“The Fish isn’t worrying too much about the Phantom,” Boots said feelingly. “He thinks it’s us. So does half the school.”
“He suspects it’s you,” Larry corrected. “Don’t worry. The Fish would never suspend a guy unless he was sure.”
Bruno slapped his photocopy. “Well, at least now we can go to Edward’s room. If he’s got a shirt with this crest on it, he’s got a lot to answer for!”
* * *
Edward O’Neal opened the door of room 105 in Dormitory 1 and peered into the hall at Bruno and Boots.
“Well, what do you know?” he announced sarcastically. “It’s the Over-the-Hill gang.”
Bruno and Boots brushed past him into the room.
“I got a letter from Mom today,” said Boots. “She wants me to come in here and make sure you’ve got enough shirts.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “That is such a bad lie, it’s pathetic.”
Boots stuck out his jaw. “I’m counting your shirts.”
“Show me the letter,” said Edward defiantly.
“You want to see the letter? Here’s the letter!” Like lightning, Boots whirled his brother around and clamped him tightly in a hammerlock. “Okay, Bruno,” he called over the yelling. “Start counting!”
Bruno pulled the photocopy out of his pocket and began to rifle through the closet, looking for a white T-shirt with that particular crest.
The door opened and Edward’s roommate, a small, slight boy, entered. He gasped with fright. “Wh–what’s going on?”
“We’re counting shirts,” said Boots through clenched teeth.
“Eight — nine — ten —” called Bruno from the closet. “And now the drawers — eleven — twelve —”
“Call the Housemaster!” Edward ordered. “I’m being mugged!”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Boots cautioned mildly. “Not unless you want us to count your shirts next.”
“Nothing,” reported Bruno. “And nothing in the laundry bag, either.”
Boots released his brother. “Okay, kid, you’ve got enough shirts. I’ll tell Mom.”
Edward bit back his rage. “You guys aren’t just old; you’re senile!”
“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” Bruno grinned as the two sauntered out of the room. He fixed Boots with a look of deep satisfaction. “It’s our one advantage over your stupid brother. We’re bigger than he is.”
Boots grimaced. “He’ll probably take up karate and kill us both.”
An enormous crash came from the far end of the hall. Dormitory 1 seemed to jar beneath their feet.
“What was that?” asked Boots.
Bruno laughed. “It might have been an atomic bomb, but my guess is it was a dresser tipping over on Sidney.”
Boots looked blank. “How could you know that?”
“Elementary, my dear Melvin. Mark is another suspect. And his shirts need ‘counting’ too.”
* * *
Cathy had picked up music videos on her ten-inch TV. She was rampaging around the room, playing “air guitar” along with the band, complete with cartwheels and high kicks.
Diane was not joining in the fun. “Cut it out, Cathy. You’re going to put yourself through a wall.”
Cathy launched into a series of flying power chords. A small vase toppled from her dresser and smashed on the floor.
Diane shut off the TV. “Control yourself!” she demanded, picking up the pieces of broken porcelain.
“Since when did you turn into Miss Scrimmage?” Cathy laughed. She sat down on her bed, but continued to bounce up and down to the music that was no longer there.
“I’m not Miss Scrimmage,” Diane defended herself. “I’m just not ballistic like you.”
“You’re worse than Miss Scrimmage,” Cathy accused. “Take last night. We did a totally cool thing and you whined and complained through the whole deal.”
“We broke at least fifty rules,” Diane argued, “and probably twenty laws. And for what? Some gag to protect ourselves from nothing.”
“Totally untrue,” Cathy retorted. “Look at poor Marylou. She’s walking around with a voodoo curse on her head!”
“Even she doesn’t believe that!” snapped Diane.
“And Rex,” Cathy persisted. “He’s been deliberately de-Tyrannosaurused. It could be part of the voodoo curse —”
“That was us!” Diane exploded.
“Or a separate curse altogether! Or an international conspiracy of dog-overfeeders!”
“Give me a break,” groaned Diane.
“Look,” said Cathy. “Miss Scrimmage was worried about security.” She spread her arms wide. “We’re a fortress now. The marines couldn’t land here without sustaining heavy losses!”
