"Why don't you see if he's logged onto the system?" Randi suggested. She bent to set her chair upright again. "Knowing Victor, he probably is, unless he's asleep or in the shower."

Sitting down in front of the terminal, Randi pressed some keys. "I was right," she said after a moment. "He's in the computer room. Do you want to use my terminal to talk to him?"

Nancy didn't want her conversation with Victor to be open to everyone who happened to be using the computer system. "No thanks. I'll go down there in person."

"Suit yourself," Randi told her. "I'll tell him you're coming. And remember, I'm expecting to hear what this is all about. Otherwise, I'll have to start an investigation of my own."

Just as Randi had said, Victor was at one of the computer room terminals. "You look pretty good for someone who just got back from the hospital," he commented. "How do you feel?"

"I've been too busy to tell," Nancy said. "Listen, I have an important question for you. Is it possible to send a message from one terminal in the system to another, but make the system say that it came from a different terminal?"

"Hmm." Victor leaned back in his chair and stared into s.p.a.ce as he considered this. "I don't see why not," he answered at last. "It shouldn't be that hard to program the computer to accept a message for retransmission from a different origin. But you'd leave a trail, of course."

"You mean, a record of where the message really came from?" Nancy demanded, her blue eyes widening. "Do you know how to find a record like that?"

Victor studied her face for a moment, then nodded. "Probably. A message to whom to whom, received when?"

Nancy smiled at his half-joking use of whom whom and then gave him the information he needed. He busied himself at the terminal, humming the refrain from a hard-rock tune under his breath. Finally, just when Nancy was sure she couldn't stand to wait a second longer, he pushed his chair back and said, "Okay, I got it. The message was actually entered a couple of minutes earlier than it said, and the real place of origin was the work station in Ms. Hathaway's office." and then gave him the information he needed. He busied himself at the terminal, humming the refrain from a hard-rock tune under his breath. Finally, just when Nancy was sure she couldn't stand to wait a second longer, he pushed his chair back and said, "Okay, I got it. The message was actually entered a couple of minutes earlier than it said, and the real place of origin was the work station in Ms. Hathaway's office."

"You're sure?" Nancy exclaimed.

"Not a hundred percent sure," he admitted. "There might be a second layer of tricks. Call it eighty percent."

"Good enough!" Nancy started for the door, then paused to look over her shoulder. "Thanks, Victor," she added. "You've been super."

"You're welcome. And don't forget that hot fudge sundae."

Ms. Arletti's office was almost back to normal, except for the lingering smell of burnt and wet wood. She looked up from some work on her desk as Nancy came in. "Ms. Hathaway?" she replied to Nancy's question. "Oh, what a shame, she just walked out this second. She had an urgent phone call a few minutes ago and told me she had to leave. You can probably catch her in the parking lot if you hurry."

"Thanks," Nancy called, jogging out the door.

Nancy's car was in the visitors' parking lot because she hadn't been a.s.signed a permanent teacher s.p.a.ce yet. She climbed in, wincing as her hands touched the wheel, and drove around the back of the building, where faculty members parked. A red sedan that looked like Phyllis's was just pulling out into the street. Nancy waited a few seconds, then followed.

The car turned right at the next corner, then left a couple of blocks later. Nancy followed, far enough back to stay unnoticed, she hoped. She was beginning to think she knew where Phyllis was going.

A few minutes later her hunch was confirmed. As Phyllis's car approached Archer Street, the right turn signal started to blink. Sure enough, Phyllis's car slowed as she reached the bank branch, about halfway down the street. Nancy slowed, too, then pulled in behind a van parked on the street. Its bulk would help hide her car from anyone in the bank.

Nancy watched as Phyllis parked in the lot and headed for the bank. While she observed her, Nancy's attention was drawn to a dusty blue car that she knew was Dana MacCauley's. Nancy ducked down in her seat until it, too, pulled into the bank lot, then slid over to the pa.s.senger seat and removed a small pair of binoculars from the glove compartment. From there she could just see around the bulk of the van.

Dana was pulling into a spot near Phyllis's car. It was obvious that they had a prearranged meeting. Dana's must have been the urgent phone call Ms. Arletti had referred to.

