There was just enough light from inside the Faculty Building to make out the antique cannon pointing stalwartly south. Sticking out of the muzzle, like a human cannonball, were the head, arms and torso of a man.
Bruno gasped. “What the —?”
Cautiously, they moved closer. The human cannonball was a department store mannequin, stuffed feet-first down the barrel of the cannon. Its arms were flung wide. A painted smile grinned out from under a set of plastic joke glasses with eyebrows, mustache and nose attached. The head sported a soft fedora. Stuck in the hatband was a long, brown feather.
Bruno snatched up the feather, gnashing his teeth. “That was the Phantom — the real Phantom! We had him! And we lost him!”
“Hold it right there!”
Twin flashlight beams cut through the gloom, momentarily blinding Bruno and Boots.
Coach Flynn stepped forward, with Mr. Fudge at his side.
“Walton,” the gym teacher said grimly. “And O’Neal. I knew it.”
“Coach —” said Bruno urgently. “We saw the Phantom! We chased him and —”
“I saw the Phantom, too,” interrupted Coach Flynn. “I’m looking at him right now.”
“But — but — but it’s not us!” stammered Boots.
“Oh, really?” said Mr. Fudge sarcastically.
Bruno and Boots both realized at the same time that the Housemaster was looking at the brown feather still clutched in Bruno’s right hand.
A camera flash went off in their faces. All at once, Mark Davies was upon them, thrusting a microphone in their faces. “Would you care to make a statement for the Student Times?”
“Cut it out, Mark!” cried Bruno. “This isn’t funny!”
The mike was shifted to the two teachers. “How does it feel to finger the notorious Phantom?”
“Enough!” snapped the coach. “Let’s all get some sleep.” He turned to Bruno and Boots. “Walton, O’Neal, no classes for you tomorrow morning. You’re confined to your room until Mr. Sturgeon decides what to do with you.”
* * *
PHANTOM CAPTURED blazoned the Macdonald Hall Student Times. The entire first page of this special edition was taken up with the photograph of Bruno and Boots at the cannon, looking startled and guilty.
by Mark Davies, Student Times Reporter
In the shadow of the cannon late last night, a drama unfolded that put an end to the greatest mystery that has ever gripped our school. As this reporter looked on, Mr. Flynn and Mr. Fudge were able to apprehend the serial practical joker known as the Phantom.
The Phantom, who has been baffling teachers and students alike, turns out to be not one person, but two. Bruno Walton and Melvin “Boots” O’Neal (pictured above) were captured in the act of stuffing a mannequin into the cannon. The brown feather held by one of the suspects is known to be the Phantom’s trademark. Both are confined to their room awaiting a decision from Mr. Sturgeon.
Further details, p. 3
Scrimmage’s to install new security system in wake of booby trap fiasco, p. 4
* * *
Boots O’Neal was in a daze. “He called me Melvin,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I hate that name.”
Bruno threw down the paper. “I’ll kill him!” he seethed. “I’ll hunt him down like a dog and kill him!”
Boots flipped through the pages, shaking his head. “Mark must have gone straight from the cannon to the print shop and worked all night to get this paper out.”
Bruno paced the small room like a caged tiger. “He’s probably the real Phantom. After we chased him, he got his camera and came back with Fudge and the coach. That’s how he can write stuff like this about two guys who are supposed to be his friends!”
“Well, you know Mark and his journalism. He takes the paper really seriously.”
Bruno laid both hands flat on the windowsill and gazed at the students hurrying in and out of the Faculty Building. “Even if it isn’t Mark,” he said angrily, “somebody out there is the real Phantom. And he’s letting us hang!”
There was a knock at the door. Boots admitted Larry Wilson.
The office messenger looked worried. “Guys, the heat’s on. Everybody says they knew it was you all along. They’re taking bets in the cafeteria that you’ll be expelled.”
All the colour drained from Boots’s face. “Expelled?”
“Don’t you get it?” cried Larry. “This is no leaf-raking, dishwashing rap! This is the big one!”
