The Genius Thieves

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "I think I'll close my eyes and wish I were floating down the river," she said. "Past tropical jungles and forests—" She leaned her head against Frank's right shoulder.

  Frank immediately thought about Callie. Somehow, though, she seemed very far away. He didn't know if it was the autumn air, or the relief he felt about the test, or Sarah's smile—but he felt very happy to be there with her.

  "You know, Sarah, you make Shakespeare seem easy," he said.

  "Mmm." She smiled. "By the way, I brought us some things for us to eat. They're in my backpack." "I'll get it," Frank said, reaching to his left. "No, let me!" Sarah said insistently. Frank sat back and Sarah reached across him, and the two of them came face-to-face. For a long moment they both forgot about the backpack, and slowly their lips drew closer.

  "Hey! What is this? Some kind of soap opera?"

  Frank and Sarah pulled away from each other.

  Looming above them, dressed in crew clothes, was another of the "jurors" from Frank's tribunal—Stu Goldman.

  His face was twisted with jealous rage. And clenched in his hand was an eight-foot wooden oar.

  Chapter 9

  "STU! WHAT ARE you doing here?" Sarah exclaimed.

  "Crew practice! What does it look like?" said Stu.

  "Hello, Stu," said Frank. "We were just discussing Henry the Fifth. Would you like to join — "

  "Don't be flip with me, new boy!" Stu said. He kicked Frank's book aside. "You're having a lot of fun breaking rules and getting away with it—but you're not going to break rule number one!"

  "What's rule number one?" asked Frank.

  Stu imitated Frank's voice: " 'What's rule number one?' It's simple, Kenyon. Thou shall not steal someone else's girlfriend!"

  Frank shot a surprised look at Sarah.

  "No, Stu, you know it's over," said Sarah evenly. "I'm tired of you thinking you own me — "

  "Please leave, Sarah," Stu growled. "This is between him and me!" "Stu — "

  "Sarah, please leave!" Stu was shouting now. "Come on, Stu," Frank said. "Leave her alone."

  "What are you, her protector?" Stu asked, giving Frank a nudge in the ribs with his oar. "Her Romeo?" Frank got up and backed away; Stu poked him again. "Her knight in shining armor?" Another poke.

  "Knock it off, Stu," Frank said, barely containing his anger.

  "I'll knock you off," Stu said. This time he jabbed Frank in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  That did it. Frank picked up a thick branch and held it out in front of him.

  While Sarah looked on in horror, visions of what Stu could do with the oar flashed through Frank's head. At least this guy is normal sized, he thought. If I can beat that oar — "

  Stu's eyes flashed wildly. "Oh, you want to fight, do you?" He tried to ram Frank with the oar, but Frank hopped out of the way. Stu went flying by him, off balance, and Frank pushed him to the ground with the branch.

  Red-faced, Stu clenched his teeth, stood, and lunged with the oar again. Frank blocked it with the branch. Then Stu charged once again. Frank held his ground.

  Clunk! The two weapons made contact and the boys held them steady. "You don't think that twig is going to hold out against this oar, do you?" said Stu as Frank's branch started to crack from the pressure of the stronger oar. .

  Stu backed Frank to the edge of the river. Frank began to slip in the mud. Stu pushed harder. Crrrrick! Frank's branch was not going to make it.

  All of a sudden there was a loud crack. Just as Frank's branch split in two, he ducked down. From the force of his pushing, Stu fell forward, tumbled over Frank, and went splashing into the river.

  "Stu!" yelled Sarah with concern.

  Frank brushed himself off. A crowd of Stu's team members had gathered on the shore to watch. Now they were laughing at Stu.

  Stu stood up in the water. He was furious. He climbed out of the river, picked up his oar, raised it high over his head, and ran toward Frank, screaming.

  "AAAAAAAGGGHHH!" It was like a war cry. Totally defenseless, Frank ran toward the boathouse. Just as Stu came within striking range, Frank ducked behind a white wooden fence.

  Stu swung hard. The oar crashed down onto the top of the fence. In one swift motion, Frank jumped up and jerked his end of the oar down. Like a seesaw, the other end swung up—and clipped Stu squarely in the jaw. Stunned, he tumbled to the ground and lay there motionless.