Dana called to Phyllis, who was waiting for her at the entrance. Together they continued toward the bank. Dana put her bank card in the door slot and the two women entered the twenty-four-hour lobby. Nancy longed to get out of her car and move closer. But she didn't dare. The gla.s.s walls of the lobby made it too easy for the women to notice her.

Nancy picked up her binoculars and peered into the window. With a happy, almost triumphant look on her face, Phyllis handed Dana something.

It was a wad of cash!

Chapter Fourteen.

NANCY HELD HER BREATH and adjusted the focus on the binoculars. That money had come from Phyllis's purse, not the machine. She couldn't tell the denomination of the bills, but even if they were twenties, the amount would be large. Dana studied the wad a moment, then smiled and shook Phyllis's hand. Dana wrote out a deposit slip, put the cash and the slip in an envelope, and deposited the envelope in the automated teller machine.

Nancy watched the women a while longer. They seemed happy when they left the bank, got into their respective cars, and drove off. Nancy's mind was racing. Normally two people didn't meet at a bank just to make a deposit. Obviously they were up to something. Was Phyllis giving Dana her cut of the illegal money?

When both cars were out of sight, Nancy got out of her car and went to a phone booth near the bank.

Luckily she was able to reach Harrison Lane in his office. After Nancy explained what she wanted to know, he took the number of the telephone she was calling from and promised to call her right back. In fact, it was almost ten minutes before the telephone rang.

"I'm sorry to have taken so long," the banker told her, "but I wanted to be absolutely sure of my facts."

"What did you find?" Nancy asked. "Was I right? Was a big deposit just made into the I. Wynn account?" She held her breath and waited for his response.

"I'm afraid not," said Lane.

Nancy's mouth fell open. "There wasn't?"

"No," he replied. "I'm sorry, but the only recent activity in that account was that withdrawal yesterday afternoon. By the way, I gather your little trap was a success."

"Yes and no," said Nancy. "I got answers to some questions, but the big one is still a mystery. If anything, it's more of a mystery now than ever. You're positive that no one put money into that account from the Archer Street cash machine in the last fifteen minutes? Maybe your records are running a few minutes behind?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Lane said once more. "The only activity at that cash machine in the last quarter-hour was a deposit of two thousand dollars into the account of PointTech Computers. Hmm-I think that's the company that installed the system at the school."

"PointTech?" she repeated. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. "Thanks, Mr. Lane. I'll let you know if I get any closer to a solution." Then Nancy said goodbye and hung up.

As she walked back to her car, she tried to make sense of what she had just learned. Of course! she thought. I should have realized right away! The I. Wynn account was just a cover-up account. It was only for drop-off and pick-up purposes. The money was actually going into the PointTech account. It was the perfect cover. Yet there had been no activity in the I. Wynn account at all. Maybe the two thousand dollars represented most of the cash students had paid till then.

Nancy was distracted from her thoughts as she felt her hands throbbing. It was time to put more anesthetic cream on them, so she started up her car and drove home, hoping her dad wasn't mad because she hadn't called him.

"Hannah, that pot roast was delicious," said Nancy, pushing her empty plate away from her. It turned out that Carson Drew had had to work late anyway, so Nancy and Hannah ate a dinner of pot roast, potatoes, and broccoli alone. "I couldn't eat another bite."

The housekeeper raised her eyebrows, a teasing glint in her eyes as she said, "I guess that means you won't be having any of my chocolate-chip cookies."

"Bite your tongue!" Nancy exclaimed. "You know I can always find room for a cookie, Hannah."

She got up and began helping Hannah clear the table, but the housekeeper waved her away. "I'll get it, dear. You need to give those poor hands a rest."

"Thanks, Hannah." She gave Hannah a quick hug after grabbing a couple of cookies, and went up to her room. Stretching out on her bed, Nancy simply let her mind wander. In the past she'd discovered that sometimes confusing clues made sense when she did this. She began to drift off to sleep, images from the case swimming through her mind.

One face continued to reappear-that of Walter Friedbinder. Walter Friedbinder standing next to the faculty mailboxes. Walter Friedbinder making plans to check the filing cabinets. Walter Friedbinder reacting to the note Kim had left him. And, Nancy thought, he knew her real last name.