“What about The Fish?” asked Bruno. “How’s he leaning?”
“It’s hard to tell with him,” said Larry. “He seems pretty grim, but that might be because he’s so sick.”
“But do you think he believes us?” asked Boots anxiously.
“It doesn’t look good,” Larry admitted. “I overheard him putting in a call for Mr. Snow, from the Board of Directors.”
“They have to notify the Board if they’re expelling anybody!” exclaimed Boots in agony. “My folks are going to kill me!”
“Mine too!” gulped Bruno. “This is a nightmare! This can’t happen to people who are innocent!”
“How would we know?” Boots snapped bitterly. “We’ve never been innocent before!”
Larry opened the door. “I’d better go. The Fish doesn’t want anybody to even talk to you. As far as this school is concerned, you guys just died!”
Bruno made a face. “We couldn’t get that lucky.”
* * *
Mrs. Sturgeon had real tears in her eyes. “I refuse to believe a word of it!”
“They were caught outright, Mildred,” her husband explained reasonably, sawing at his steak. “Walton even had the feather in his hand. It’s the proverbial ‘smoking gun.’”
“Fiddlesticks!” snapped his wife, the fork in her hand shaking. “If Bruno and Melvin say they’re innocent, then they are!”
“What those boys say is obviously not worth the air it takes to blow it out their lungs,” the Headmaster stated flatly. “Alex Flynn caught them with that mannequin inserted in our cannon.” He frowned. “And on top of it all, that dummy was wearing my new hat!”
“Well, that’s the proof right there!” Mrs. Sturgeon cried triumphantly. “There’s no way for them to get your hat, so they must be innocent.”
“I’m afraid you’re a poor attorney,” he replied with a sad smile. “I might have left it at the office; their friend Wilson might have filched it for them. There are dozens of explanations.” He looked at his wife earnestly. “I know you mean well, Mildred, and I always value your comments. But this is one instance when I must ask you not to interfere. Expulsion is a very serious internal school matter.”
His wife turned pale. “You’re going to expel them? For a dummy in the cannon?”
Mr. Sturgeon pushed his plate away, virtually untouched. “For a pattern of misbehaviour that flies in the face of everything Macdonald Hall stands for. I gave Walton and O’Neal several chances to confess their identity as our ‘phantom.’ Each and every time, they chose to lie. I would be grossly remiss in my duties as Headmaster to let that go unpunished.”
Mrs. Sturgeon jumped to her feet. “You’re just irritable because that confounded toe keeps getting worse! This is Bruno and Melvin you’re talking about. Those boys have gone to bat for this school a dozen times! If it weren’t for their loyalty, this campus would be covered with condominiums! And don’t you try to deny it!”
The Headmaster looked unhappy. “If you think I’m enjoying this, you are sadly mistaken. As unpleasant as this is going to be, it is my job.”
Chapter 14
Dear Nasty Uncooperative Old Goat
Electronics experts from SectorWatch Inc. swarmed over Miss Scrimmage’s school like worker ants. They were everywhere — at the doors and windows, on the roof, in the basement and even at the fence and surrounding property. Hammering was heard, and drilling. Wires stretched everywhere like spaghetti. Walls were opened and plastered shut again. Panic buttons and control panels appeared
out of nowhere. Huge alarm bullhorns were installed every 15 metres in the hallways. A fifty-thousand-watt floodlight was mounted on the roof of the building.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, lady,” the crew chief was telling Miss Scrimmage. “Of all the security systems on the market, you picked the Rolls Royce. The Fortress Ultra-Deluxe with Banshee II alarm siren. A grasshopper couldn’t get into your school undetected.”
Miss Scrimmage beamed. In her mind, she was composing a letter to Mr. Sturgeon:
Dear Nasty Uncooperative Old Goat,
This is to advise you and your students to stay away from my school once and for all …
Of course, it would be unladylike to send such a letter, but it was pleasant to think about it.
The crew chief looked at his watch. “We should be out of your hair pretty soon. The guys are double-checking the wiring on the doors and windows. Then we can test the system. Not the alarm, of course!” he added hastily.