“That’s the problem,” said Diane. “What if Miss Scrimmage takes an evening stroll? What if the gardener blunders a little off course? What if poor Rex gets caught in all that stuff? Now that we’ve fattened him up, he’s the sweetest thing on four pudgy legs. The girls’ll kill us if anything happens to him!”
“No biggie,” said Cathy. “If Rex disappears, we’ll know where to look.”
“Okay —” Diane played her trump card, “what if Bruno and Boots try to come over? Do you want them to sustain heavy losses like the marines?”
“I’ve already thought of that,” said Cathy smugly. From her desk drawer, she pulled out a piece of paper. “We did mapmaking in geography today. Mine is the apple orchard and the trees out front, with all our defences and booby traps marked in red. I got an A, but only because I told Miss Riggens it was Greenland.”
Diane made a face. “That map is going to do Bruno and Boots a fat lot of good in your desk drawer.”
Cathy blinked. “Didn’t I mention it? We’re taking it over there — in about ten minutes.”
* * *
It was just after midnight when Cathy and Diane stole across the highway onto the Macdonald Hall property. It was a routine trip for the girls. They had been to visit Bruno and Boots countless times over the years. Even so, Diane still felt the butterflies in her stomach as they left the open lawn and zeroed in on Dormitory 3.
Cathy rapped smartly on the window of room 306. “I can’t believe it’s three weeks into school and the only times we’ve seen Bruno and Boots, they’ve been running away from Miss Scrimmage.”
“Not so loud,” hissed Diane. “You’ll wake up the Housemaster.”
Cathy laughed. “Mr. Fudge? He can’t hear anything over the sound of his own snoring.” She knocked again. “Where are those guys?” She pressed her face up to the glass. “I don’t see anybody in there.”
Diane frowned. “It’s after midnight. Where could they be?” Suddenly, she went white to the ears. “Oh, no! You don’t think we missed them in the dark and they’re on their way over to see us?”
Cathy was silent for a while. “Uh-oh,” she said finally. From her pocket she produced the folded map. “I’ll bet they could make pretty good use of this along about now.”
Chapter 11
The Romance of Swamp Germs
“Hey, Elmer, how come you’re bringing your science notes to Scrimmage’s?”
It was just after midnight and Bruno, Boots, Larry, Wilbur, Pete, Sidney and Elmer were stealing across the Macdonald Hall campus.
Elmer spied the small card in Pete’s hand. “They aren’t notes!” he hissed. “They’re conversation starters for when I meet Marylou Beakman!”
Pete was confused. “But it’s about swamp germs.”
Elmer’s flushed, red face seemed to glow in the darkness as he glared at the boys one by one. “I am terrified of what will happen if I am caught violating the curfew! I am petrified of Miss Scrimmage’s school because every time I go there something awful happens! I am bowed down with raw fear at the thought of meeting Marylou Beakman tonight! Give me that!” He snatched the card out of Pete’s hand. “My romantic life is none of your business!”
“I never knew swamp germs were romantic,” put in Sidn
ey.
“If you comedians are through making stupid jokes,” said Bruno, “I can remind you we’ve got a job to do. We have to find out what the girls were doing last night on the videotape. Let’s go.”
They soldiered on, with Sidney bringing up the rear. In single file, the seven boys crossed the highway and moved silently over the fence.
Bruno dropped to the grass. “Okay, stick together and stay close to the trees,” he whispered. “Who’s got the dog biscuits in case Rex shows up?”
Pete held up a bag. “Right here. We didn’t have dog biscuits so I had to bring bagel chips.”
“Hey, toss me a couple of those,” said Wilbur. “I’m getting kind of hungry.”
Elmer spoke up, his voice shaking. “You said Rex wasn’t a worry because he was too fat and lazy.”
“Oh, he’s too fat to attack,” explained Boots. “But if he starts barking, we’ll have Miss Scrimmage on our necks.”
Bruno led the group into the trees. He counted heads and came up short. “Hey, wait a second. There’s supposed to be seven of us. Who’s missing?” The boys took stock of each other.
