Free The Poisoned Arrow by Simon Cheshire

recording device of some kind that I can borrow?’ I asked.
    ‘Ooooh, like, y’know, a wire?’ said Muddy gleefully. ‘Like undercover cops use in movies?’
    ‘No, like schoolboy detectives use to tape ordinary conversations,’ I tutted.
    ‘Oh,’ said Muddy, disappointed.
    ‘I’ve already written down heaps of notes,’ I said, ‘and I’ve still got several people to talk to. I thought I’d record my chats with them and write up any
observations later on.’
    Muddy ferreted around in a couple of cardboard boxes, then produced a regular handset with a couple of extra bits sticking out of it. ‘I adapted this from my mum’s old mobile
phone,’ he said. ‘It records for a couple of hours before it needs a recharge. I was trying to make something that would automatically turn voice messages into written ones, but for
some reason they kept coming out in Swahili.’
    ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘it’s only the recording function I need. Thanks.’
    ‘Is this case turning out to be a real brain-mangler, then?’
    I sighed and gave my glasses a quick polish on my sleeve. ‘I have to admit,’ I said, ‘my talk with Nat has only made the entire mystery seem even more alarmingly deep and
complex than ever. I think it’s looking less and less likely that he did commit the crime. I think. But if he didn’t commit the crime, what sort of terrible hold has the real crook got over him? Must be something pretty extreme. And what is going on with those friends of his?’
    ‘Maybe they’re not friends at all,’ said Muddy. ‘Maybe they’re out to get him for some reason.’
    ‘Hmm, dunno,’ I muttered. ‘Every angle I look at this problem from, all I can see are more problems. Anyway, thanks for this I’ll see you later.’
    ‘Hang on!’ cried Muddy. He dived back into his cardboard boxes and came up with a small camera to which he’d attached a big lens. ‘I’ve been itching to try out the
new Whitehouse Snoop-o-Zoom Mark 2. I’m coming with you!’
    I groaned. ‘Do you have to?’ I said, one hand over my eyes. ‘Do you really, really, really have to?’
    ‘Yes.’ He nodded, grinning. ‘I want to see if the students at uni are like the students on telly, going to parties all the time and making a lot of noise at three in the
morning!’

 
C HAPTER
F OUR
    ‘A WWW, WOW, LOOK AT THAT ! And that! And that! Ooooh!’
    ‘Muddy,’ I growled through clenched teeth, ‘pack it in. People are staring.’
    ‘But look,’ he cried, ‘they’ve got a proper laboratory. And have you seen the size of their canteen? And that sign up there says IT Centre . Not just a room
like at school – a whole centre ! I can’t wait to be a university student. A real laboratory, plus parties all the time and making a lot of noise at three in the
morning!’
    The university was certainly an impressive place. A narrow road wandered through the main campus, passing all kinds of buildings, each of which was totally different in size and style to the
ones either side. It looked as if teams of builders had raced each other to finish one idea after another. Signposts and diagrams pointed here, there and everywhere, to the Department of
This-Subject and the Institute of That-Studies.
    Muddy and I were surrounded by flowing streams of students, all of them way taller than us and most of them wearing designer jeans. By the time we found the Department of Mathematics, we’d
heard nine languages being spoken and seen about a dozen contenders for Cool Dude of the Year.
    ‘This is amaaaazing,’ Muddy said grinning.
    The maths block was fronted by a large, paved area. In the middle of this plaza was a tall tree, its branches fanned out in an elegant dome, surrounded by a series of benches.
    ‘You stay out here, Muddy,’ I told him.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Muddy, parking himself on one of the benches.
    ‘Pack it in. Seriously, don’t go talking to anyone. I want to investigate incognito.’
    ‘Wearing a what?’