The Poisoned Arrow

by Simon Cheshire

Dr Shroeder: Very sad business, about Hardyman. Excellent student, I had high hopes for him.

  S Smart: What exactly happened on Monday? I heard he came to see you?

  Dr Shroeder: Yes, it must have been about, er, well, sometime after three in the afternoon. I’d just finished a class and he asked to speak to me privately. I thought it would be about the exam, or something like that, but he told me he took my computer.

  S Smart: Did you believe him?

  Dr Shroeder: I didn’t want to, I must say. Most peculiar. I said to him, ‘Nat, you’re one of my brightest students, but everyone makes mistakes now and again. I’m prepared to put the whole matter down to a momentary lapse of judgement, a one-off giving-in to temptation. Return the computer and, just this once, nothing more will be said. I’ll tell the principal’s office I mislaid the laptop and have now found it, and that will be that.’

  S Smart: That was kind of you. What did he say?

  Dr Shroeder: Nothing, I’m afraid. In the end, I had no choice but to speak to the police. But something about

  Nat’s manner convinced me that he was being forced into this strange confession. I was sure he didn’t have the computer and so couldn’t have returned it in any case.

  S Smart: I got that impression, too. Does he have any enemies here?

  Dr Shroeder: Enemies? No, definitely not. Nat is a quiet, studious boy. I don’t think he has a wide social circle, but he certainly doesn’t have enemies, as you put it. No, we have, let’s see, thirty-eight students on the advanced maths curriculum, and they all get on very well, as far as I know.

  S Smart: He told the police he took the computer to try and find the exam questions. Does that sound likely to you?

  Dr Shroeder: No, that’s utter nonsense. Rubbish. Poppycock. He’ll sail through that exam. Or, rather, he would have sailed through it. Things look rather bleak for him at the moment. Frankly, I don’t believe any of my current students would resort to cheating like that. They’re all perfectly competent mathematicians. None of them needs to be worried about the exam. I’m confident they’ll all achieve a pass. In any case, that computer had nothing on it about either the questions or the answers. That information is perfectly safe.

  S Smart: Can I ask you about the computer itself? It was almost new, wasn’t it? A really trendy and expensive one?

  Dr Shroeder: It was a Peartree SmartBook 400, yes. Not that I bought it because it’s trendy, young man, I bought it because it’s a powerful machine. Mind you, ah, it is rather smart, all white with nice silver trimming. And it has a beautifully curved design to the keyboard, which —

  S Smart: Yes, I see. Er, so it’s the sort of thing lots of students might be prepared to steal?

  Dr Shroeder: Possibly, but a few of them have got one already.

  S Smart: Really?

  Dr Shroeder: Yes, I must have seen a dozen around the campus in the past couple of months. As you said yourself, they’re trendy. No wonder some students get themselves into so much debt! I can tell what your next question is, and the answer is no. I haven’t seen anyone new with one of those computers. There are even a couple of students on the advanced maths course who have them. In fact, it was having a look at a student’s one – Debbie Ashworth’s, I think it was – which prompted me to consider buying one for myself!

  S Smart: So there’d be no way to distinguish your computer from any of the others that are around? If it actually turned up, I mean.

  Dr Shroeder: Not looking at it from the outside, no. I fitted an extra hard drive into mine, as I need to store such a vast amount of data, but of course externally it looks identical to all the others.

  S Smart: Well, I think that’s all I need to ask. Thanks for your time, Dr Shroeder.

  Dr Shroeder: Not at all, young man, I wish there was more I could do to help Nat Hardyman out. Ah! Look what I’ve found in this drawer! Tea bags! Would you like a cup of tea after all?

  S Smart: Is that an unopened pack of chocolate biscuits I can see in there, too?

  Dr Shroeder: Oh yes, so it is. Help yourself.

  S Smart: Yum!

  I emerged from the maths building a few minutes later. What I expected to see was Muddy sitting quietly, on his own, maybe taking a snap or two with the Whitehouse Snoop-o-Zoom Mark 2. What I actually saw was Muddy in the centre of a small crowd of students, laughing and joking and demonstrating the Whitehouse Snoop-o-Zoom Mark 2 to anyone who was interested.

