C:\Users\John\Downloads\G\Gordon Korman - Bugs Potter 01 - Who Is Bugs

Potter.pdb

PDB Name:

Gordon Korman - Bugs Potter 01

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Creation Date:

08/01/2008

Modification Date:

08/01/2008

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This document was generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter program
The Dunamai Memorial Collection

This ebook is part of a collection to honor the memory of Hugh ‘Dunamai’
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The Most

"Webb, Adam," repeated the desk clerk, consulting the register. "Ah yes,
you're with the High School Band Festival — from Sir Wilfrid Laurier High
School, right?"

"Right," confirmed the blond boy.

"You're in room 1720." He reached behind him, picked a key from a honeycomb
of small letter boxes and handed it to Adam. "There'll be two in a room.
You'll find your roommate already there."

"Thank you." Adam took a few steps from the reception desk, put down his

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travelling bag and his flute case and looked curiously around him.

The hotel lobby was panelled in oak and richly carpeted, with
velvet-upholstered furniture tastefully arranged in conversation groups. Over
the mezzanine, below elegant chandeliers, hung a large white banner which
read:

TORONTO'S HOTEL EMPRESS

WELCOMES CANADIAN HIGH SCHOOL MUSICIANS

Around the lobby, other young people carrying instrument cases were examining
their new surroundings as well.

Adam felt a surge of pride and excitement. From all across Canada, a hundred
high school musicians had been chosen to make up one band. He felt honoured to
be a part of it.

He stepped into an elevator and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.

* * *

Adam turned his key in the lock of room 1720, swung the door open and stepped
inside. His jaw dropped. The walls were plastered with psychedelic posters of
rock bands, and the floor was littered with suitcases, trunks and duffle bags.
Lying on one of the beds was a slim, dark-haired boy hooked up by means of a
giant set of headphones to a portable stereo cassette recorder. In his hands
was a pair of drumsticks and he was drumming violently on one knee. His face
wore a blissful expression.

Seeing Adam, the boy wrenched the headset from his ears, switched off the
recorder and bounded off the bed, hand outstretched in welcome. "Hi there,
roomie. I'm Dave Potter, but my friends call me Bugs!"

Cautiously Adam extended his hand.

Bugs grabbed it and shook it vigorously. "I'm from Winnipeg, from Red River
Secondary School," he went on with growing enthusiasm as well as volume. "I
play the drums. How about you?"

"Adam Webb. I'm from Montreal — Sir Wilfrid Laurier." He carefully pushed
aside a pile of tapes and put his instrument case down on the bureau. "I play
the flute."

"Flute, eh?" said Bugs dubiously. He shrugged. "Oh, well, I guess somebody
has to do it. Okay, that bed's yours. Have you got any posters to put up? I
can maybe move some of mine to the ceiling or something."

Adam sat down on his bed, head spinning, ears ringing. "No. No posters." He
looked around at the already messy room. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, a long time. Almost half an hour. Hey, if you want to listen to some
music, help yourself, but you have to use the headphones. I've had some
complaints."

"No, thank you."

"Boy, this is going to be fun! Ten whole days in a fabulous hotel in downtown
Toronto! A whole city full of exciting stuff just waiting for us!"

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Adam felt a headache coming on. "We're supposed to be practising for a
concert," he reminded his noisy new roommate.

"Oh, that," Bugs scoffed. "You've seen the music. It's a bunch of boring
junk. Nobody has to practise that!"

"Well,I have to," said Adam sarcastically. "I guess you must be a better
musician than I am."

"Probably," Bugs agreed genially. "I am good. I mean, I am really good! I
mean, I amThe Most!"

Cursing the fate that had given him a room with The Most, Adam stretched
himself out on his bed. "I think I'll try to have a nap," he said with quiet
restraint. "I have a bit of a headache."

"No time," insisted Bugs, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his
feet. "We've got an orientation meeting in the lobby in five minutes. And
besides, there's not going to be any time for sleeping. Do you know who's
arriving this very day at this very hotel?"

"Who?" asked Adam, since it seemed to be expected of him.

"Only BiBi Lanay, the most famous, gorgeous movie star in the whole world!"
Bugs sighed with anticipation. "We've got to figure out a way to get to meet
her."

"Are you sure?" asked Adam dubiously. "What's BiBi Lanay coming here for?"

"Probably to promote her new movie,Redhead in the Big City . Hey, come on!
Let's get down to the lobby for that meeting."

Head pounding, Adam followed Bugs out the door.

* * *

"Today is August fourth," announced C. Fenton Darby, bandmaster of the
Canadian High School Music Festival. "On August fourteenth, we are to perform
in the Forum at Ontario Place, Toronto's famous waterfront attraction. By that
time we shall be a well-oiled machine, perfect in all its parts. Every grace
note, triangle chime and piccolo trill will be exactly in place." He cleared
his throat and sniffed at the air as if he smelled something foul. "High
schools all across Canada have sent you to me," he went on. "You supposedly
represent thecreme de la creme of musicianship. I shall expect nothing less
than perfection."

In the crowd of boys and girls, Bugs nudged Adam, almost knocking him over.
"Don't worry," he stage-whispered. "He's probably just one of those guys who
talk like that all the time."

Adam squirmed nervously and did not reply.

"To achieve this goal of perfection," Mr. Darby continued, "we are going to
have a rigorous program combining practice with a culturally intelligent use
of leisure time. Accordingly, you will report for band practice promptly at
nine each morning. The practice will last until precisely ten-thirty, after
which time you may relax until luncheon, which will convene in the hotel
dining room at exactly eleven-forty-five. After luncheon you will tour as a
group, visiting the various art galleries, museums and historic sites of
Toronto."

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Adam glanced at Bugs who, for the first time, was beginning to look alarmed.

"At four o'clock on the dot you will be back at the hotel for another
practice, which will last until five-thirty. Dinner is served promptly at six.
After dinner you will be taken, again as a group, to stimulating plays,
concerts or lectures. My assistants are now handing out your detailed
schedules."

Adam heard a sick, throaty sound beside him and turned to note that Bugs,
looking positively pale, was staring at a closely typed sheet in a grey
folder. A glum assistant thrust an identical folder into Adam's hand.

Mr. Darby drew himself up to his full height and surveyed the hundred boys
and girls threateningly. "Discipline," he said, "will be extremely strict. My
assistants and I will see to it that the rules are followed to the letter. You
are too old to be ordered to sleep, but there will be an eleven o'clock
curfew. No one may leave his or her room after that hour. At my suggestion,
the hotel has disconnected the television sets in your rooms so that there
will be no distractions from the matter at hand. For the next ten days you
people will be virtually shut off from all events in the outside world. You
will belong to me and to your music."

He paused and beamed benevolently at them. "You should all have your folders
by now, with a map of the hotel. Band practice will be in Banquet Room A on
the mezzanine level. Nothing has been planned for this afternoon until
practice at four o'clock, so I would advise you —"

The front doors of the Hotel Empress burst open and in surged a mass of
newspaper reporters and photographers.

They quickly filled the lobby and began milling around, shouting and clicking
camera shutters.

"— to use your time wisely to settle in to the routine," shouted Mr. Darby in
a vain attempt to be heard.

No one was listening.

"It'sher!" bellowed Bugs, elbowing Adam repeatedly in the ribs. "It's her!
It's BiBi Lanay!"

At the centre of the hubbub, striking glamorous poses as she made slow
progress toward the elevators, was a slim, graceful figure dressed in scarlet
and draped in ermine despite the summer heat. Her long flowing red hair
gleamed in the light of the crystal chandeliers, and her dazzling smile
encompassed everyone. Around her neck on a diamond-studded chain hung the
famous Falusi Emerald, one of the largest and most fabulous gemstones in the
world.

"It's her!" shouted Bugs again.

"Diligence is the key," screamed Mr. Darby, who had lost even the most
earnest of his audience by now. "You must —" He abandoned all efforts to be
heard.

"But how you are so very charming!" BiBi gushed to her public in a deep,
throaty voice, with a strong European accent.

"Miss Lanay, are you here to promote your new movie?" asked one reporter.

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"Miss Lanay, exactly how big is that emerald?" called another.

"Bring your camera around here, Fred! You'll get a good shot of that stone
she's wearing!"

"Smile, Miss Lanay."

"What do you mean 'no film in the camera'?"

"What are your plans after you launch this movie, BiBi?"

Bugs grabbed Adam and began to plow through the crowd of reporters, using his
roommate as a shield. "Come on! We've got to meet her!"

"But —" Adam protested vainly.

A photographer turned angrily to Adam. "Hey, kid, quit shoving!"

"Miss Lanay is very tired," announced a small, efficient-looking woman in
BiBi's entourage. "No more pictures and no more questions, please. She must
retire to her suite."

With a final flash of the Falusi Emerald, the divine BiBi slipped into an
elevator and disappeared.

"Do you have to be so pushy?" fumed Adam.

Bugs did not reply. His enraptured gaze was fixed on the floor indicator of
the elevator. "Eighteen," he breathed finally. "Top floor. She's on the
eighteenth floor." He grabbed Adam by the shoulders and shook him. "Do you
realize what that means? BiBi Lanay is staying right above us!"

With much effort Adam wrenched himself loose. He turned around to find C.
Fenton Darby glaring disapprovingly at him.

"Your behaviour just now," frowned the bandmaster, "was not at all
gentlemanly. See that such a scene is not repeated."

"Yes, sir," murmured Adam. He looked accusingly at Bugs.

Bugs shrugged.

* * *

"You got me into trouble!" accused Adam, pacing their small room. Bugs
shrugged again. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" exclaimed Adam. "Sorry? Now that awful Darby is going to be watching
me like a hawk!"

"Nah," scoffed Bugs, giving his roommate a reassuring slap on the back. "He
probably didn't mean anything by it. You can't listen to anything Darby says.
He's the guy who told us all that rot about museums and lectures and stuff.
You don't believethat , do you?"

"Well," said Adam slowly, "if it's on our schedule, I guess he meant it. They
seem to have slated a bunch of concerts for us to go to."

"Concerts are okay. I like a good rock concert, even if I don't know the

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group."

Adam smiled wearily. "No, no, no. They don't mean rock concerts. They mean
symphonies and recitals."

"Really?" asked Bugs in horror.

"Yes, and plays by people like Shakespeare and Ibsen." There was a whimper
from Bugs. "And lectures on the lives of great composers."

Bugs brightened. "You mean like Johnny Solid who plays lead guitar for Busted
Chandelier?"

Adam laughed. "No, I mean like Mozart and Beethoven." He was really enjoying
the look of dismay on his roommate's face.

Bugs moaned pitifully.

"And, of course, there are the museums and art galleries," Adam added with
relish. "Darby calls it 'a culturally intelligent use of leisure time.' "

"I'll die!" exclaimed Bugs. His face assumed a look of hope. "Maybe after a
couple of days they'll run out of boring stuff to make us go to."

"Oh, I doubt that," said Adam coolly. "Toronto is a very big city. There must
be hundreds of cultural events going on."

