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didn't mean to scare you."
    "That's all right," Frank replied, getting back onto his feet. "Do you always carry a loaded thirty-eight with you?"
    "Oh, no, it's not loaded," Oscar said. "You see, Mr. Rogers requires that I carry it. He claims there's been a series of breakins in the building lately, though in my opinion, there's no need for bullets — "
    "Yes, well, we don't get paid for our opinions, do we, Oscar?" came Mr. Rogers's voice from the doorway.
    "Pardon me, sir!" Oscar said.
    "You may go now, Oscar."
    "Of course."
    "And, Oscar — "
    "Yes, sir?"
    "Load the gun!"
    As Oscar scurried out the door, Malcolm Rogers glared menacingly at Frank.
    "So, Mr. Kenyon," he said, practically spitting out his words. "You have an interest in the Bayport Bank and Trust? In the computer system?"
    Frank grinned. "Guess my curiosity got the better of me, sir."
    "I see. Well, I am curious myself." He slammed the study door and slowly approached Frank. "Who are you?"
    "You know who I am, Mr. Rogers. I'm Frank Kenyon."
    "Of the Deep River Kenyons, eh?"
    "That's right."
    "The Deep River Kenyons who don't exist!"
    "Hey, that's my mother and father you're talking about — " Frank said, protesting.
    "Spare the theatrics, whoever-you-are," Mr. Rogers said, interrupting. "I had my people in Snapoose run a check on you. No one's ever heard the name Kenyon in Deep River. Now tell me what you're doing here!"
    Frank looked squarely into his eyes. "You seem pretty desperate, running a check on your son's roommate. Are you afraid of something?" He reached for the pile of Bayport Bank and Trust papers.
    The veins in Mr. Rogers's neck were popping out. "Out of my house!" he said, on the verge of exploding. "You will leave quietly. I will tell my family that you had a bad reaction to the fish and that you had to be sent home. Bradley will spend the night here. What happened between you and me is never to be mentioned to Bradley. It will disturb his concentration at school. Is that understood?"
    "If you say so, sir." Frank shrugged, gazing steadily at Malcolm Rogers. This investigation was not going like clockwork. Not at all.
    Rogers grabbed him by the collar and moved his face to within inches of Frank's. "I'll be keeping tabs on you at Chartwell, Mr. Kenyon. And you'd be wise not to have any contact with the Bayport Bank and Trust."
    He let go, and Frank brushed himself off and walked into the hallway and out of the apartment.
    "Next stop is Short Neck!"
    The bus driver's voice woke Frank.' The ride back to Kirkland was far different from the limo ride. The bus had stopped at just about every small depot along the way and jangled over every rutted road.
    Frank thought about Malcolm Rogers. Was he guilty of swindling his own bank? He wished he could have read the letter from Trilby.
    After an hour and a half the bus pulled up to Chartwell's front gate. Frank was the only person to get off. In the darkness he noticed the outline of a large car or truck down the road. As he started through the gate, he heard a motor rev up. He looked back and saw the vehicle move slowly toward him with its headlights flashing.
    Frank could see the newspaper headlines right then: "Wandering Preppy Killed by Night Stalker." He took off running into the campus.
    A whistle pierced the air and then a shout followed. "Frank! It's me!"
    Frank turned to see that the mysterious vehicle was a van — Frank and Joe's van!
    "Joe?"
    "No—Santa Claus," Joe said. "I'm a little early." Frank noticed that Joe's mustache was gone but the black spray was still in his hair.
    "Where have you been?" Frank asked.
    "You took the question right out of my mouth! I've been trying to call your room on our mobile phone for an hour!"
    "It's a long story. But we have another suspect. Guy named Rogers — board member of the bank. His son is one of my roommates."
    "Great," said Joe. "Maybe he's in cahoots with Jed Wilson. Dad and I analyzed Wilson's records and dug up a lot of info about him." "Do we