She'd noted his odd behavior on several occasions, but she'd been so busy concentrating on Dana and Phyllis and Victor that she hadn't actively investigated the headmaster.

Nancy suddenly came fully awake and sat up in her bed. She got up and went to her desk for Friedbinder's biography. Then she began dialing the universities that he said he'd attended. It was late, though, and she wasn't able to get through to any of the offices. She'd have to wait until the morning to check on Friedbinder's background story.

Propping her elbows on her desk, Nancy rested her chin in her palms. She could be wrong about Friedbinder. After all, Kim was the only suspect she'd ruled out so far.

She headed downstairs, her mind still on the case, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Nancy opened the door to find herself face-to-face with Victor.

"Hi," he said a little nervously. "I hope you don't mind, but I looked up your address in the phone book."

An alarm went off in Nancy's brain. In order to look up her address, Victor had to know her last name-her real last name. "Is that so?" she asked. "How did you know where to look?"

"Kim told me who you really are." Victor's tone was flat. The sparkle in his amber eyes and his easy grin were gone. He was pale and seemed anxious. "I'd like to talk to you," he said. "Want to take a drive? It's kind of important."

"Okay," Nancy agreed, grabbing her denim jacket from the hall closet. She called to Hannah to let her know where she was going. "Come on," she said, pulling the door closed behind them.

They climbed into Victor's beat-up car and began to drive. The night had grown foggy, and the streetlights gave only a hazy, dim glow. Occasionally Victor flipped on his wipers to brush the mist from the windshield. For five full minutes neither of them said a word. Then, pulling to a stop at the curb of a residential street, Victor turned to her.

"So you're the famous Nancy Drew," he said. "I guess I'm the guy you're after, huh?"

Nancy shot Victor a quick look. What was he saying? Was this an admission that he was the grade-changer? "I don't know," she hedged. "Are you?"

"Don't play games with me," Victor said, a rough edge in his voice. "I know changing Phil's grade wasn't right, but I'd do it again."

"Why don't you just tell me how it all started," she said carefully. Nancy didn't want to reveal that she didn't know about Phil or even who he was. I'll just hear Victor out, she decided.

"That's simple," Victor replied. "About a year ago, a guy who's been a close friend of mine since we were kids told me he was in big trouble. He's an ace basketball player, and a couple of good universities had their eye on him, but he had flubbed one of his courses during fall semester. He was afraid that they were about to put him on academic probation, right before basketball season started. He'd be b.u.mped from the varsity and lose his chance at a scholarship."

"So he asked you to change his grade?" Nancy suggested.

Victor shook his head. "Not a chance! He never even knew. It was all my idea. I did a good job, too. I didn't dare change that D he'd gotten. It would have been too easy to spot. So instead, I eased his other grades up, just enough to bring his average above the danger line."

"I see," Nancy said. "And once you found out how easy it was, you decided to keep doing it, only for money."

Victor stared at her blankly for a moment before asking, "Is that what's going on?" His amber eyes grew wide with surprise. "I figured you were trying to find out who changed my pal's grades. I thought Friedbinder had noticed it and put you on the case. Boy, do I feel dumb! What you're investigating is much bigger, isn't it? Well, I can tell you for sure that it's not me. I don't care if you believe me or not, it's the truth. I fiddled with my friend's record-one time. Afterward I swore I'd never do anything like that again. And I haven't."

Nancy didn't know what to think. Victor's manner was very convincing, but all good liars could be convincing. She measured Victor against what she knew about the true criminal. Victor could be made to fit the profile, but only by making a number of unlikely a.s.sumptions.

She didn't see why he'd tell her about his friend Phil if he really was changing grades for money. Then there was the fact that Nancy's threatening messages had come from Phyllis Hathaway's computer. It would probably be pretty hard, if not impossible, for Victor to gain access to her office. And why would he bother when he had easy access to so many other terminals?

Besides, Nancy had better candidates already, ones who fit the pattern of facts almost perfectly.

"I guess I blurted out my little secret when I didn't really need to," Victor noted. "Are you going to tell Friedbinder?"

Nancy was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "Why don't you confess to him yourself, Victor? That would probably help things go more in your favor. I don't think it would be fair to penalize someone too harshly for one mistake. And I suspect the people in charge at Brewster will end up feeling the same way-once they understand the circ.u.mstances."