Bugs slumped onto his bed in total dejection. "I guess we'll just have to
figure out a way —" His head jerked upwards at the sound of footsteps from the
floor above, and he leaped from the bed, grabbing Adam in excitement. "Do you
hear that?" he gasped, pointing wildly at the ceiling. "It's her! It's BiBi!
BiBi Lanay is walking above our very heads!"

"So what? She's just walking. Besides, it might not even be her. Do you have
to get so riled up over everything?"

"Just think! Pretty soon we'll get to meet her!"

"Meet her? How are we going to manage that?"

"Don't worry, we'll figure out a way." Bugs grunted. "I need some
relaxation." Without giving Adam a chance to comment, he put on his
headphones, flicked a switch on his tape deck and lay back on his bed. From
underneath the pillow he produced a pair of drumsticks and began drumming on
his knee.

Adam sighed heavily. "You're right," he said to his oblivious roommate. "You
really are The Most."

* * *

In room 1549 of the Hotel Empress, two men sat huddled over a large volume
entitledThe Encyclopedia of Gemstones .

"The Falusi Emerald," read the taller of the two. "Mined in 1923 in Colombia,
it is the largest emerald in the world, weighing sixty-three carats, with an
estimated value of $4.2 million. "

"That's it, Barney! That's it!" cried the smaller, weasle-like man. "$4.2
million! That's $2.1 million each."

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"We have to steal it first, Ralph," said Barney solemnly. "And besides, as
the brains of this operation I should be entitled to more than just half — say
sixty-forty. Or seventy-thirty. Hmmm. That would come to — let's see — carry
the four —"

"Hey, but look at this," exclaimed Ralph in horror. "There's a curse on that
emerald!"

Barney read on: "Superstition, however, insists that ill luck will follow
anyone who owns the Falusi Emerald. Roman Falusi, the gem's first owner, died
in a tuna-fish mishap while sailing in his yacht. The next owner, the Dowager
Duchess of Cavendish, one day boarded a bus in Picaddilly and was never seen
again. The third owner, famed international jeweller Max Vandermeer, went
suddenly bankrupt two days after acquiring the emerald. His foremost creditor,
Swedish playboy Sven Johanssen, took the gem as payment of debts. One week
later, on a mountain-climbing expedition in the Himalayas, Johanssen slipped
at the two-thirds point on Mount Everest and tumbled all the way to the
bottom."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Shh," said Barney. "There's more.The emerald was then sold at auction in New
York, where Oswald Perry, who had just purchased it, fell down the elevator
shaft of the auction house, leaving the jewel to his son, Oswald, Jr. Shortly
after his inheritance, Oswald, Jr. was thrown from a mule during a visit to
the Grand Canyon and disappeared into the Colorado River. The Falusi was next
purchased by Sheik Muley Hassan ofSudaria. When one by one his oil wells began
to run dry, the Sheik, on the advice of his personal astrologer, immediately
presented the emerald to actress BiBi Lanay in honour of her magnificent
performance of 'The Dance of the Seven Veils' in the motion picture Redhead in
Arabia.Miss Lanay appears to have broken the so-called Falusi Jinx, since no
harm has come to her so far."

Barney looked up at Ralph. "You see? There's no such thing as a jinx. It's
all superstition."

"I guess so," said Ralph, unconvinced.

* * *

"Ow!"cried BiBi Lanay, tripping over her luggage and sprawling on the floor
amid the pieces of a shattered table lamp. She got up, rubbing her hip.
"Again! I'm always having accidents! It's this stupid emerald. I've got to get
rid of it before it kills me too."

"Now, now," soothed Claire Tanner, publicity secretary and companion to the
star. "There is no jinx on that emerald. It's all superstitious nonsense."

"Oh yeah?" howled BiBi. "Then why did I fall just now? And what about the
bump on my head from yesterday? Big as an egg! And last week my limousine just
happened to wrap itself around a pole! 'It's good for your image,' you said
when Sheik What's-His-Name gave me that rock. Well, it's not good for my
health! I've got to ditch it!"

"BiBi, your accent!" exclaimed Claire, appalled. "Watch your accent!" You're
supposed to be European, remember. What if you slip up like that in public?"

"It's better to slip up on my accent than to slip and break my neck," shouted
BiBi.

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"Get hold of yourself," Claire ordered sternly. "You're BiBi Lanay, a big
star from Europe."

"I am not," complained BiBi miserably. "I'm Brenda Lifschitz, a secretary
from the Bronx."

"Yes," agreed Claire. "And your public must never know."

That's flautists

At four-twenty C. Fenton Darby tapped for order.

"Never before in the history of music has any piece sounded so dismally
different from what its composer intended. If you are the best Canada has to
offer, then we are indeed in trouble. You have all been in possession of this
music for over a month. Has no one taken the trouble to practise?"

Nobody answered.

"And you —" Mr. Darby squinted at his list and looked up to glare at Bugs.
"David Potter, my eyesight must be failing. Would you mind telling me where
you see a drum roll in bar nine?"

"Oh, there isn't one, sir," said Bugs cheerfully. "I thought I'd just liven
it up a bit."

"This is a Strauss waltz," said Mr. Darby icily, "not a rock number. It does
not require livening up. In future, kindly play only what is on your music
sheet — and nothing more." He paused and sniffed.

"Trumpets, thereis such a thing as rhythm. A waltz is in three-quarter time.
Kindly remember it. Trombones, I can hardly hear you. Put some conviction into
it. This is not a funeral march. Clarinets, you are off key. All F's are
supposed to be sharp. And flutes — ah, yes, flutes. I feel certain you must be
playing the wrong piece. I can find no other logical explanation for the
discordant quality of the sounds emanating from your section. Now, with these
improvements in mind, shall we steel ourselves and try it again?"

By the time the practice was over, most of the young musicians were in a
state of nervous depression. As they locked their instruments away in the
equipment room, they murmured discontentedly among themselves.

"Boy, he sure is mean," pouted Sylvia Nystrom, a trumpet player from
Vancouver.

"Yeah," agreed Laura Johnston, a flautist from Ottawa. "Especially to the
flutes. He bugged us the whole practice."

"We weren't that bad," said Adam. "He just doesn't seem to realize that Rome
wasn't built in a day."

Bugs loped up and slapped Adam on the back consolingly. "Never mind Darby,"
he said cheerfully. "He just doesn't understand you flute-guys."

"That's 'flautists,' " growled Adam.

"Same difference." Bugs shrugged. "Hey, we have dinner in half an hour. I

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wonder if BiBi will be in the dining room." His eyes gleamed. "Maybe she'll
invite us to eat with her."

"Whois this guy?" whispered Laura.

Adam grinned. "The Most," he explained, his voice laced with sarcasm. "His
name is David Potter, but his friends call him Bugs. He's on snare drums. He's
the guy who improvised the drum roll in the middle of the piccolo solo."

"This Strauss guy, he writes really dull stuff," Bugs complained. "There are
hardly any drums. Hey, have you ever heard Nuclear Teacup?"

There was general denial.

"Oh, they're amazing," raved Bugs. "They do a song called 'Refrigerator
Repairman' with a five-minute drum solo in it. You've got to hear it!"

"Some other time perhaps," said Laura in a pained voice.

"Come on, Adam," suggested Bugs. "Let's get back to our room and put on clean
shirts just in case." He ran off hauling Adam behind him, leaving the two
bewildered girls standing watching them.

* * *

"BiBi," soothed Claire, "that bruise can be covered easily with just a little
make-up. Stop making such a fuss."

BiBi sat down in an easy chair, favouring the elbow she had just fallen on.
"I suppose I have to wear that stupid emerald to the dining room?"

"Of course you do," said Claire. "It's your trademark. Everyone expects it
and talks about it and takes pictures of it. And that's great publicity for
BiBi Lanay."

"Yeah, and it's a broken back for Brenda Lifschitz," snapped BiBi.

"Remember your accent," warned Claire. "One slipup and we're all in the
breadline."

"Listen, since I got that dumb emerald I've slipped so many times I'm lucky
I'm not in traction," BiBi complained. "Okay, okay already! Make up my elbow
and hang that thing around my neck. I'm hungry."

"Accent!"

"Ah, yes," BiBi fumed in Hungarian tones with a strong German inflection,
"always the accent.'

* * *

The band-festival participants were seated in a roped-off section of the
Hotel Empress's elegant dining room. Adam and Bugs sat with Sylvia and Laura
at the table nearest the velvet rope.

"Boy," Bugs was gushing, "who would have believed it? I used to think
flute-guys were really boring, but here I am sitting down and having supper
with two flute-guys."

"That's 'flautists,' " corrected Adam, annoyed.

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"Yeah, that." Bugs cheerfully speared a leaf of lettuce.

A murmur rose in the main dining room. BiBi Lanay and her entourage had
entered the room and were being escorted by the maitre d' to a secluded table.
BiBi was magnificent in a silver evening gown and, of course, the celebrated
Falusi Emerald.

Bugs slapped a fist into his palm. "How can we get her to notice us?"

Adam rolled his eyes at the two girls.

"I know." Bugs turned to the waiter, who had come to serve the soup. "Excuse
me. How much would it cost to send a bottle of champagne to Miss Lanay's
table?"

The waiter suppressed a chuckle and replied, "Our cheapest brand is forty
dollars, sir."

"Umm — well, then, how about a Coke?"

"You would have to clear all extra food purchases with Mr. Darby," explained
the waiter.

"Forget it," said Bugs. "Darby wouldn't authorize the skin off a grape if he
thought someone would enjoy it."

Laura leaned over to Adam. "Can't you make him behave?" she whispered.

"I'm his roommate, not his mother," Adam whispered back. "I told you he was
The Most."

"But you didn't mention that he was The Most Embarrassing."

Adam shrugged and turned his attention to his soup.

"I hear we're going to the Toronto Symphony tonight," Sylvia said.

Bugs dropped his spoon with a clatter. "Bor-ring!" he protested.

"Never mind," said Adam sarcastically. "Maybe there'll be some drums in this
symphony."

"Do you think so?" Bugs asked hopefully.

"Probably."

Laura sighed and changed the subject. "Even though we're stuck with Darby and
cut off from the whole world, at least they're feeding us well," she said.
"This is delicious."

"Great soup," agreed Bugs, pushing his empty bowl away. From his pocket he
produced a pair of drumsticks and began beating out a rhythm on the tabletop,
with an occasional clink on his water glass for emphasis.

* * *

"Look at it, Barney! That's it, the Falusi Emerald!"

Barney clamped a hand firmly over Ralph's mouth and looked anxiously around.

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But their table was near the kitchen door and there was no one close. "Quiet,
you idiot! When the thing disappears they'll come straight to us if we display
too much interest in it!"

"Gee, sorry," said Ralph contritely. "How are we going to get it off her,
Barney?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Boy, she sure is a knockout!" Ralph peered discreetly around a rubber plant
to watch BiBi nibbling daintily at her salad. "Did you see her inRedhead in
the Jungle ? She sure is beautiful. It's a shame to rob a good looking dame
like that."