  I groaned to myself. I brushed the biscuit crumbs off my pullover and marched across to him.

  ‘Muddyyyy,’ I moaned. ‘I said we had to be incognito!’

  ‘Oh, hi Saxby,’ he said. ‘Hey, everyone, this is Saxby, the brilliant schoolboy detective I was telling you all about.’

  ‘Hello Saxby!’ cried everyone. There were about fifteen of them.

  I slapped a hand to my forehead. ‘Muddyyyyyyyy!’

  ‘Most of these guys are on Nat’s course,’ said Muddy. ‘Aren’t you, guys?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded all the students.

  ‘Pity he turned out to be a crook,’ said one of them.

  ‘When Nerds Go Bad . . .’ said another in a doom-laden voice. That got a big laugh.

  ‘I think it’s awful what he did,’ said a third. ‘Dr Shroeder’s been very good to all of us and look how Nat repays him.’

  This third student, one of several girls in the group, caught my attention for two reasons. The first reason was that she was carrying one of those trendy laptops, the Rhubarb Crumble Thingummy 400, or whatever it was called. The second reason was that she was clearly a trendsetter in more than simply her choice of computer. I don’t know how to describe fashions and similar girly stuff, but this student was obviously one who other girls imitated and who all the boys thought was cool. She was sleek and confident, all lips and hair.

  ‘You’re right, Debs,’ said another girl. ‘I hope they throw the book at that Nat.’

  With calls of ‘Bye, Muddy’ and ‘See ya, Muddy’ and ‘I’ll bring that bike over for you to fix later, Muddy’, the students went on their various ways.

  ‘Y’know,’ whispered Muddy to me, waving them goodbye, ‘not one of that lot goes to parties all the time, or makes a lot of noise at three in the morning. Not one! I’m very disappointed.’

  I watched the trendsetter disappear around a corner. ‘There,’ I said, mostly to myself, ‘is a very, very pretty girl.’

  Muddy snorted and nudged me in the ribs. ‘Saxby’s in luuuurve!’

  ‘Shut yer face,’ I grumbled. ‘I was merely making an observation.’

  ‘Well, you’re not the only one,’ said Muddy. ‘Nat’s in love with her too. Those students told me.’

  ‘Eh?’ I was about to moan at Muddy for talking to people about the case – exactly what I’d told him not to do. Then I realised he’d come across an interesting fact. So I shut up. Instead I said, ‘Nat has a girlfriend?’

  ‘Oh no, quite the opposite,’ said Muddy. ‘That girl is called Deborah Ashworth. She’s Miss Popularity around here. Nat’s madly in love with her, but she won’t go out with him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She thinks he’s a nerd,’ said Muddy. ‘Simple as that. He’s not cool enough. I don’t understand this yukky “love” business. I’m sticking to bike repairs when I grow up, I’m tellin’ you.’

  ‘Everyone knows Nat likes Deborah, then?’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Muddy. ‘He’s asked her out on dates several times, but she’s always said no. She’s also one of the best students on the advanced mathematics course.’

  ‘Like Nat,’ I said.

  ‘Like Nat,’ confirmed Muddy. ‘He usually takes the top slot in tests and stuff, but she’s very close behind him. And did you notice something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you see what she was carrying?’

  ‘One of those computers,’ I said. ‘Like the one that was stolen. So?’

  ‘So, there’s a suspect for you!’

  I sighed. ‘N
o. She’s had that laptop for a while. Definitely since before the theft.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’ gasped Muddy. ‘You’ve never even seen her before.’

  Look back at my chat with Dr Shroeder. Can you spot how I knew?

  It was taking a look at Deborah Ashworth’s computer that started Dr Shroeder thinking about buying one himself.

  ‘I expect Deborah Ashworth is the sort of person who bought one of those laptops the day they arrived in the shops,’ I said.

  ‘She must be a better technician than me, you know,’ said Muddy. ‘One of those girls saw her accidentally spill nail polish into that laptop at the weekend and she’s got it running fine now. I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Forget nail polish,’ I said. ‘Tell me if there’s anything else you’ve discovered.’

  ‘Yes, there is one other thing,’ said Muddy. ‘Apparently, it’s not unusual for students to call on Dr Shroeder before lessons start in the morning. He’s told them that’s the best time to find him in his office.’