“Oh, no!” Boots exclaimed. “Where’s Sidney?”
“Probably where he always is,” said Wilbur in disgust. “Flat on his face somewhere.”
“All right,” sighed Bruno. “Let’s find him before the buzzards do.”
They spread out and began feeling through the grass for Sidney’s form. One by one, they checked in with Bruno.
“Nothing,” said Larry.
“No luck,” added Boots.
“He seems to have vanished,” confirmed Elmer.
“He’s capital-G gone,” Wilbur moaned.
Bruno listened for Pete’s report. It did not come. “Aw, no, not another one! What’s going on here?”
The boys couldn’t believe their eyes. Now Pete was missing too!
“This is really weird,” breathed Boots. “It’s like there’s a bear out there, eating us one at a time!”
“That’s horrible!” quavered Elmer.
“You’re telling me,” Wilbur said morosely. “Pete was carrying the bagel chips.”
Larry pulled his sweater tighter around him. “What are we going to do?” He took a shaky step backward and, before the boys’ astonished eyes, he vanished.
“Whoa!” cried Bruno, heedless of the need to keep quiet. “Did anybody else see that?”
“He just — disappeared —” Boots barely whispered.
“There is no scientific explanation for what we have just witnessed,” was Elmer’s analysis. “It is a paranormal phenomenon.”
Then they heard it — a faint voice.
“Help! …”
“That’s Larry!” exclaimed Bruno.
They ran to the spot where the office messenger had just been standing.
“Larry!” called Boots. “Where are you?”
“Down here!” echoed the reply.
“Down?” repeated Bruno. “Where?”
“In a hole!” came Larry’s answer. “It’s really deep, too!”
Once again, the group dropped to their hands and knees and began feeling through the leaves and grass.
Boots came upon the pit first. “Over here!” he hissed.
The hole was about a metre across, but half of the opening was still covered with leaves resting on a grill of small branches. The other half yawned open. They could just make out Larry’s white face looking up at them from below the surface.
“Man,” said Bruno, “you fell down so fast, it looked like you just winked off the face of the earth!”
“Sure scared me,” added Boots. “We’ve been coming here for years. Since when is there a giant crater at Scrimmage’s?”
Elmer regarded the sticks and leaves. “Most curious,” he began thoughtfully. “A deep hole camouflaged by ground cover is most commonly used in jungle warfare.”
Bruno snapped his fingers. “Those crazy girls laid booby traps all around the school! That’s what they were doing on the video last night — digging holes for us to fall into!”
Wilbur was mystified. “Why would they want to do that?”
Bruno frowned. “Maybe Cathy and Diane are the Phantom and this is their latest joke.”
Boots shrugged helplessly. “Cathy could pull something like this just to pass the time, Phantom or no! She’s done worse with less reason!”
“Larry,” ordered Bruno, “dig around down there and see if you can find a feather.”
Larry spat out mud and brushed some leaves from his hair. “Aren’t we forgetting something?” he said sarcastically. “How about pulling me out of here?”
Bruno reached an arm down into the hole.
“Halt!”
“It’s Miss Scrimmage!” hissed Boots.
Bruno, Boots, Elmer and Wilbur took off for the cover of the apple orchard.
“Hey, what about me?” Larry wailed.
“Keep a low profile!” Bruno advised on the run.
Larry clawed the earthen walls. “I’ve got a choice?”
“Stop, intruders!” Miss Scrimmage’s voice rang out.
The boys cut around the side of the school. One of Wilbur’s heavy footfalls came down on a small wire which was hooked up to the top of a tree. From a high branch, a gigantic net was released. It flopped down on the big boy, tripping him up. He thrashed on the ground, helplessly entangled.
“Did you see that?” panted Boots. “This place is a death trap!”
As they ran around the back of the school, Elmer’s ankle snapped a string that was covered by a pile of leaves. From the top of a tall birch, a basketball on the end of a rope was airborne. It fell in a lazy arc, missing Elmer’s elbow by a hair. Then, the ball swung back, the rope wrapping around Elmer’s fleeing form. It whirled around him like an orbiting moon. By the time the ball came up under his chin, he was hog-tied, his arms fastened to his sides by coils of rope.