"She makes so much money she could buy three of those emeralds," grunted
Barney. "This one's for us. We're snatching it. Then we can retire."

Suddenly a scream pierced the dining room as a hapless waiter poured hot soup
in BiBi Lanay's lap.

The maitre d' came running. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Lanay."

"Why, you —" began BiBi.

Claire kicked her hard on the ankle. "It was merely an unfortunate accident.
Miss Lanay understands."

"Miss Lanay is scalded half to death!" muttered BiBi under her breath. Aloud
she said, "It is… nothing. I am all right, thank you. I go upstairs and
change, yes?" This time the accent was Rumanian with a touch of Russian.

* * *

"Boy, I was right the first time!" exclaimed Bugs as he and Adam entered
their room after the symphony that evening. "Was that ever stupid. Hardly any
drums. And everyone was so crabby! All I did was drum a little bit on the back
of the seat, and that man — the one dressed up like a penguin — boy, did he
ever get mad at me!"

"People who attend symphonies,"replied Adam coldly, "want to hear the music,
not some nut drumming on the chairs."

"Yeah, I guess some people really do want to hear that stuff," agreed Bugs,
oblivious of his roommate's hostility. "I don't understand why. Hey — what
time is it?"

Adam looked at his watch. "Five after eleven."

"Perfect," said Bugs. "Let's go!"

"Go? Go where?"

"The night is young, man," cried Bugs enthusiastically. "And Toronto has a
great night life. We've got to go and check it out."

"Are you crazy?" protested Adam. "We're not allowed out after eleven. Mr.
Darby said —"

"Forget Darby," scoffed Bugs. "We can't let Mr. Darby ruin our visit. There's
a city out there just waiting for us. Come on!"

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"Not me," said Adam, sitting down on his bed and kicking off his shoes. "If
you want to get caught breaking the rules, that's your business."

"You mean," said Bugs incredulously, "you don't want to go out tonight?"

"Now you've got it."

"Tell you what," said Bugs. "Tonight I'll go out and scout around a bit, find
us some really hot places, and tomorrow night we'll both go out and do the
town. How does that sound?" Without waiting for Adam's reply, he slipped out
the door and was gone.

In a temper, muttering to himself, Adam prepared for bed.The Most ! Bugs was
The Most, all right. The most obnoxious, single-minded, noisy, uncouth,
embarrassing creature in the world! And, thought Adam as he weaved his way
through Bugs' assortment of suitcases, boxes and duffle bags on the floor, the
messiest. What a roommate! Why was he so unlucky?

Yawning, he switched off the light. To his astonishment and then annoyance,
all Bugs' rock posters began to glow in the dark. He shut his eyes tightly,
but it didn't help — he opened them again to find himself staring at the
garish poster of a bizarre group with the unlikely name Endomorph arching over
their heads. He looked around at the assortment of electric guitarists,
synthesizer players, bass guitarists, electric organists, singers and, of
course, drummers depicted on the posters. Not one flute-guy in the bunch, he
thought, and felt a strange desire to laugh. Oh well, he decided, if Bugs
Potter wants to get caught sneaking out, it's no concern of mine.

The door opened, the overhead light switched on and Bugs walked in.

"Ten minutes," Adam commented sarcastically. "I guess there's not much doing
out there in the hot spots."

"Oh, I didn't get out," replied Bugs, digging in one of his duffle bags for a
pair of pyjamas. "I grabbed the elevator and when the door opened down in the
lobby, there was Darby waiting to get on."

Adam laughed. "What did he say?"

"Not much." Bugs shrugged. "He's going to talk to us in his office tomorrow
morning at eight."

Adam shot bolt upright in his bed. "Us?" he cried. "Us? Where do I figure in
this?"

"I don't know," replied Bugs, heading for the bathroom. "He told me to bring
my roommate."

A second later the shower was running, leaving Adam alone and once again in a
state of fury.

"What didI do?" he asked the empty room.

Plumber calling

Adam and Bugs sat on a velvet sofa in the lobby, outside the small room which
was being used as the music festival office.

"This really burns me up," grumbled Adam, who had had very little sleep the

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night before.

"Me too," said Bugs absently. He was humming something tuneless and drumming
on his knee.

In exasperation Adam snatched the drumsticks from his roommate's hands and
hurled them across the lobby.

Bugs watched them fly. "Good shot!" he cried as they plopped neatly into the
wastebasket near the front entrance. He awarded Adam a slap on the back. "You
must play basketball." He reached into his pocket, produced another pair of
sticks and resumed his drumming.

The office door opened. "Enter." C. Fenton Darby's voice was cold.

The two boys walked in and sat down in chairs opposite the bandmaster's desk.

"You two have been called here for violating curfew," Mr. Darby began.

"Well, actually, sir —" said Adam.

"I know what you are going to say, Webb." Mr. Darby held up his hand for
silence. "That you were in your room and that it was only Potter who violated
curfew. Well, you'd better know right now that I find that excuse absolutely
unacceptable.''

"But, sir —" Adam protested.

"No buts," interrupted Mr. Darby. "The simple fact is, you festival
participants have been placed two in a room for more than one reason.
Certainly it is more economical, and certainly the musicians should, to a
degree, become acquainted. However, from a disciplinary point of view, you are
not only sharing accommodation, you are responsible for one another.
Therefore, by allowing Potter to violate curfew, you yourself are guilty of
breaking the rules." He folded his hands with great satisfaction.

Adam swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

"Well, that is a mark in your favour, Webb," said Mr. Darby. "I see you
understand the system. However, such a violation requires punishment. Tonight
the group will be taken to the Canadian Opera Company performance ofThe Barber
of Seville . You will remain in your hotel room."

Bugs gave the first indication that he had been paying attention. He leaned
forward, his expression hopeful. "Me too, sir? Do I get to miss it too?"

"Yes. You also will not be permitted to attend. You were in this along with
Webb. And now, you are both due in the dining room for breakfast. I will see
you at practice promptly at nine." He dismissed them with a casual wave of his
hand.

All the way to the dining room, Bugs was loudly celebrating their good
fortune. The two boys selected their breakfast from a large buffet and went to
join Laura and Sylvia, who were already seated.

Bugs was still jubilant. "We've got it made! We don't have to go to that dumb
opera and listen to all those ladies screaming!"

"What happened?" asked Sylvia, observing the furious expression on Adam's
face.

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"He," began Adam, pointed at Bugs, "got caught breaking curfew! Now neither
of us can go out with the group tonight."

"Isn't that great?" gloated Bugs.

Laura frowned. "Ifhe broke curfew, what's it got to do with you? Why are you
being punished?"

Adam took a vicious bite out of a piece of toast. "Because according to Darby
whathe did we both did. In this set-up you're completely responsible for your
roommate."

"But that's not fair," protested Laura.

"I never said it was fair. I said it came from Darby," Adam replied bitterly.

"You girls can break the rules too," offered Bugs. "Come late to practice or
something."

Laura looked at him oddly. "No, thank you."

Bugs shrugged. "I'm going back for more grub. Anybody want anything?"

"No," chorused the three at the table.

"That really is not fair," repeated Laura after Bugs had wandered off.

Adam nodded miserably. "And do you want to know the worst part of it? For the
next ten daysI am responsible for the behaviour of The Most!"

* * *

"Boy, he sure cracked down on you flute-guys this morning," exclaimed Bugs as
he and Adam entered their room after practice.

"Flautists," said Adam quietly, hurling himself down on his bed in dejection.

"Yeah, that," said Bugs blithely. "Say, I wonder where we're going this
afternoon."

"Laura told me they're taking us to the Royal Ontario Museum," Adam replied
listlessly.

"Aw, no," cried Bugs, his spirits sinking. "Why couldn't Darby punish us for
the whole day instead of just tonight? Museums are deadly."

"Now you listen here, Bugs Potter! I've had it just about up to here with —"

"Shhh!" Bugs froze like a hunting dog in the centre of the floor, his eyes
fixed on the ceiling. There were footsteps from above. "It's BiBi! She's
walking again!"

"Wow," said Adam sarcastically. "As soon as she sits down I want to have a
word with you about —"

"Boy," Bugs continued, unaware of Adam's irritation, "she's just as gorgeous
in person as she is on the screen! Did you see her inRedhead on the High Seas
! There was this pirate, see—"

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"I saw it," interrupted Adam.

"We've got to get upstairs and introduce ourselves," said Bugs determinedly.

"As I was saying," put in Adam, "you keep on doing things that—"

"Quiet! She's walking again!"

There were footsteps from above, and then a terrific crash.

"BiBi! BiBi, speak to me!" begged Claire Tanner, bending over the prostrate
figure.

BiBi groaned, scrambled to her feet, grabbed the emer-aid from the bureau and
bounded across the bedroom. "I'm going to take this thing," she screamed
wildly, "and throw it out the window!"

"BiBi, don't!" Claire hurled herself in front of the hysterical movie star.

"Get out of my way or you go with it!"

"BiBi, get hold of yourself," Claire commanded."That emerald is worth over
four million dollars. You can't just throw it out the window."

"All right," said BiBi, calming down slightly, "then I'll give it to you.
Here. It's yours. I wish you joy of it."

"Don't be ridiculous. The Falusi Emerald can belong to only one person — BiBi
Lanay, the glamorous movie star."

"Yeah! And that's why Brenda Lifschitz doesn't want it!"

"Now, BiBi," warned Claire, "you are not Brenda Lifschitz any longer.
Remember that — and remember your accent."

"But that thing is cursed," wailed BiBi. "I know it's cursed."

"Don't be silly. There is nothing wrong with the Falusi Emerald."

"Tell that to Falusi," growled BiBi. "Where ishe now?"

* * *

"Can't we get away fromhim ?" whispered Laura to Adam as the group entered
the museum's Dinosaur Gallery. She was pointing at Bugs who was shuffling
around absently toying with a pair of drumsticks. "When he started drumming on
that medieval Spanish armour, I thought I'd die."

Adam gestured helplessly. "Don't forget that whenhe drums on armour it may as
well beme drumming on armour. In Darby's eyes it's the same thing. I don't
dare leave him alone. He could take a couple of dinosaur ribs and start
drumming on the guide's head." He grinned sadly. "And besides, we were told to
stick with the group."

"What do you mean you have no Tyrannosaurus Rex?" Bugs was challenging the
tour guide. He turned to Adam, Laura and Sylvia. "I know a group called
Tyrannosaurus Rex who cut a live album that was just amazing."

"Well," countered the guide, "we do have an Allosaurus. Perhaps that will
do."

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"Allosaurus," Bugs repeated. "Allosaurus. Never heard of them. Did they ever
have a hit record?"

The guide was speechless and the group laughed.

"Bugs, do you like this exhibit?" Sylvia asked solicitously.

"Well," said Bugs, "it's better than that pile of rocks across the hall. Man,
was that stupid. And all those broken dishes upstairs. Who keeps old stuff
like that?"