  ‘So,’ I said, holding my chin in a detective-y way, ‘the thief could well have been someone who called to see Dr Shroeder about some routine matter, but saw Dr Shroeder wasn’t in his office for a few minutes, and so stole the computer on a kind of spur-of-the-moment impulse.’

  ‘Er, yeah, that’s just what I thought,’ said Muddy. ‘But there’s more. Those students said it wasn’t unusual for people to call on their tutor at that time of day, but it was unusual for them not to be seen.’

  ‘How so?’ I asked.

  ‘Because there’s usually more than one student wanting to see Dr Shroeder. The thief must have taken a huge risk, walking away with that laptop, because most days there’d be another student coming along any minute.’

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ I muttered. I hopped to my feet. ‘Right, now I must track down Nat’s three friends . . .’ I flipped back through my notebook ‘. . . Matt, Jack and Anil. Good thing they weren’t here with those others, I’d have been really mad. It’s very important I get to speak to them separately and that they don’t realise I’m investigating on behalf of Nat’s mum. Very, very important.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Muddy quietly, pulling a whoops-a-daisy face.

  I glared at him. He went red.

  ‘What do you mean, “Oh”?’ I murmured, eyes narrowed.

  At that moment, three male students appeared. They walked around the corner of the maths building and headed directly for us.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Muddy with a sheepish grin. ‘I got their numbers off my new student friends. I told them you wanted to speak to them urgently.’

  ‘Muddyyyyyyyyyy!’ I wailed.

  All three of Nat’s friends looked exactly like Nat: carefully combed side partings, trousers slightly too short, glasses, plain zip-up cardigans. Was there some sort of geek uniform in this place?

  ‘Are you the detective?’ asked the tallest one, looking at Muddy.

  ‘That would be me,’ I said.

  ‘I’m Matt,’ said Matt.

  ‘I’m Jack,’ said Jack.

  ‘I’m Anil,’ said Anil.

  ‘We’ve only come down here to say we’re not going to talk to you,’ said Matt. ‘We’ve said all we’ve got to say, and we’ve said it to the cops. Goodbye.’

  The three of them swung on their heels and marched away. I chased after them, Muddy scuttling along behind me. Matt, Jack and Anil were heading for the car park. I wrestled Muddy’s recorder from my pocket and switched it on. This is what I managed to record:

  S Smart: Wait! I only want to ask you some questions!

  I’m only trying to establish the truth!

  Matt: Please go away.

  Jack: We’re very busy.

  Anil: We’ve got essays to write.

  S Smart: But don’t you — [bumps into woman coming the other way] OOF! Sorry, beg your pardon!

  Muddy: Don’t you three want us to prove Nat is innocent? You’re his friends, aren’t you?

  Matt: Yeah, but he’s guilty, isn’t he?

  Anil: Very sad, but there it is. We saw what we saw.

  S Smart (swerving to avoid bashing into signpost):

  That’s all I need to ask you about. What did you see?

  Exactly?

  Jack: We’ve been through all this before. Go away.

  S Smart: I’ve been told you saw him come out of Dr

  Shroeder’s office holding the laptop. Is that true?

  Matt: Yes. Now go away.

  S Smart: All three of you saw that?

  Jack: Yes.

  S Smart: Where were you? Outside Dr Shroeder’s office?

  Anil: No, we were on those benches, where you were just sitting. We saw him clearly, through the window.

  S Smart: All of you were there?

  Anil: Yes. Go away.

  S Smart: I’m asking because — [trips over edge of pavement] WHOAAA! Ow!

  (Students arrive at car. Matt unlocks it. They get inside.)

  S Smart: You’re sure he was – ow, I’ve scraped my knee – he was carrying the laptop?

  Matt: Yes, now will you get lost, you annoying little boy! (Car door slams. Engine starts. Car drives off.)

  Muddy and I watched Matt’s battered old Ford chug and clunk its way out of the car park. I rubbed at my leg, wincing.

  ‘Well, that didn’t tell us anything,’ sighed Muddy.

  ‘Wrong,’ I said. ‘It proves they’re lying. They’ve said they saw Nat coming out of Dr Shroeder’s office with the laptop in his hands, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Muddy.