“Oh, man!” groaned Bruno, accelerating. “Oh, man! Oh, man!”
Suddenly, Boots’s flailing arm struck a low branch. He spun around and hit the ground in a hail of apples. Bruno put on the brakes and bent over his roommate. “Are you okay —?”
“Aha! Intruders, freeze!”
From behind a row of dwarf trees stepped Miss Scrimmage, her eyes blazing in the night. Bruno and Boots gasped in terror. The Headmistress was carrying her shotgun.
* * *
“Wasn’t that a delightful opera, dear?” asked Mrs. Sturgeon as she and her husband drove north on Highway 48 on their way back to Macdonald Hall.
Mr. Sturgeon yawned and flashed his lights at an oncoming truck. “I suppose it was all right. But it’s a long way to drive and it’s awfully late. Why do they always hold these things in Toronto?”
His wife laughed. “Because they tried staging them in some farmer’s barn, but the scenery wouldn’t fit in the hayloft. You love the opera, William. Why are you being so cranky?”
“It’s my medical condition, Mildred. Just as I’m about to immerse myself in Verdi, a twinge of pain shoots up from my toe and lands me back in the discomfort that has become my life.”
His wife rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid I have no more sympathy for you, William. You heard the doctor. It’s such a small operation —”
All at once, two figures ran out into the road in front of them. Mr. Sturgeon slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. For a moment, the headlights illuminated Cathy Burton and Diane Grant scrambling back across the highway to their own school.
He rolled down the window and called out, “Miss Burton —”
Through the night came the unmistakable scream of Miss Scrimmage: “Aha! Intruders freeze!”
It meant only one thing: some of his boys had been caught on Miss Scrimmage’s property. He was transported back to the day of the traffic jam. Miss Scrimmage’s words echoed through his head:
“… I’m bringing my shotgun up from the basement …”
“Good Lord!” He leapt from th
e car, forgetting his cane and the fact that his toe was on fire with pain.
“William, what on earth —?”
But her husband was in full flight, hobbling at top speed, intent on rescuing his students.
He caught up with Cathy and Diane just inside the orchard.
“Sir!” quavered Diane. “We didn’t do anything! Honest!”
“Stand aside!” Mr. Sturgeon ordered. “Your Headmistress has lost control once again!”
“But the whole orchard is booby-trapped!” Diane blurted.
The Headmaster gawked. “What? Why?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Cathy admitted. “But right now a few of your guys are probably caught down holes and stuff. You know how it is.”
“I most certainly do not!” Mr. Sturgeon snapped.
“Well, follow us,” Cathy instructed. “We’ve got all the traps memorized. You’ll be safe.”
The girls picked their way through the orchard, leading the Headmaster of Macdonald Hall. Not far from the edge of the trees, Cathy and Diane halted.
“Uh-oh —” Cathy began.
Mr. Sturgeon pushed past them and gaped in horror. Walton and O’Neal stood quavering against a gnarled old apple tree. Miss Scrimmage advanced upon them, her shotgun at the ready in her hands.
Mr. Sturgeon ran out in front of Bruno and Boots. “Put down that weapon, Miss Scrimmage,” he said quietly.
“They’re trespassing!” she shrilled.
Mr. Sturgeon was under tight control. “It is a minor crime when compared with the menace to life and limb represented by you. How dare you make accusations while you hold a gun on children, in the midst of an orchard that is bristling with hazardous booby traps?”
“Booby traps?” Miss Scrimmage was infuriated. “Sir, you are deranged! This is a school for young ladies! There are no booby traps here!”
She took a menacing step forward.
“Miss Scrimmage!” cried Cathy. “No!”
The Headmistress’s foot came down in some leaves. At the bottom of the pile, her heel knocked away a small peg. A loop of rope closed on her ankle. There was a singing sound as a bent-over tree snapped upright, pulling with it the snare around Miss Scrimmage’s leg. Up went the tree, the rope and the Headmistress. She hung there by one ankle, upended, waving her arms and shrieking.