"Museums do," explained Adam impatiently. "Personally, I find them
fascinating. People used that pottery thousands of years ago."

Bugs shrugged. "When dishes are chipped like that my mother throws them out —
even if they're new. Junk is junk."

"And now," the guide was saying, "we'll move on to the exhibit of antique
musical instruments, which should be of special interest to this party."

"Hey, wow!" Bugs' face brighened. "Got any drums?"

"No," replied the guide. "Not here. But down on the basement level in the
Canadian Indian Artifacts exhibit there are some tom-toms. We'll be getting to
that part of the museum in about an hour."

As the group was filing into the Antique Instruments exhibit, Bugs grabbed
Adam. "Come on. Let's go downstairs and see those drums." He ran off towards
the staircase.

Adam stood thunderstruck. "But, Bugs — you can't — the group —aww!" He headed
for the stairs.

Laura panicked. "Adam, where are you going?"

Adam paused, looked back at her helplessly, then shot down the stairs.

"What's he doing?" asked Sylvia mildly.

Laura was furious. "That awful Bugs Potter took off somewhere and Adam's gone
to find him. Honestly, that Bugs makes me mad!"

Adam reached the bottom of the staircase and looked around desperately. There
was no sign of Bugs and no indication of where he had gone. The choices were
endless, as corridors and display cases stretched in all directions. Then he
heard the beat of a distant tom-tom being played with a distinctly non-Indian
flavour.

"Bugs," he moaned, taking off in the direction of the sound. But as he ran,
the drumming suddenly stopped. When he finally reached the probable site — two
tomtoms hanging from the stone wall — there was no one around.

"Bugs," he called softly. "Where are you?"

There was no reply.

Adam looked around with growing alarm. Here he was, in an unfamiliar building
in a strange city. He had not found Bugs and, he noted with chagrin, he had
completely lost his bearings. He could no longer remember where the staircase

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was. Trying to keep Bugs out of trouble was probably going to get Adam into
it.

** *

Bugs jogged up to join the group. "Hi, Sylvia — Laura. Where's Adam?"

Laura turned in anger. "You mean you don't know? He went to look for you!"

"Oh," said Bugs, surprised. "I was just downstairs drumming on the tom-toms,
and some security guard kicked me off them. So I came back here. I'd better go
down and find him."

"No you don't!" Sylvia put an iron grip on Bugs' arm. "You're staying right
here. We're all going downstairs in a few minutes. We'll find Adam then."

** *

"I'll kill that Bugs Potter," Adam fumed silently as he continued wandering
aimlessly in the hope of finding a staircase. Then suddenly, out of the corner
of his eye, he spotted a sign pointing to the stairs. He followed it eagerly.

Just as he reached them, the sound of many descending feet met his ears. He
froze. He heard the tour guide speak, and then the voice of Mr. Darby.

"This is the last exhibit on the tour," the bandmaster was saying. "We will
be back on the bus in twenty minutes. When we reach the hotel, you will go
directly to band practice."

Adam realized that if he remained where he was, in a few seconds he would
come face to face with Mr. Darby. Quickly he scooted inside a large replica of
an animal-skin tepee where he crouched, trembling. Footsteps went by.

Outside the tent he heard an all-too-familiar voice ask, "How could people
live in these tents? No place to put the stereo — and the acoustics must be
terrible. The drum sound would be completely lost!" The flap opened andBugs
peered in. "Hey, it's Adam! Look, everybody, it's Adam!"

"Shut up!" Adam scrambled out, and dragging Bugs with him, slipped into the
crowd. He ambled along, trying to look nonchalant.

"Got lost, eh?"

Adam wheeled and fixed his roommate with a look of pure hatred. Bugs grinned
back.

** *

"Boy," said Bugs at dinner that evening, "that trip to the museum today — was
it ever boring!"

Adam leaped to his feet, his fists clenched, his eyes shooting sparks. Then
slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered himself back into his chair.

"Practice wasn't bad this afternoon," said Sylvia, quickly changing the
subject. "Mr. Darby didn't yell at anybody. He even complimented the
clarinets."

"He was still a little hard on the flute-guys," said Bugs.

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"Flautists," snapped Laura.

Adam said nothing.

"Hey, Adam," said Bugs, "you're not talking much. You sore about something?"

Adam stared at him in disbelief. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, you know," Bugs told him, "it's not nice to act all sulky like that in
front of the girls."

"That was very impolite of me," Adam said sarcastically. "I'm sorry."

Bugs smiled understandingly. "Hey, I don't mind. After all, we're pals!"

* * *

Clad in green coveralls with matching caps, and wearing dark glasses, Barney
and Ralph crept out of their room on the fifteenth floor of the Hotel Empress
and sneaked down the hall to the service elevator.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" asked Ralph dubiously. "I don't know
anything about being a plumber."

"You don't have to know anything about being a plumber," explained Barney.
"Her sink is okay now, and it'll be in perfect working order when we leave.
I've told you fifteen times — we're only going to case the place, find out
which suite is hers and where she keeps the emerald. Then when we come to
steal it we'll have all the information we need for a smooth operation."

The elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor. The two burglars got out
and walked to the first door. Barney knocked.

The door was opened by a man whose immense frame filled the entire doorway.

"Miss Lanay?" squeaked Ralph.

"No," deadpanned the giant. "Miss Lanay has red hair. I'm her security
chief."

Barney cleared his throat carefully. "We're from Ace Plumbing Services. We've
come to fix the sink."

The giant looked them over carefully. They looked harmless enough — even a
little on the dumb side. He pointed a sausage-like finger to the next door
down the hall. "Miss Lanay is in that suite," he said.

"Thanks," said Barney. He walked to BiBi's door with Ralph trailing along
behind carrying the tool box. Barney knocked again.

"Who is it?" inquired Claire Tanner's voice.

"Ace Plumbing Services."

"We didn't order a plumber. The plumbing's fine in here."

"Are you sure, ma'am?" asked Barney innocently. "The hotel engineer sent us
to repair your bathroom sink. Maybe we'd better check it out."

"Oh, all right," said Claire impatiently. She swung the door wide. "Come on

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in."

* * *

"Oh, no you don't," Adam warned. "You're not going to visit BiBi Lanay — or
anyone else for that matter. Mr. Darby said we have to stay in our room
tonight, and that's what we're going to do."

Bugs gestured impatiently. "Mr. Darby's at the opera, poor soul. He'll never
know if we go somewhere. Adam, this is BiBi! BiBi Lanay! This is our big
chance to meet her!" There were footsteps upstairs. "Ah, she's walking!" he
exclaimed blissfully.

"How do you know that's her? It could be anybody. The eighteenth floor is a
big place."

"I'd know those footsteps anywhere," Bugs insisted. "Did you see her
inRedhead in the Orient when she walked past the sleeping guard at the gate of
the Black Warlord?" He pointed to the ceiling. "Well, those are the same
footsteps!"

"Okay, but even if you're right," said Adam, "I have no desire to go up there
and have a door slammed in my face. She's not going to let just anybody in."

"I thought of that," said Bugs triumphantly. He rummaged around in a duffle
bag and came up with two grey caps. Then he reached into an attache case and
produced two false moustaches, one matching Adam's blond hair, the other
matching his own dark locks. Then, from a suitcase, he pulled out a pipe
wrench. "We'll get into that room," he announced proudly, "because we're the
plumbers."

Adam was horrified. "Where did you get that stuff?"

"I never go anywhere without it."

Adam stamped his foot. "I amnot going to wear that idiotic moustache!"

'Oh," said Bugs, concerned. "Well, I've got a beard here that would look
pretty good on you." He rummaged through his stock. "Or maybe a beard and
moustache all in one."

"No!" cried Adam. "We'd never get away with it!"

"Easy as pie," promised Bugs cheerfully. "Come on, let's go."

"No! I absolutely refuse!"

Bugs looked confused for a moment, and then an understanding grin came over
his face. "Oh, I get it. You're shy to meet BiBi, so you want me to go up
there first and break the ice. Okay, listen, I understand. We're pals. I'll go
tonight, and you'll come with me next time." Before Adam could either protest
or interfere, Bugs was out the door, the cap on his head, the moustache in
place and the wrench in his hand.

Adam paced the room in circles. "Bugs Potter," he seethed. "Bugs Potter!" He
wished he had never heard of Bugs Potter — or the music festival for that
matter. He threw himself into a chair and began fidgeting nervously. "Bugs
Potter!" He turned his head to the wall and came face to face with a rock band
identified as Flaming Sidewalks.

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"Flaming Sidewalks!" groaned Adam. "Tyrannosaurus Rex! Nuclear Teacup!
Endomorph!" He put his hands over his eyes in an attempt to shut out the
garish posters.

That idiot was going upstairs to break into a movie star's room disguised as
a plumber! Any fool could see he wasn't a plumber! He'd never get near BiBi
Lanay! BiBi would call hotel security, and hotel security would call Mr.
Darby, and Mr. Darby would call —

"Me!" exclaimed Adam aloud. "Oh, no! I've got to stop him!" He jammed the
second grey cap onto his head, fixed the blond moustache under his nose and
rushed out into the hall.

* * *

"Plumber calling," Bugs sang out cheerfully.

Claire Tanner opened the door. "We already have a plumber," she said, staring
at the peculiar figure before her.

"Uh — plumber's assistant calling," amended Bugs.

Claire frowned. "He's got an assistant in there with him."

"Uh — downstairs they told me it was a pretty big job."

"Okay," sighed Claire, "I'll show you where they're working."

Bugs walked into the bathroom where he came face to face with Barney and
Ralph. The two burglars stared at him in wonder and dismay.

"Really," said Claire in exasperation, "is the problem with our sink so bad
that it takes three men to fix it?"

There was a knock at the door. Claire opened it to reveal Adam Webb, red as a
beet.

"Plumber," he said sheepishly. "I think my partner is working here."

"Four plumbers for one little sink? What's going on here?"

"This is the worst case of drain rot I've seen in thirty years," called Bugs,
crouched under the sink.

Adam entered the bathroom and stared at Barney and Ralph, who stared back.

Claire put her hands on her hips. "I demand to know what you people are doing
here! You claim to be plumbers, but you haven't even touched the sink!"

Bugs clamped his wrench onto the pipe coupling under the sink. "We're working
on it, lady. Drain rot isn't easy to find, you know."

There was the tapping of high-heeled slippers, and the divine BiBi herself
appeared in the doorway. "What is all this noise?" she asked in a Yugoslavian
accent.

Bugs wheeled, hauling on the wrench handle. The coupling came loose and a jet
of water shot out the bathroom door, hitting BiBi squarely in the mouth and
knocking her over.

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"Oh boy, this sink is worse than I thought," shouted Bugs over the noise of
rushing water.

Barney and Ralph took off for the door. Adam followed, pulling Bugs behind
him.

"Charlie!" screamed Claire. "Where's that security guard? Charlie!"

"How do you do, Miss Lanay," Bugs called back as all four plumbers dashed
towards the emergency stairs.