  ‘Well, they’re lying.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ said Muddy.

  It was all a question of where they said they were, and the layout of that corridor outside Dr Shroeder’s office. Can you work out why they must have lied?

  (It’s a tricky one – think carefully!)

  They said they were sitting on the benches, in the plaza, outside the maths building. They said they saw, through the window, Nat come out of Dr Shroeder’s office, and that Nat had the laptop with him.

  But that can’t be what they saw. Remember the layout of the corridor? Those windows that looked out on to the plaza? They were above those lockers and cupboards. They started at a level above my head, at an adult’s shoulder level.

  If someone was outside, looking in, all they could have seen coming out of Dr Shroeder’s office was someone’s head. (And if they were sitting on those benches, they might not have been able to see even that much – they might have only been able to see the top edge of the office door as it opened and closed!)

  There was no way those three students could have seen anything Nat was or wasn’t carrying. Well, unless he swung it around over his head. And that didn’t seem very likely. So they had to be lying.

  ‘And if they lied about that,’ I said to Muddy, as we waited for the bus home, ‘they probably lied about it all.’

  ‘But that means they’re deliberately trying to get their friend into trouble,’ said Muddy. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Nat’s deliberately trying to get himself into trouble,’ I said. ‘None of it makes sense.’

  Little did I know, the answer to the entire problem would suddenly occur to me only a couple of hours later. In the meantime, I took out my notebook and jotted down a few thoughts.

  A Page From My Notebook

  (Written on the bus – please excuse shaky handwriting.)

  My visit to the university raises one or two new questions:

  QUESTION 1: Could Nat have stolen the laptop to impress Deborah Ashworth? She thinks he’s a nerd, nowhere near her level of trendiness. Could he have stolen the computer so that he too could walk around campus with one and look like a cool kid?

  WAIT! No, no, no, that can’t be right. Someone suddenly turning up with the same model of laptop as the stolen one would stick out a mile! AND that idea contradicts the fact that I now KNOW Nat’s three friends have been lying.

  Q
UESTION 2: Could Nat’s FRIENDS have taken the computer? Could THEY be the ones bullying him into saying he did it? It would explain why they’re lying.

  WAIT! That can’t be right either. Why would they make their FRIEND a scapegoat? And why would THEY steal the laptop? They wouldn’t want the exam data (they’re not studying maths), OR want to look trendy.

  What am I MISSING here? Is there an element I’ve OVERLOOKED? Has Dr Shroeder told me the truth? Am I ever going to get my science homework finished?

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  MY PHONE RANG SHORTLY AFTER I got home. It was my other great friend Isobel ‘Izzy’ Moustique, and she had a favour to ask me.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Aww, go on,’ she pleaded. ‘My mum will take us over to the cinema. But she’s got a business meeting to get to, and I’ve got nobody to see the movie with.’

  ‘See it on your own.’

  ‘I don’t want to see it on my own. Going to the movies is something you do with friends.’

  ‘Well ask a friend who isn’t me,’ I said.

  ‘I already have,’ grumbled Izzy. ‘They’re all busy. You’re right at the bottom of my list.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Aww, go on. Might be the best film you’ve ever seen.’

  ‘What’s it called?’ I asked, suspiciously.

  ‘Blood Beasts of Mars.’

  ‘See you in ten minutes.’

  At least it’ll take my mind off the Hardyman case, I thought. At least it sounds like it’ll have plenty of monsters and battles in it, I thought. Maybe even a car chase or two.

  Wrong. It was a weedy love story about an earthling who looks after a wounded alien, full of weepy violin music and sunsets and yuueeek bleaghh euikkkk!

  ‘That is the most misleading movie title in the history of movies!’ I moaned, as we left the cinema. ‘You knew it was going to be like that, didn’t you?’

  Izzy pulled an exaggerated who-li’l-ol’-me? face. ‘But it was so moving —’

  ‘Yawn!’

  ‘So romantic —’

  ‘Double yawn!’

  ‘He gave up his life as a space marine,’ sighed Izzy, ‘so that they could be in each other’s arms. Well, tentacles, anyway. Ahhhhh! Oh, there’s the car, I can see Mum waving.’