"I hope you're right," Victor said in a gloomy voice. He turned around and started the engine, then added, "It's weird, but I feel better now that you know. Thanks for listening. I'd better get you home."

"One more thing," said Nancy. "Don't confess right away. Wait a day or so."

"Why?" he asked.

"You may be confessing to a whole new set of people," she told him. "That's all I can tell you right now."

Victor whistled softly. "Sounds like big-time stuff."

On the drive back, Nancy settled into her seat and closed her eyes, starting to plan her next move. When she opened them, she saw that they were just pa.s.sing Brewster Academy.

"I just saw lights in the school office," she said urgently, grabbing Victor's arm. "It's nearly nine. Who'd be there at this time?"

Victor pulled over to the curb. "Cleaning people?" he suggested, following her gaze. "Maybe they brought somebody in to work on the fire damage."

"Maybe," Nancy replied. "But I'd like to check it out. Do you mind?"

His answer was to drive into the school parking lot. They got out of the car and walked quietly up to the front door. To Nancy's surprise, it was open.

"I don't like this," Nancy muttered. "Come on."

Down the hallway, a fan of light spilled out from the open door to the administration offices. Nancy led the way, creeping on tiptoe, and peeked inside. Dana MacCauley and Phyllis Hathaway were standing in the far corner of Phyllis's office, staring down at the screen of the computer terminal. Dana was shaking her head, a puzzled expression on her face.

Suddenly Phyllis let out a cry of alarm. "Dana, do something, quick!" she shouted. "It's starting to reformat the hard disk. If we can't save the file, our entire plan will be ruined!"

Chapter Fifteen.

NANCY'S HEART WAS POUNDING. She was tempted to rush in and catch the two women off guard, but there was one thing she had to check first.

Victor tapped Nancy's arm, then whispered, "I could probably help them out."

That gave Nancy an idea. "Yeah, go ahead," she said quietly. "Do what you can, and keep them in there for as long as possible."

Victor nodded, giving her the thumbs-up sign. Nancy stepped back as Victor sauntered into Phyllis's office. "Hey, ladies, what's the problem?" she heard him say in his most upbeat voice. "I saw lights and came to investigate. Don't want anyone burglarizing my school."

"Boy, am I glad you're here!" Dana exclaimed. "Sit down and see what you can do with this."

From the hallway, Nancy watched as Victor sat in front of the computer and began to work. She waited until they were all staring at the computer screen and then stole silently through the anteroom and into Friedbinder's office. She didn't dare turn on the light. Outside the security lights glistened through the foggy mist. It would have to be enough light.

Nancy tugged at the middle drawer of Friedbinder's desk. It was locked. Taking a letter opener off his desk, she used it to work at the lock. Open, she silently urged it.

With a satisfying click the lock finally gave, and Nancy pulled open the drawer.

"Jackpot!" she murmured softly. In the dim light she saw all she needed. Eagerly she sorted through papers. There was a bit of ripped newspaper-the obituary of Ignatz Wynn. The name and address were highlighted in yellow. There was also an opened letter addressed to the deceased Mr. Wynn. Inside was a Social Security check with Wynn's Social Security number written on it. Nancy recalled the old woman telling her that a man had come by the house. It must have been Friedbinder. He'd been snooping around for the Social Security number, and he'd found it.

Nancy continued to sort through the papers. On a yellow legal pad she found names and Friedbinder's notes to himself scrawled casually across the paper. "Sally Lane-$1,000," read one line. Altogether, Nancy counted six more students' names with numbers scribbled beside them. On the top of the pad he'd written a note to himself. "Kim Forster-eager to go to college. Needs scholarship. Can't afford payment. Any use?"

"You found a use for her, didn't you," said Nancy, completely disgusted. She tore the sheet off the pad of paper and stuck it in her jacket pocket. Then she continued to search through the drawer. The next thing she found was a small notepad. Opening it, Nancy saw computer notes. Most of them were unintelligible to Nancy, but she recognized the dots, squiggles, asterisks, and letters as being computer commands. They were definitely in Friedbinder's handwriting. Here was good proof that Friedbinder had a very sophisticated knowledge of computers!