"Stop!" bellowed BiBi's giant security guard. The boys could hear his heavy
steps pounding behind them.

Barney and Ralph continued down the stairs, while Adam and Bugs raced down
the hall of the seventeenth floor. When they reached their room, Adam pushed
Bugs in ahead of him, slammed the door, locked it and jammed a chair under the
doorknob.

"Safe," he panted as he staggered to his bed and fell on it.

"What I want to know," said Bugs between breaths, "is who were those other
two guys?"

"Plumbers," said Adam. "Real ones!"

"No way," Bugs denied. "They knew as much about that sink as we did. And they
ran just as fast as we did. Faster even!"

"Who knows?" said Adam. "And who cares?"

"Right," agreed Bugs. "We'll see BiBi tomorrow maybe. Now we can decide where
we're going after curfew."

Adam leaped to his feet. "Nowhere, Bugs! Nowhere! I mean it! We are going
nowhere! We are staying right here!"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. We're not going to be getting too much sleep in
the next while, so tonight we'll just relax." He reached into a large
suitcase, produced a cassette tape, popped it into his tape deck and switched
on some loud rock music. "Now this is by Boot Hill off theirCrushed Ice album.
Notice how the drums…"

* * *

"Barney," quavered Ralph, "if that big gorilla of a security chief is
guarding the emerald, then I don't want it."

"Don't be an idiot," panted Barney. "You saw yourself that he's too big to
run very fast."

"He could kill both of us with his bare hands," moaned Ralph.

"What miserable luck," cursed Barney, "running into real plumbers."

"Yeah," lamented Ralph. "We got no luck. Let's give it up, Barney."

"Are you kidding? Listen, when we walked into that suite I got a glimpse of
the emerald. It was just lying there on top of a bureau. Nobody's guarding it.
Nobody! Ralphie, that emerald is ours for the taking."

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Aren't you glad you came?

"David Potter," announced Mr. Darby at the next morning's band practice, "you
have been warned several times about improvising drum solos where none exist.
Did you not see the eleven-bar rest at the top of the second page? That means
no drums, no drums at all. You are not even keeping time during that rest. You
are sitting with the drumsticks in your hands waiting for bar ninety-two,
where it is time for you to play again. Is that clear?"

"Well, sir," said Bugs, "I just thought I'd —"

"You are not here to think, Potter. You are here to play the music that is
put in front of you." Mr. Darby turned away from Bugs. "Now, flute section,
you still sound atrocious. Trumpets, your tempo is off. Do you not know how to
keep time? Trombones —what trombones? The trombone is a loud instrument. I
cannot hear you. You on bassoon" — he glanced at his chart — "Mitchell — that
is not bassoon playing. It is moaning. Alto saxophones, please! You are not
the only instruments in this orchestra. Kindly stop blaring. And now, with
these suggestions in mind, we'll take it from bar nine."

The band played "The Blue Danube" reasonably well, though Mr. Darby scowled
through the entire piece. Finally he said, "That will be all for this morning
— except for the flutes, who will remain here to work until they have reached
the point where they are not holding up the rest of the band."

"Boy, he's sure got it in for those flute-guys," said Bugs to Sylvia in the
equipment room, "making them practice extra and all that."

"I think we sounded pretty good," said Sylvia angrily, "flutes and all. That
Darby is a beast!"

"Yeah. Well, anyway, Adam and Laura are stuck in there for a while. We won't
see them until lunch. Why don't we go up to my room and listen to the new
Radium Sample album? The first track is called 'Chairlift on the Freeway' and
the drums are really —"

Sylvia smiled. "I'd love to Bugs, but we can't. The girls aren't allowed on
the seventeenth floor where the guys are."

"Oh," said Bugs brightly, "then I'll bring my tape deck down to your room and
we can listen there. You've really got to hear this album. Spider Solomon is
on drums, you know."

Sylvia shook her head. "We're not supposed to entertain either. You guys
aren't allowed on the fifth floor."

"Oh, that's just Darby's dumb rules," scoffed Bugs.

"Maybe so," agreed Sylvia, "but I don't want to be sent home in disgrace.
Couldn't we just look around the hotel or something?"

Bugs brightened. "Hey, yeah! I hear they have a game room. Maybe there's a
juke box in it."

* * *

"Boy, do they ever have a fantastic game room in this hotel," Bugs told the
group at the lunch table. "There's this one pinball machine where, if you hit
the big target with all three bonus lights lit, you hear drums. It's

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fantastic!"

"I'll bet," said Adam sourly. He, Laura and the rest of the flute section had
had a miserable morning.

"So," said Sylvia, "how did the extra practice go?"

"It was delightful," snapped Laura. "Darby raked us over the coals and served
us up for dinner. I wish I'd stayed home. I don't think I like music
festivals."

"We got better, though," admitted Adam. "He really does seem to know what
he's doing. Has anybody heard where we're going this afternoon?"

"The notice board outside the equipment room said the Ontario Art Gallery,"
said Laura.

"Aw, no," moaned Bugs. "Why does everything we do have to be so dull? We had
such a great morning and Darby has to gum it up with an art gallery."

"By the way," asked Adam, "how was the opera last night?"

Sylvia looked from Adam to Bugs, and then grinned. "It was boring. No drums."

"What kind of incompetents are you?" stormed BiBi at Charlie and Claire.
"What do I pay you for?"

"Calm down," soothed Claire. "Nothing happened last night."

"What do you mean 'nothing happened'?" raged BiBi, without a trace of her
famous accent. "Four nuts got in here disguised as plumbers, busted the sink
and sprayed me with water! And what's more, they got away too! Charlie, you
big ox, what kind of security guard are you?"

"Sorry, BiBi," muttered Charlie.

"And you, Claire. Didn't it occur to you that it doesn't take four plumbers
to fix one sink?"

"Sorry. I thought of it when it was too late. Charlie, have you
investigated?"

"Yeah," replied the giant. "Can't find anything. They were probably just a
bunch of loonies who wanted to get a close look at BiBi Lanay."

"What gets me," said BiBi, still pacing, "is thatI got sprayed. Nobody else
got sprayed, just me. But then again, nobody else owns the stinking Falusi
Emerald!"

"Oh, that's silly," said Claire. "It was just a ridiculous accident."

"Yeah? Well, there's been a lot of that going around," observed BiBi, "ever
since I got that emerald." She pointed a warning finger at Claire and Charlie.
"Now remember, you two, no more plumbers!"

Bugs Potter stood in front of a large modern painting and stared at it
intently. He tilted his head first to the left, then to the right. "What is
it?"

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"It's entitled 'Cosmos,' " replied the guide.

Bugs looked surprised. "That's not Cosmos. I've seen Cosmos. They do a song
called 'Shut My Mouth.' "

What a wonderful idea," muttered Laura.

"I'll bet this is the most boring place in the entire city of Toronto,"
declared Bugs with firm conviction. "Look at that lump over there."

"That's a sculpture," said Adam. "I find it interesting."

"Me, too," agreed Laura instantly.

"I agree with Bugs," put in Sylvia. "I think it's garbage."

"Garbage — nowthere's a rock group," enthused Bugs. "Besides the normal drums
they use six different garbage can lids, each at a different pitch. For their
live show they actually drive a garbage truck out on stage and the group jumps
out. And at the end they get in again and drive away. It's one of a kind!"

Laura pointed. "Look at that painting over there — the one with the
sunburst."

"It looks like a fried egg."

Sylvia laughed. "It does, you know."

"I've had enough of this exhibit," Bugs announced. "I'm going down the hall.
Maybe there's something that looks like something."

"Oh, no you don't," the other three chorused. "You're staying with the tour."

They continued walking along with the group, until Adam stopped in front of a
painting of several nude women frolicking on a beach. "Here's something that
looks like something."

Laura kicked him sharply on the ankle.

"How about that?" Bugs looked at the work in amazement. "Is this art? I had
some magazines with pictures like that in them and my mother sure didn't think
they were art. She made me throw them out."

"All right, everyone," ordered Mr. Darby, "the bus is waiting. We have to get
back for band practice."

The group boarded the bus for the short ride back to the Hotel Empress.

About a block away from their destination, Bugs suddenly leaped to his feet
and stuck his head out the bus window, howling in excitement. Adam hauled him
back inside. "Sit down! What's the matter with you?"

"Adam," babbled Bugs, his eyes shining, "did you see that night club back
there — Dante's Inferno? Did you see who's opening there tonight?Endomorph!"

Adam had a brief, giddy vision of four strange figures on a glow-in-the-dark
rock poster.

"They're my favourite group. I can't believe it — We're actually going to see

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Endomorph!"

* * *

"Barney, what if that big security chief recognizes us in the dining room or
the lobby or somewhere? Then we're dead."

Barney chuckled. "Boy, Ralphie, you sure can be stupid sometimes. We were
wearing plumbers' suits — and dark glasses. How could he recognize us?"

"I don't know. Dark glasses and work clothes aren't really such a great
disguise. What if he recognizes us anyway?"

"He won't. And even if he does he can't prove anything. We could just give
him the old 'I never saw you before in my life' routine."

"Yeah, but he could beat us up anyway."

"Don't be an idiot," scoffed Barney. "Besides, after tomorrow we'll be out of
here, emerald and all, and we'll both be millionaires."

"Yeah? Really?"

"Really. I've found the staircase onto the hotel roof. From the roof we just
ease ourselves down onto BiBi Lanay's balcony, sneak into her room and grab
the emerald. Then it's back up to the roof and gone.''

"But what about that big guy?" Ralph asked dubiously.

"Forget him."

"It's hard to forget a guy who's pounding on your face."

"Forget him," Barney repeated. "He'll be sitting in his own room. He'll never
find out what's happened until we're long gone — and rich!"

* * *

Just before curfew that evening, Adam unlocked the door of room 1720 and he
and Bugs went inside.

"Boy, was that lecture a waste of time! Who cares what Mozart did when he was
a kid. I mean,who cares!"

Adam kicked off his shoes. "I don't know, Bugs." He began unbuttoning his
shirt.

"Hey, Adam, don't get undressed. We're going out in a few minutes."

"No, we're not," said Adam quietly.

"Boy, oh boy,Endomorph ! Man, are we lucky! We're going to have a great
time."

"I said we're not going."

"We'll need to look older," Bugs continued, reaching for his attache case,
"so we can get in. Do you want the moustache or the beard or the all-in-one?"

"You're not listening," said Adam, slightly louder. "I'm not going and you're

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not either, because I'm responsible for you. Blame it on me, or blame it on
Darby. Either way, we stay right here."

"I'll take the moustache I wore last night," Bugs decided. "It's never let me
down before." He looked at Adam critically. "For you I recommend the beard.
You have a sort of young chin. With this beard you'll put on ten or fifteen
years easily."

"Don't try to pretend I'm not talking," said Adam. "I'm sorry, I really am.
But it's too risky. We can't go."

Bugs fixed his moustache into place. "There. That's perfect. Hurry up, Adam!
It's time to leave."

