‘You see, I was right!’

A few seconds later, there was a bleep at Izzy’s computer. A couple of mouse clicks and a handful of sheets hummed from the printer.

Izzy swung around in her chair, her eyes tightly shut. ‘If those are tomorrow’s questions,
don’t let me see them!
We’ve got all the proof we need. Vibe FM’s email address will be printed at the top.’

‘Yeah, and so is yours,’ said Muddy.

Izzy’s eyes snapped open. ‘Oh bum, you’re right. I’m going to have to resign from the team. Someone else will have to take my place.’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ I said. ‘There’s no point worrying about that. Harry’s already got these questions anyway.’

‘Yes,’ said Muddy. ‘And now we’ve all got them. It’s a fair competition again.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ I said. ‘You can’t have both sides cheating, it’s, er, it’s double cheating . . . or something . . .’

‘But we can now beat Spykeside at their own game,’ said Muddy.

‘No way,’ said Izzy. ‘If the St Egbert’s team take advantage of this, it’ll make us as bad as them! In any case, if all the contestants know all the questions,
it’ll end up as a mad buzzer free-for-all! The final will have to be scrapped. I vote we take these questions to the Head, and show her what’s been going on.’

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ I said with a smile. ‘I’ve thought of a way we can stop Spykeside from winning this competition and avoid turning our own team into cheats
at the same time.’