  Sarah ran over to Stu and cradled his head. Blood trickled from his mouth. Frank knelt down next to her.

  "Is he going to be all right?" Sarah asked anxiously.

  "He'll come to in a minute." Frank examined Stu's jaw. "At least I didn't knock out any teeth! Boy, my record here is just getting better and better!" He struck his clenched fist against the ground in frustration.

  Mr. Harrison, the crew coach, came jogging up to join them. "Give him some room!" he said. "I saw your fight from my boat out on the river. It looked as if he provoked you with one of the oars."

  "I'm afraid you're right, Coach Harrison," Sarah said.

  By now Stu was beginning to stir. He rubbed his jaw and moaned.

  "I'll take care of him," Harrison said. "But then he's going to have to answer a few questions!"

  As Coach Harrison helped Stu into the boathouse, Frank and Sarah walked to the dorms. "How long did you two go out?" Frank asked. "Two years," Sarah said with a sigh.

  "Not that I mind, of course," Frank added quickly. "You see — " He felt he had to say something about Callie but stopped short. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

  "What, Frank?"

  "I — I just don't picture you two together."

  Sarah thought about that for a moment, then threw her arms around Frank and gave him a quick kiss. "Good luck on the test Monday!" With that, she jogged away toward Van Cott Hall.

  Frank felt as if he had been hit by a truck. He didn't know if it was because of Stu—or his feelings for Sarah.

  By the time he got to the third floor of Mansfield Hall, his mind was back on the investigation. There was a new carpet in the hall and his door had been replaced. But inside, his room was still a mess.

  He opened the door to see Arnie, clicking away at a new computer. The char marks on the wall were now covered with pieces of tractor-feed paper that had ugly computer drawings on them.

  "Quite a disaster, huh?" Frank said.

  Arnie jumped in his seat when he heard Frank's voice. He swung his head around.

  "Oh, it's you," he said, turning back to his computer. "You startled me."

  "Were you able to salvage your hot plate?" Frank asked.

  "Mm - hm."

  "Any messages?"

  "On the table." Arnie didn't even stop clicking away at his keyboard. Frank looked at the scrawled message. It was from Mr. Castigan, confirming that the board had decided not to expel Frank.

  "Hey, Arnie, great news, huh?" Frank said.

  "Yeah. Congratulations."

  Arnie didn't seem to want to talk. Frank straightened up the room a bit and noticed how many of his things were damaged. He started making a list of the things he would need to replace.

  "Can I get you anything at the store?" he asked.

  "No." Arnie's voice was tense, almost hostile.

  His stupid pot almost destroyed our room, Frank thought. Why is he acting like this? He remained patient—until Arnie said, without looking up from the computer, "Would you please shut the door after you come in? Can't you feel the draft?"

  Frank had had enough. He spun Arnie around in his chair and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Look. If you're so concerned about keeping the door closed, then tell me what happened last night! You sure didn't remember to shut it behind you after you started that fire!"

  Arnie looked as if his eyes would pop out of his head. He shook as he answered Frank, and the words gushed out of him: "You're just like Brad! He won't leave me alone! He thinks I did it, too. You guys hate me! I didn't set the fire — I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. I lost my keys wh
en I was out, and I couldn't find anyone to let me in. I thought you set the fire!"

  Frank let go of him and Arnie sank back into his seat. "Why don't you just leave me alone, okay?" Arnie said softly. "My computer was completely destroyed. I had to get my father to wire me money to rent this one."

  "Sorry, Arnie," said Frank. "Did you find your keys?"

  "No, I camped out in a friend's room till I heard about the fire. Then the maintenance men gave me keys to the new lock this afternoon. Yours are on your bed."

  "Listen, Arnie, maybe you can help me find out who set the fire. Where did you lose your keys last night?"

  "At the Young Turk. It's a hangout that all the kids in the area go to, in Kirkland."

  "Were there any other Chartwell students there?"

  "A few, but nobody I knew—" "Nobody?" Frank asked. "Well, except one. But he's there practically every night." "Who's that, Arnie?" "That jerk Dwight Trilby."

  Chapter 10

  "So HOW'S THE old gut? Want some leftover fish?" Brad slapped Frank on the back as he barged into the room early that evening.