Adam evaluated the situation. Was his roommate ignoring him, or did he
actually not hear the warnings and refusals? Could he really be so excited
about the prospect of seeing Endomorph that he had shut off every other
thought? It was obvious that he was going, no matter what was said and no
matter what the consequences.

Adam sighed in resignation. There was only one thing to do: go with Bugs and
try to keep him out of trouble. "All right," he said resignedly. "Let's go see
Endomorph." He put his shoes back on and attached the beard to his chin. "How
do we get out without being seen?"

"Follow me."

The two boys slipped out of their room and crept down the hall to the service
elevator, which took them to the basement. They left the building via the
underground parking garage. Bugs was humming and drumming as they walked
along; Adam kept pace, casting nervdus glances over his shoulder.

Dante's Inferno was only a block away from the Hotel Empress. There was a
large crowd lined up outside the club — about two hundred, Adam guessed. He
and Bugs mingled with the other patrons and gained entrance without incident.
Once inside, Bugs rushed to the front, pulling Adam behind him.

"This is the best seat in the house," Bugs insisted as the two of them
settled down at a small table adjoining the stage, right up against an
enormous speaker. "This is even better than a rock concert. In a club you get
to be real close to the group."

Adam nodded weakly. He was so nervous he was almost sick. What if Mr. Darby
had a bed-check tonight? What if someone had seen them leaving the hotel? What
if someone caught them sneaking back in later on?

The house lights flashed, dimmed and went out. The excited voice of Bugs
Potter pierced the darkness. "This is it!"

Endomorph burst onto the stage like a bomb. The speaker, not a metre away,
emitted a blast that almost knocked Adam off his chair. Coloured spotlights
flashed, and the group broke into a heavy-metal, foundation-shattering rock
song that seemed to register about nine on the Richter scale. Adam looked at
Bugs. His roommate was in ecstasy, wallowing in the excruciating noise. The
lead singer strutted before them, shouting into a microphone. The crowd was
stamping and yelling in appreciation.

Adam shook his head in an attempt to clear it. It was impossible to define
any tune or instrument. At this volume the music was all one terrific roar.
The song ended with a tremendous crash and the crowd went wild. Apparently,

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Adam observed, Endomorph had other fans besides Bugs. He felt as though he'd
spent the last hundred years in the back woods somewhere.

"Allright ! Hello, all you night owls," bellowed the lead singer. "Are you
ready to start cooking?"

The crowd roared with enthusiasm.

"All right, then. Let's get moving with this song called 'Rocking Chair'!"

Once again the blaring started. Adam held his ears, but the music was just
too loud to shut out. It went on for the better part of an hour before
Endomorph mercifully declared an intermission.

"Wow, wasn't that amazing?" croaked Bugs.

"It definitely amazed me," agreed Adam weakly. "I've never heard anything
like it before. I thought it would kill me."

"I knew you'd love it." Bugs beamed. "Aren't you glad you came?"

"No," said Adam truthfully.

Bugs leaped to his feet. "I'm going backstage to talk to the group."

"Bugs —no !" But before Adam could stop him Bugs was off and gone from view.
Adam jumped up to follow, then changed his mind. It was best to wait at the
table. Surely his roommate would be back for the second half of the
performance.

An inquiring waitress happened along and Adam ordered two Cokes and a bowl of
peanuts. He sat sipping and munching nervously as the intermission ticked
away. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Where on earth was Bugs?

The lights flashed, then dimmed again, and soon the place was dark.
Desperately Adam squinted into the gloom. No Bugs.

The voice of the lead singer came blasting over the speaker. "And now we've
got a special guest. On drums — Mr. Bugs Potter!"

Adam stared, open-mouthed. Coloured lights flashed over the group and there
at the drums was Bugs. There was a look of blissful concentration on his face
as he sat, drumsticks poised, ready to play.

"Okay, Bugs, man, let's hear it — 'Broken Noses.'One, two, three, four—"

The drums exploded and Bugs became nothing but a blur. The lead singer, the
two guitarists and the regular drummer of Endomorph turned in startled
admiration. The cymbals crashed madly, the bass drum boomed through the room
and the snare drums beat out a fantastic rhythm. At last Endomorph broke into
Bugs' lead and began to pound out their hit song, "Broken Noses." Bugs slipped
easily into their style, as if he had always played with them.

Adam couldn't believe it. Bugs was twirling drumsticks in the air, jumping up
and down and in general putting on an incredible performance. He was
definitely keeping up with Endomorph. As a matter of fact, it seemed to be all
Endomorph could do to keep up with Bugs. "I am The Most!" Bugs had said. Adam
was beginning to believe it.

Endomorph and Bugs crashed to a finish in perfect synchronization. Bugs gave

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the cymbals one farewell swipe and the crowd went wild. Even though he didn't
really like rock music, Adam found himself on his feet applauding with the
rest of the crowd, cheering himself hoarse. Endomorph was applauding too, and
slapping their guest performer on the back.

"Bugs Potter!" cried the lead singer. "Wasn't that fantastic?"

Bugs shook hands all around, resumed his seat at the ringside table and
downed his Coke in one long gulp. His face was flushed, his eyes shining. It
was obvious that he was in his element. Adam was about to speak when Endomorph
started up again. He gave up. Such noise did not permit conversation.

The show went on for another half hour before the group finally said
goodnight. Adam felt a rush of gratitude. It was over. Now he could hustle
Bugs home and take some aspirin to stop his head from pounding. But it was not
to be. The crowd cheered loudly for an encore and Endomorph returned to the
stage.

"Thank you — thank you very much! You're a great audience," bellowed the lead
singer. "For our last number we'd like to get Bugs Potter back up here!"

The audience started chanting, "Bugs, Bugs, Bugs." Bugs jumped back on stage,
drumsticks in hand, and the crowd went mad.

The song was "Mashed Bananas" and the beat was even wilder than for the first
number Bugs had done with the group. The crowd stomped along with it. Cameras
began to appear, and all Adam's nervousness came back. He remembered that he
and Bugs were supposed to be back at the hotel in bed. He remembered all Mr.
Darby's warnings. What if one of these pictures somehow found its way to Mr.
Darby? What if any of these rock fans found out who Bugs really was? Then the
word would be out and they would be caught. He had to spirit Bugs away from
here as soon as possible. The instant the number was over, that would be it.
They would be gone.

On stage Bugs and Endomorph cascaded to a finish. The crowd surged to its
feet, and with it surged Adam Webb. He jumped onto the stage, grabbed Bugs by
the arm and pulled him towards the nearest exit.

Bugs screamed, "Goodby, everybody!" and hurled his drumsticks out into the
crowd.

Everyone, including Endomorph, was waving and chanting, "Bugs, Bugs, Bugs!"
as the two boys rushed out the door and into the street at the side of Dante's
Inferno. With the chanting still ringing in their ears, they ran full speed
back to the hotel, slipped into the building via the underground parking
garage and ascended to the seventeenth floor on the service elevator.

Adam shut the door of room 1720, ripped off his false beard and turned to
face his roommate.

"Bugs," he demanded, "how did you manage that?"

Bugs shrugged. "I told them about how I have all their records and how I
thought theirInterior Contusion album was the best thing ever recorded. Then I
told them that I always drum along with their records and asked if I could do
a song with them. They wanted to know if I was good and I told them yes, so
they let me play."

"Well, you certainly made an impression."

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Bugs nodded abstractedly. "I played with Endomorph," he breathed. "They
actually let me play."

"Let's go to bed," groaned Adam. "I have a terrible headache."

"You go ahead. I'll listen to some music on the headphones."

"It's almost two," Adam pointed out.

"That's okay. You won't be disturbing me."

Adam hurried into his pyjamas, switched off the light and crawled into bed.
From the wall the Endomorph poster glowed down at him. He blinked. The regular
drummer seemed to fade out and in his place Bugs appeared, moustache and all.
Adam shut his eyes and concentrated on sleep. But in his ringing ears he could
still hear the crowd at Dante's Inferno chanting, "Bugs, Bugs, Bugs!"

I have this headache

"Oh, Bugs, how could we oversleep like that?" moaned Adam at nine-thirty the
next morning as he and his roommate hurried towards Banquet Room A. "Darby is
going to kill us."

"Mmm," said Bugs absently, drumming in the air as he walked.

The two boys opened the door and tried to slip in unnoticed. The band was in
the middle of the1812 Overture when Mr. Darby motioned for silence.

"Webb — Potter," he announced in mock joy, "how good of you to join us. May
we know the reason for this late honour?"

"We overslept," said Bugs casually. "Sorry."

"Oh, you overslept, did you?" Mr. Darby's eyes narrowed. "Did it occur to you
that if everyone overslept there would be no orchestra, no music festival and
no concert at Ontario Place?"

"We're sorry, sir," said Adam. "It won't happen again."

"It would appear to me," said the bandmaster icily, "that a flautist from my
weakest section and a drummer who cannot seem to figure out what a rest means
would endeavour to come early. Your punishment will be to miss this evening's
group activity, a performance ofMacbeth at the Royal Alexandra Theatre. You
will remain in your room until breakfast and tomorrow morning's practice, to
which you will comeexactly on time. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Adam.

"Thank you very much," said Bugs gratefully. To him, missingMacbeth was more
reward than punishment.

"And now," said Mr. Darby, "while we are at a hundred percent attendance,
we'll take it from bar twenty-one."

* * *

BiBi Lanay hurled theToronto Star's entertainment section across the room.

"The nerve," she cried. "There's not one word about me!"

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"Now, BiBi," soothed Claire, "you can't expect them to print something about
you every day. What's the headline story?"

"Oh, there was a riot last night at some stupid little night club called
Dante's Inferno," said BiBi in disgust.

"Why, I've seen that place," said Claire. "It's right around the corner from
here. Let's see what it says." She retrieved the newspaper and began to read
aloud. "A riot broke out at Dante's Inferno last night after the opening
performance of the rock group Endomorph. The band had been joined briefly by a
mysterious drummer—one Bugs Potter by name —who jammed with the group for two
numbers, creating a sensation. The unknown drummer then ran out and
disappeared into the night. The audience was left screaming for more and
fighting over possession of two drumsticks Potter had thrown into the crowd ."

She paused to read silently. "It goes on to say that Endomorph was pretty
good, but that the real hit of the show was this Bugs Potter. Apparently
nobody knows who he is. The police had to come and break up the ruckus at
around three. Have you ever heard of Bugs Potter, BiBi?"

"I hate him."

"Oh. So you know him?"

"No. I hate him because he kept me off the front page of the entertainment
section. I was dining and dancing at the Imperial Room, and nobody reported on
that."

"Well, you didn't start a riot," laughed Claire. "Maybe that's the secret."

"All right," snapped BiBi, "cut the comedy. You're my publicity secretary.
Get me some publicity beforeRedhead in the Big City opens.''

"The emerald," insisted Claire. "I still say the emerald is the key to your
publicity."

"I said I wanted to be in the papers," said BiBi glumly, "but I didn't mean
the obituaries."