“But if you don’t test the alarm, how do you know it’s working?” asked Miss Scrimmage.
“Oh, we have gauges that tell us everything,” the man replied airily. “Believe me, you don’t want to hear the alarm unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
A SectorWatch technician approached, dragging Rex by the collar. “This fellow will have to be tied up at night, Ma’am.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Scrimmage. “The girls won’t like that. He’s become a great favourite of theirs.”
“Sorry,” the man said seriously. “He could trip the motion sensors.”
“Oh, well,” sighed the Headmistress. “If Rex had been a better watchdog, none of this would have been necessary.” She regarded the animal’s rotund body critically. “He does seem to have put on a some weight recently.”
The crew chief laughed. “That’s what happens when you turn a watchdog into a lapdog. He gets fat.”
* * *
Diane Grant stood at the window of her room, staring at the system of wires that had just been installed there.
Cathy breezed in, waving a thick, red pamphlet. “Well, I managed to get my hands on the operating manual,” she said glumly. “Read it and weep.”
“I don’t have to read it,” replied Diane. “I just had one of the workmen explain to me how we’re not allowed to open our window ever again.”
“Oh, there’s a way,” said Cathy, leafing through the booklet. “But first I think we have to get Miss Scrimmage to phone up the SectorWatch main monitoring centre in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and get them to take our room out of the loop.”
Diane groaned. “The scariest part is that all the technicians are telling you how it works and how safe you are. But when you ask about the alarm, they get real nervous and change the subject.”
Cathy shrugged. “I suppose it’s loud. Big deal. Our problem is once that system goes active, we’re trapped like dogs here! We can’t open the doors or the windows, we can’t get to the basement or the roof. And according to this book, the whole property is criss-crossed with little laser beams. If a moving figure breaks the beams, it sets off the alarm. Our whole lifestyle is in danger! We’ll be like prisoners in the Black Hole of Calcutta!”
“Well, it’s all your fault, Cathy Burton,” Diane retorted hotly. “It was your stupid booby traps that convinced Miss Scrimmage to turn this place into Alcatraz!”
There was a tap at the door, and the SectorWatch field manager stuck his head inside. “Hi, girls. I’m just checking to see that your window’s been connected. Are you ready for the big test?”
Cathy brightened. “Oh, neat. We’re finally going to hear the famous alarm.”
The man blanched. “Oh, no. We never set off the alarm on purpose. Not when there are people around.”
Diane looked blank. “What’s the point of having an alarm if there’s no one to hear it?”
“Oh, you’ll hear it,” the field manager promised grimly. “No doubt about that.”
“Well, have you ever heard it?” Diane persisted.
“Oh, lots of times!” the man blustered.
“Really?” Cathy probed.
“Well — once. And I was a couple of klicks away. And it was only a Banshee I, whereas you have the new, improved Banshee II —”
“And was it loud?” asked Diane.
“I–I gotta go.” And he slipped out of the room. They could hear his footsteps hurrying down the hall.
“In other words,” sighed Cathy, “we’ve got no hope that Miss Scrimmage might just sleep through the alarm.”
Diane looked scared. “Cathy, I don’t think the dead could sleep through the alarm!”
* * *
The cool fall weather continued sunny, but a black cloud hung over room 306 in Dormitory 3. For the next two days, Bruno and Boots lived in limbo. They attended no classes and ate their meals in the kitchen, away from the other students, who were not permitted to associate with them. Making the situation all the more uncomfortable was the knowledge that even this was only temporary. Their true fate was being decided in the office, or maybe even in the Directors’ boardroom in Toronto.
“I envy you,” sighed Elmer Drimsdale, who had snuck into their room for a visit.
“Envy us?” Boots cried in dismay. “Are you crazy? We’re probably going to get expelled!”
“Yes, but you lived on the edge!” declared Elmer. “You challenged the world, neck or nothing! You grabbed the gusto —”
“But we’re innocent!” protested Bruno. “We got framed!”