  "What?" Frank was puzzled for a moment.

  Brad put on a TV newscaster's voice: "Frank Kenyon, the latest victim of 'Rogers's Revenge'! Story at eleven."

  "Oh!" Frank remembered — Mr. Rogers lied to Brad about why Frank had left dinner early. "Wow, did I feel terrible after that meal! Sorry I cut out."

  "Hey, no problem, buddy. The old man was pretty shaken up about it, though. After you split, he got cranky and left the table early to work on his computer."

  Frank's ears perked up. "Really? What does he need to do on his computer on a Friday night?"

  "Some bank stuff. I don't know, it's all Greek to me."

  I wonder if he's lying, Frank thought.

  "Want to play a little tennis?" Brad asked.

  "Not now," said Frank. "I have to study for this English exam. And so do you!"

  "But it's a Saturday night! Besides, I saw the movie of Henry the Fifth this summer. I'll fudge my way through the exam. See you later!" Brad grabbed his racket and left.

  Frank went back to work. He studied the rest of the night and all day Sunday. He was determined to hold his own against his classmates on the test, especially now that he'd been given a second chance at Chartwell.

  The night before the exam he tossed and turned with horrible dreams. In one dream, the exam was thirty pages long. It was written in a language he didn't understand. Everyone else finished it in ten minutes, but it took Frank three days. When he finally handed it in, Mr. Osborn took one look at it and burst out laughing. Osborn ran out to show it to Mr. Castigan, who became furious. Castigan decided to call up Frank personally and expel him. Frank's phone rang — and rang.

  "Wake up, Frank! It's for you!"

  "No. No! I won't! Wh - what?" Frank opened his eyes and saw Arnie handing him a phone.

  "Take this," Arnie said. "I'm running late for class!"

  He scooted out the door as Frank grabbed the phone and shouted, "Mr. Castigan, please! Let me take the exam again! Just one more chance — "

  "You have had enough chances, young man!" said the voice on the other end. Then there was silence, followed by loud laughter. "Frank, it's me, Joe! Calm down! You having nightmares or something?"

  Frank realized where he was and what had happened. "Oh. Sorry. You're right!"

  "Can you talk? Any progress on Wilson?"

  Frank looked around. He was alone in the room. "Nothing," he said. "But I have a new lead on Dwight Trilby."

  "Mr. Trilby's son? You think he did it?"

  Frank's eyes widened when he looked at his alarm clock. He had overslept. "Joe, I can't talk now. Meet me tonight, eight o'clock, at the Young Turk, Kirkland, and I'll tell you about it, so you can report to Dad. I've got a big day with this English exam!"

  "What? You know, you are becoming an absolute nerd, Frank!"

  "Listen. It's bad enough you were kicked out of here. If I flunk out, we'll never get to the bottom of this case!" Frank said.

  The school day seemed to drag on forever until English period. As Frank walked to class, he felt nervous. He entered and took his usual seat next to Brad.

  "If it isn't the great scholar!" said Brad. "Good luck."

  "Thanks, Brad." At the sound of Frank's voice, Sarah turned around and smiled warmly at Frank, giving him a wink.

  Brad saw this and nudged Frank in the ribs. "Not bad, Kenyon," he said. "But very brave! Very brave — "

  Frank guessed Brad was talking about Stu, but he'd have to ask Brad later. Mr. Osborn was handing out the exams.

  It wasn't as bad as his dream. In fact, Frank found that he could answer just about all of the questions. He even remembered lines from the play. The hour flew by, and Frank finished just in time.

  After it was over, he met Sarah in the hallway. "How was it?" she asked.

  "Easier than I expected, thanks to you," Frank said. They walked down the hallway, talking about their answers. By the time they stopped in front of Frank's next class, he felt relieved.

  "Sounds like we had just about the same answers," said Sarah.

  "That either means I did very well, or some of my ignorance rubbed off on you," Frank answered.

  "Well, I think you should be proud of yourself and relax the rest of the day," Sarah said. She grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and walked off.

  Frank was about to go into his social studies class when he heard a loud kissing sound.