* * *

"Hey," exclaimed Bugs over the lunch table that day, "did you girls know that
Endomorph is in town?"

"No," said Laura dryly. "Is it contagious?"

Adam kicked Bugs under the table. "Come on. Let's go up and get some more
salad." Before Bugs could open his mouth Adam added firmly, "Roommatesalways
get salad together."

Bugs frowned and obediently followed Adam to the salad bar. "I don't really
want any more salad," he said, puzzled.

"It's not about salad, Bugs, it's about Endomorph. Now listen. The more
people who know about our being out last night, the greater the chance of word
getting back to Mr. Darby.Don't — tell —anyone !"

"Not even the girls? They're our friends."

"It doesn't matter," said Adam firmly. "If people know, they talk, and soon

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other people know, and before long, Darby knows. Look, Bugs, I realize you're
proud and excited that you drummed for Endomorph, but until this music
festival is over it'll have to be just between you and me. Okay?"

Bugs nodded understanding. "Okay," he said. "Hey, isn't it great how pals
like us can talk straight with each other and share secrets?"

Adam smiled uneasily. "Yeah," he said. "Just great."

They returned to the table.

"Boy," said Bugs for the benefit of the girls, "I just can't seem to get
enough of this delicious salad!"

"You didn't take any," observed Sylvia.

"Oh. Am I ever forgetful!"

"What's on our schedule for this afternoon?" asked Adam, hastily changing the
subject.

"We're going to Black Creek Pioneer Village," said Laura.

Bugs grimaced. "I don't want to see a bunch of old cabins full of old
furniture."

"But it represents our heritage," explained Adam.

"Heritage," repeated Bugs. "Nowthat's a rock band! They have a wagon wheel
operating their lights, and the lead singer does the last number on a horse.
They've got a lot of class."

"I don't doubt it," chuckled Sylvia.

"Oh, well," Bugs mused, "we may have to go to that old village but at least
we got out of that stupid play tonight."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might have wanted to go to that play?" asked
Adam in irritation. "No," Bugs answered honestly. Adam sighed. "I didn't think
so."

* * *

"Barney," asked Ralph thoughtfully, "what's a tuna-fish mishap?"

"What are you babbling about?" demanded Barney, barely glancing away from a
TV game show.

"It said in that gem book that Roman Falusi died in a tuna-fish mishap. How
do you die in a tuna-fish mishap?"

"How would I know? Maybe he got hit on the head by a can of tuna. What
difference does it make? Now, shh! This lady can win ten thousand dollars if
she gets the next question right."

"And now for your final question," said the TV moderator dramatically. "Who
is the current owner of the fabulous and reportedly cursed Falusi Emerald?"

"Oh, that's easy," squealed the contestant. "It's BiBi Lanay, the movie
star."

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Bells clanged and the audience applauded.

"Barney," said Ralph nervously, "even those guys on TV know about the curse.
Maybe we should find something else to steal. If we get the Falusi Emerald
maybe we'll be cursed like Falusi and all those other guys we read about."

"Don't be an idiot," scoffed Barney. "What kind of curse does BiBi Lanay
have? She's rich and famous and beautiful and successful. I should be cursed
like that!"

"True," agreed Ralph, "but she's got some bad luck coming. Somebody's going
to steal her emerald."

"Right! Tonight!"

* * *

"Bugs Potter, you make me so mad!" stormed Laura as the group got off the bus
and entered the lobby of the Hotel Empress. "It's a good thing no one caught
you drumming on that fence and scaring those cows. Do you realize that Mr.
Darby was almost killed in the stampede?"

"At least it wasn't boring," replied Bugs cheerfully. "I thought Pioneer
Village was going to be dull, but watching those people scrambling all over
the place trying to get the cows to come back was really funny." He grinned.
"Especially the way Darby took off when that cow came running at him."

Adam smiled a little and Sylvia laughed out loud, but Laura's expression
remained severe.

"And I suppose you thought it was just as funny," the angry girl went on,
"when that goose attacked us because it didn't like your stupid drumming."

"Lay off," said Sylvia, amused. "It wasn't Bugs' fault that the goose landed
on you instead of him. And anyway, nobody got hurt."

"And it wasn't boring," Bugs repeated.

"Besides," put in Adam, "Mr. Darby's cancelled the afternoon practice so he
can rest up from his terrible experience. We ought to hire that cow on a daily
basis."

"Go ahead and laugh," said Laura, "but if Bugs had been caught, you would
have been blamed for it too."

"Hey," suggested Bugs, giving Adam a friendly nudge, "this hotel's got a
pool. Why don't we go swimming?"

"That's a great idea," Sylvia agreed.

Adam thought it over. How could Bugs get into trouble in the hotel pool? It
was a nice, harmless activity overseen by a lifeguard.

"All right," he said finally, "let's go swimming."

* * *

"Boy, that Laura! Is she ever crabby!"

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"She's not crabby, Bugs," said Adam. "Some people don't like to be splashed."

"I wasn't splashing," explained his roommate. "I was drumming. Anyway, she
didn't have to stick my drumsticks in the pool filter. It's not my fault the
hotel had to close down the pool.''

"Of course not," Adam said patiently. "But I wish you'd try to be nicer to
Laura." He looked at his watch. "What are we going to do all evening stuck
here while the others are out atMacbeth ?"

"Tonight we get to see BiBi," announced Bugs, heading for the attache case
which held his disguises. "Do you want the beard or the all-in-one? You can't
wear the moustache because you were already a plumber in it. The beard was
pretty good on you last night. I think I'll take a beard too."

"Are you nuts? Didn't enough happen to us the last time we tried to get in
there? You personally busted their sink and got BiBi Lanay right in the face.
And don't think I'm forgetting the two other guys who were there. They weren't
plumbers either. And what about the big guy, Charlie, who chased us down the
stairs? Oh, no, I'm not going up there again!"

"This time we'll go as telephone repairmen," Bugs decided.

"Didn't you hear me?" cried Adam. "I said I don't want to get mixed up in
that sort of thing! We're not going!"

"Come on, get your beard on," prompted Bugs. He reached into a bag and pulled
out a utility belt hung with screwdrivers, pliers and an actual telephone
receiver.

"This is one of my best disguises," he said, buckling the belt around his
waist.

Same old story, thought Adam. Bugs was going, no matter what. "What are you
going to do when you get there?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing much," said Bugs. "We just get in, take off our disguises and
introduce ourselves. Then we sit around and rap for a while and maybe have a
Coke or something. Could be she likes drummers. And flute-guys," he added
kindly.

"Flautists," said Adam absently.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, let's go."

"You go without me." Adam had decided that all he could do was sit in the
room and pray that Bugs behaved himself upstairs. "I don't feel like seeing
BiBi."

"Still shy, eh? Well, I'll go up and get all settled in and acquainted and
everything, and I'll phone you when BiBi says it's okay for you to come up."
He went out and shut the door behind him.

Adam stared at the closed door.

* * *

"I'm going to take a bath, Claire." BiBi clicked towards the bathroom on her
high-heeled slippers. "I couldn't get my afternoon swim today, and do you know
why? Some idiot clogged up the pool's filtration system with — get this — a

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pair of drumsticks! Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"There's a whole crowd of music students staying at the hotel," said Claire.
"It was probably somebody's idea of a joke."

"Some joke. Ever since I got that emerald nothing's gone right."

Claire laughed. "Really, BiBi, you can't blame the Falusi every time a hotel
pool breaks down. And please — start being more careful with your accent."

"But naturally, madame," said BiBi sourly, her accent leaning heavily towards
Greek. She closed the bathroom door and in a few minutes Claire could hear the
water running in the tub.

* * *

"Okay," whispered Barney. "This is it."

He and Ralph crept stealthily across the roof of the Hotel Empress until they
reached the edge which looked down on BiBi Lanay's balcony.

"Is this hers?"

"Yeah." Barney produced a stout rope and lashed it to an air conditioning
outlet on the roof.

"I can't climb down a rope," squealed Ralph. "You didn't tell me we'd have to
use a rope!"

"Shh! It's easy, stupid. You just hang onto the rope, brace your feet against
the side of the building and ease yourself down. It's not far."

"You go first," said Ralph uncertainly.

"Okay, coward, I'll go first!"

Barney lowered himself down the edge, momentarily lost his grip and clawed
frantically at the roof. A wire came loose and ripped out in his hand. Finally
he regained his hold on the rope.

"Are you all right?" Ralph whispered anxiously.

"Of course I'm all right — I just ripped out some wire." He looked down at
BiBi's suite. "The lights are still on, so it must have been the phone wire.
I'm going down. As soon as I'm there, you start down after me."

* * *

Bugs rapped smartly at the door of the movie star's suite.

"Who's there?"

"Telephone repairman," announced Bugs crisply.

"Telephone repairman?" repeated Claire Tanner. "Oh, no you don't. You can't
come in. We didn't call anyone."

"I was sent to look at your phone," insisted Bugs.

"Just a second." Claire went to the phone on the dresser and picked up the

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receiver. The line was dead.

Bugs found himself being ushered into the suite. "Sorry about that," Claire
apologized. "We had a weird incident here a couple of days ago with some phony
plumbers. But I can see you're on the level. The phone's out of order, all
right."

"It is?" Bugs asked incredulously. "Oh, yeah, I mean it is. Right. Well, what
seems to be the trouble?"

Claire shrugged. "See for yourself. You're the repairman."

Bugs picked up the receiver and listened. "Hmm. I've got it. There's no dial
tone. Very interesting." He picked up the phone, held it up to his ear and
shook it, listening intently. "Doesn't rattle," he commented. He shook it
again. "Nothing loose in there."

The bathroom door opened and out came BiBi Lanay, wrapped in a large Turkish
towel.

Thunderstruck, Bugs threw his hands in the air. The telephone arced over his
shoulder and crashed through the balcony door.

"Ow!"cried Ralph as the phone came through the shattered door and bounced off
his shin. He lost his grip and for a split second hung in mid-air. Then he
made a desperate grab for the rope, wrenching it so hard that it came loose
from its moorings on the roof. He came tumbling down onto the balcony, landing
on top of Barney.

The rope went slithering to the street eighteen floors below.

BiBi Lanay let out a series of high-pitched shrieks.

* * *

The peace and quiet of room 1720 was broken by a crash and screams from the
room above.

"Bugs!" Adam threw open the door and ran for the stairs. He was halfway up to
the eighteenth floor when suddenly he came face to face with Barney and Ralph,
who were pounding down the stairs as fast as they could go. The two burglars
looked at him oddly but did not stop running.

At that moment he heard an all-too-familiar voice call, "How do you do, Miss
Lanay!"

"Stop, you!" boomed a heavy baritone from above.

Bugs came into view and whizzed by, dragging Adam with him. The two boys
darted down the hall of the seventeenth floor and into their room. Adam
slammed the door and wedged a chair up against it.

"What happened?" he gasped.