“Guilt or innocence doesn’t matter when you live on the edge,” Elmer enthused. “I used to do the safe thing and follow every rule.”
“Well, you’re here to see us,” Bruno pointed out. “That’s against the rules.”
“Because now I’m living on the edge too!” Elmer crowed, eyes blazing. “I’m glad Marylou Beakman rejected me! It was my wake-up call! And exactly what I needed to win her back!” He began to pace the room, waxing philosophical. “I used to think the two of you were crazy, the way you snuck out at night, and had fun, and followed your own code. I was so terrified the times you made me go along with you — you must have thought I was an idiot then.”
“No,” sighed Boots. “We think you’re an idiot now! You’re risking a lot of trouble for no good reason.”
“Like you did!” shrieked Elmer, throwing his arms wide. “Even though you’re about to be expelled, I salute you!” He drew himself up to attention, snapped a rigid military salute and held it.
“Aw, come on, Elm,” begged Bruno. “Cut it out. This is embarrassing.”
But Elmer would have none of it. He stood there, frozen in time, waiting to be saluted back.
Feeling ridiculous, Bruno and Boots got to their feet, faced their visitor and saluted in return.
Elmer dropped his hand. “May we meet again under more pleasant circumstances,” he said emotionally. Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
Bruno watched him disappear amidst the crowd of students who were coming out of their rooms carrying armloads of books.
Mr. Fudge’s stern voice reached him. “Shut that door, Walton. You’re not supposed to be out here.”
Bruno obeyed, once again closing room 306 away from the daily life of Macdonald Hall. “I never thought I’d miss classes,” he murmured glumly. “I even miss The Fish.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Boots feelingly. “He’s probably signing our death warrants right now.”
Bruno cocked his head. “Maybe not. The Fish is a pretty fair guy. If anyone’s going to believe us, it’ll be him.”
“Get real, Bruno. He’s already put in a call to the Board of Directors.”
“Well, maybe that was just a social call,” Bruno suggested hopefully, “to — you know — shoot the breeze.”
“You’re a dreamer,” said Boots mournfully.
They were interrupted by a tapping sound at the window. There, crouched in the bushes, was Edward O’Neal.
“Just when I thought things couldn’t
get worse,” groaned Bruno.
“He enjoyed it so much when we were on kitchen duty,” said Boots bitterly. “This will flip his cookies.” He glared at his brother in the window. “Go away!”
But Edward had already raised the sash and had one leg inside.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Edward!” Boots hissed, hauling his brother the rest of the way into the room. “How are Mom and Dad going to feel when we both show up on the doorstep, bounced out of school?”
“I figured you could use some moral support,” said Edward.
“Who from?” asked Boots cynically.
“If Mom and Dad have to come and get you,” said Edward, “I’ll go with you to meet them. I’ll make sure they know all sides of the story.”
“What’s the catch?” called Bruno. “Blood? Money? A kidney?”
Edward ignored him and regarded his brother intently. “No matter what happens, you can count on me.” His smile was open and sincere. “I really hope you don’t get expelled. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s nice to have someone around to come and count my shirts.”
Boots flushed, recalling how he and Bruno had bullied Edward while searching for a jersey with the mysterious crest on it. “I guess that was pretty mean,” he mumbled.
“I’d better go,” said Edward, glancing at the clock on Bruno’s night table. “I’m late for history. Let me know as soon as you hear anything from The Fish.” He exited via the window and ran off toward the Faculty Building.
“Well, what do you know?” breathed Boots. “My brother’s not such a bad guy after all.”
“Oh, sure,” said Bruno. “Just remember that this sweet supportive little brother of yours could be the real Phantom.”
“I forgot.” Boots sat down at his desk. “But he seemed so sincere —”
“Maybe that’s his guilty conscience. The Phantom is waltzing away, scot-free, leaving you and me hanging on a meat hook!”
Chapter 15
Shot at Dawn
Larry got the word first: Bruno and Boots were to present themselves at the Headmaster’s office at eight the next morning.
“Great,” said Bruno, who shunned early hours whenever he could. “We’re being shot at dawn.”