  "Oh, Frank, sweetheart, come read me Shakespeare tonight!" It was Brad, imitating a female voice.

  "Knock it off, Brad," Frank said.

  "Are you moving in on Sarah?" Brad asked. "I thought she and Stu were getting back together again."

  "Not according to Sarah," Frank said.

  "You should've told me that earlier. I could have reminded them when I saw them holding hands behind the tennis courts yesterday! Hate to spoil your fun, buddy—but be careful." With that, he walked off to his next class.

  Well, that's really none of my business, thought Frank. But somehow, as he walked to his class, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about what Brad had told him.

  As Frank approached the Young Turk that night, dozens of students were hanging around outside. Some had blazers or skirts with Chartwell or Winchester embroidered on them. But there was no sign of Dwight Trilby.

  At the front door, Frank was met by a familiar-looking student.

  "That'll be one dollar," he said. As Frank reached into his pocket, the guy said, "Frank Kenyon, right?" "Yes, and you're — "

  "Ty Farnsworth, I was on the student tribunal, remember?" he said, smiling. "My father owns this place. I work the front door whenever he can't get anyone."

  Frank handed him a dollar. "Skip it," whispered Ty. "To make up for the tribunal. Between you and me, I'm glad they didn't take our recommendation. You didn't deserve to be expelled."

  "Thanks, Ty." Frank peered past Ty into the club. There, arm wrestling at a table near the window, was Dwight Trilby. "By the way," Frank said to Ty, "were you here Friday night?"

  "Yes."

  "I hear Dwight Trilby was in good form that night."

  Ty laughed. "Just the usual. You know, picking fights with guys, trying to show off for the sophomore girls — "

  "Was he here the whole night?"

  "I don't know. Oh, yeah, I do remember him leaving for a while and then coming back."

  Frank smiled. "What a party animal. Oh, I almost forgot—did anyone return a set of keys to you that night?"

  Ty thought for a second, then shook his head. "No, definitely not. Lots of questions, huh?"

  Frank smiled and went into the club to look around. Dwight Trilby was the only person he recognized, but Frank kept his distance. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of Wednesday's party.

  At eight o'clock Frank stepped outside. He saw Joe standing by the Hardy van. He trotted over to him.

  "What is this club?" Joe asked.

  "For
future white-collar criminals," Frank said. "Dwight Trilby is a regular here. He was in the place the night my roommate Arnie lost his keys. And he left here and came back at one point during the night."

  "That's great, Frank, but somehow I don't think it'll hold up in court."

  "Well, it's a start. The guy is a real slime ball, and I think we should keep an eye on him. See if you can dig up anything from your end—talk to Mr. Trilby, check into Dwight's accounts."

  "Will do!" said Joe. "Want a lift back to campus?"

  "I'll drive," said Frank, hopping into the driver's seat.

  "Hey, wait a min—" Joe said, starting to protest.

  "Come on, you've been using it all week. Anyway, you drive like a stockcar racer." Frank started up the van. "Now get in. I'll drive us to the back entrance of Mansfield Hall. We don't want any of the wrong people seeing you. Then you can take the van home with you."

  "I'm touched by your generosity," Joe said. "By the way, how'd the exam go this afternoon?"

  "At least a B plus," said Frank with a grin. "I'm a pretty good test taker."

  Frank drove into campus. As he pulled quietly around Mansfield Hall, Joe said, "I think you ought to do some legwork on this Wilson character. He — "

  "Shhhh!" Frank said. "What's going on here?" In front of them was an old foreign sports car. A familiar-looking student was walking from the car to the dorm, with an armload of boxes. When he saw Frank and Joe's van, he froze.

  "Jed?" Frank called. "Is that you?"

  At that, Jed threw his boxes back into the car, jumped into the front seat, and tore away into the night.

  "Hey! That's the kid that guy Barry was beating up for laughing about his radio! That's Jed Wilson? What's he up to?" Joe asked.

  "Buckle your seat belt," Frank said to Joe. "We're about to find out."

  The van's tires squealed as Frank gunned the accelerator.

  "Step on it, Frank! He's got a big head start!"

  Frank and Joe sped through the campus after Jed. Frank flicked on his brights. He saw Jed's car screeching around the administration building toward the front gate.