Bugs raised his arms in confusion. "I don't know! I honestly don't know!
There were these two guys on the balcony, and when the phone went crashing
through the door—"

"Hold on a minute," cried Adam. "The phone went what? How did that happen?"

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"That was BiBi's fault," explained Bugs. "When she came into the room I got
so excited that the phone slipped out of my hands."

"What were you doing with the phone?" Adam demanded.

"Fixing it," replied Bugs airily. "It really was busted. That's another thing
I don't understand."

"So you threw a telephone through BiBi Lanay's window?"

"Of course not," said Bugs. "I threw it through the balcony door. And then
these two guys came busting in and BiBi started screaming, so we ran."

Adam frowned. "Bugs, who are those guys? They're the same two who claimed to
be plumbers, aren't they?"

Bugs shrugged. "I really didn't get a good look at them. There was a lot of
yelling and screaming going on, and none of us ever stopped moving."

Adam held his head. "Bugs, there's something fishy going on up there."

"You're telling me," said Bugs in annoyance. "Every time I go to see BiBi
those two guys gum it up. They'd better not be there next time."

"Next time?" howled Adam. "Next time? Listen, Mr. Bugs-Potter-The-Most, you
went twice already and look what happened! There isnot going to be anext
time!"

Bugs popped a tape into the deck and switched on some loud rock music. "This
group is Chips," he announced cheerfully. "In concert, recorded live in
Buffalo, New York. The album is calledBuffalo Chips . The first song is called
'Get Yer Shovel.' Notice the drum sound…"

* * *

"I'm leaving," stormed BiBi Lanay. "I'm getting out of Toronto tonight!"

"Calm down," soothed Claire. "What aboutRedhead in the Big City! Your big
opening, remember?"

"This is one redhead who's getting out of this big city while her red head is
still attached. Somebody's trying to kill me!"

"It's just fans trying to get a look at you."

"Yeah?" BiBi pointed a long painted fingernail at Charlie. "Well, that big
lunkhead isn't doing his job. He's my chief of security, and I don't feel very
secure.''

"It's only a few nuts," said Charlie defensively.

"And another thing," BiBi raged on, "there are to be no more repairmen in
here — foranything! I don't care if this suite cracks right down the middle.
No repairmen!"

Two men carrying tool boxes appeared in the open doorway. "We're here to fix
your balcony door, Miss."

Another man strolled up behind them. "Telephone repairman."

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BiBi clenched her hands and opened her mouth to scream.

Claire clamped a hand firmly over the movie star's mouth. "Come on in," she
invited. "The phone's out on the balcony with what's left of the door. Mind
you don't cut yourselves." She hauled BiBi off into the bedroom and shut the
door. "Now, BiBi, you calm down and behave yourself. You're a famous movie
star with an image to maintain."

"It's all because of that emerald," babbled BiBi, barely coherent. "Ever
since I got that emerald —"

"From now on," soothed Claire, "Charlie will be sleeping on the couch out
there in the sitting room. We'll be perfectly safe."

* * *

"Ralph, you idiot!" cursed Barney, rubbing a bruised arm. "We had it all
wrapped up and you had to fall!"

"All wrapped up, eh?" cried Ralph. "All wrapped up? That suite was full of
people. And I didn't fall — someone threw a telephone at me. They're on to us!
Let's get out of town!"

"Don't be an idiot," snapped Barney. "You're just trying to cover up the fact
that you bungled everything. We got away clean."

"Yeah?" shouted Ralph. "Then what about that guy with the beard? Why did he
look so familiar? And what about that kid coming up the stairs? He looked
familiar too. We're being watched!"

"It's all in your mind," Barney insisted. "We're staying right here and we're
going to get that emerald!"

* * *

"Well," yawned Adam, stretching, "everyone's back fromMacbeth and tucked away
in their rooms. I guess we should go to bed too."

Bugs turned in surprise. "Didn't I mention it?"

"Mention what?" asked Adam suspiciously.

"Migraine is in town. They're at a little club called The Snake Pit just a
block down from Dante's. Endomorph told me about it last night."

"You want togo there?" Adam was horrified.

"Of course! Migraine! They're my favourite group!"

"I thought Endomorph was your favourite group," said Adam sourly.

"They're great too," Bugs agreed serenely. "But Migraine — wow! Just think,
we're going to get to see Migraine!"

Adam tried logic. "You know, Bugs, we just saw Endomorph last night, and it
was kind of an exciting evening. Don't you think we —"

"Here's your beard," said Bugs. "I'll wear the moustache again. We'll leave
by the same route. Come on."

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"But —"

"Hurry. We want to get good seats like last night."

Before he knew it Adam found himself being hustled down by the service
elevator, through the parking garage and out to the street.

"Boy, is this ever going to be great," Bugs predicted ecstatically as they
hurried down the block, past Dante's Inferno where a crowd was gathering for
Endomorph's second night.

Adam sighed. The only thing to do, he decided, was to stick with Bugs every
minute and hustle him back to the hotel right after the show. This mad craving
for rock groups was like a sickness and had to be treated as such. He could
only hope that Mr. Darby would never find out.

There was a large crowd lined up outside The Snake Pit. Adam and Bugs paid
their admission and Bugs immediately secured a front table. Adam sat down and
once again turned to find that a giant speaker was looming over him.

"You can feel the electricity in the air," said Bugs excitedly.

"Migraine, eh?" Adam glanced again at the large speaker. "They're probably
aptly named."

"Yeah," Bugs agreed. "I don't know how these rock groups do it. Migraine —
Endomorph — Nuclear Teacup — Chips — where do they come up with these great
names?"

Abruptly the lights went out and an excited murmur rippled through the crowd.
There was a bright flash of light in the centre of the stage, and from the
speaker what sounded like a terrific clap of thunder. Adam cringed. When the
glare from the flash died away, there was Migraine, belting out a loud rock
number, the lead singer dressed in a white sequined suit.

Adam watched and listened, trying to see what it was that Bugs found so
marvellous. Except for the change in personnel, this might as well have been
Endomorph. To him the sound was the same — a heavy pounding that made his head
spin. He glanced at Bugs, who sat alertly drinking it all in.

The terrible racket went on for almost an hour, and when intermission was
announced, Adam's head was aching so badly he decided to beg Bugs to leave
early.

"Say, I have this headache —" he began, but he found that he was talking to
an empty chair. Bugs had disappeared. Oh, no, thought Adam, not again. He sat
stiffly through the fifteen-minute intermission, sipping nervously at a glass
of ginger ale.

Again the lights went out abruptly. There was an elaborate, booming drum
roll, in a style Adam recognized all too well. The audience loved it and began
to cheer wildly.

The lead singer cried, "And now I'd like to introduce a special guest. On
drums — Mr. Bugs Potter! All right, Bugs — 'Rocky Rooms.' Let'sdo it!"

Yes, it was happening again. There was Bugs, banging, hacking, twirling
sticks — putting on an exhilerating performance. And there was Migraine, doing
their best to keep up. When Bugs broke into a drum solo, halfway through the
song, the audience stood on the chairs and even the tables, roaring its

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appreciation. Bugs responded with louder and more complex drumming. He seemed
to thrive on the applause. Finally he and Migraine surged to a finish. The
cheers were deafening.

Bugs hopped off the stage, resumed his seat and downed his ginger ale.
Migraine started in again.

"Let's get out of here," Adam tried to shout over the din. "I have a
headache."

"Wasn't that fantastic?" Bugs roared back, his eyes shining.

Adam sat back in resignation. There was no way of communicating in this
noise, and no way Bugs was going to leave before the bitter end anyway. The
only thing to do was to sit back and try to survive.

Then, as Migraine introduced their final number, the drummer ran to the edge
of the stage and grabbed Bugs by the arm. "The drums are yours!" he exclaimed.

"Hats Off to Aspirin" was the loudest song of the night, yet it was barely
audible over the noise of the crowd. With one final smash on the cymbals, Bugs
once again tossed his drumsticks out into the audience. Immediately Adam
rushed up onto the stage, grabbed his roommate by both shoulders and pushed
him out the backstage exit. They could hear the roar from the Snake Pit
halfway back to the hotel.

Let there be light

"David Potter," began Mr. Darby icily at band practice the next morning, "I
have a complaint from the hotel management about this group, and there is no
doubt in my mind that this complaint concerns you. And Webb, of course."

"What's wrong, sir?" asked Adam. His heart was sinking. Could Mr. Darby have
found out about Bugs and those rock bands?

"The hotel swimming pool," the bandmaster went on, "was out of commission
yesterday because the filtration system was clogged. Would you like to know
what was stuck there? A pair of drumsticks. Potter, I find it interesting to
note that a number of band members — you and Webb among them — were in the
pool when this remarkable event took place. Can you explain it?"

"I didn't do anything to the filter, sir."

That, at least, was true, thought Adam. Laura had done it. He gave her a
sidelong glance, but she remained silent.

"Nevertheless," said Mr. Darby, "it is my impression that you are the only
percussionist in this band who uses sticks of that make."

"Oh, they were mine, all right," said Bugs honestly, "but I didn't put them
in the filter."

"The fact remains," said Mr. Darby, "that the filter is where they ended up,
and that the fault lies with you and Webb. I am becoming weary of constantly
having to punish you two. You are the only two band members whose behaviour
has not been flawless. Tonight the group will be taken to the O'Keefe Centre
for a rare performance of the Bolshoi Ballet inSwan Lake . You two will, as
usual, remain in your room. I trust that missing such a memorable event will
teach you some sort of lesson. Do I make myself clear?"

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"Yes, sir," murmured Adam.

"And thank you, sir," beamed Bugs.

Mr. Darby frowned. Why was it that every time he punished Potter the boy
seemed terribly pleased? What a tremendous behaviour problem. A very fine
drummer, but — perhaps some sort of personality defect?

The bandmaster tapped on his music stand. "Now, if you will turn to the
medley fromThe Sound of Music , we'll take it from the beginning."

* * *

"What'swrong with this town?" cried BiBi Lanay, throwing down a copy of
theToronto Star's entertainment section.

Claire picked up the paper. "What are you complaining about? There's a
gorgeous picture of you trying on dresses at that Yorkville boutique."

"Yes, on page two," BiBi stormed. "Look at the garbage they put on page one.
That stupid Bugs Potter, whoever he is, started another riot in a night club.
That's news?"

Claire glanced at the article. "Whoever he is, he must be quite a guy," she
commented. "Listen to this:The mysterious Bugs Potter has appeared again. For
the second time in two days, the rock drummer sensation put in a surprise
appearance at a Toronto night spot, creating pandemonium. This reporter
witnessed both of Potter's incredible appearances, the first with Endomorph,
and the second last night with Migraine. The archives of popular musicians has
no trace of this extraordinary performer. Whoever Bugs Potter may be, there is
no doubt that he is a super star in the world of rock music ."

Claire looked up from the paper. "They eventually had to call the police to
clear away the crowd, just like last time. Hmm. You know, BiBi, I think we're
going to have to plan some publicity stunts. We've got to get you back in the
limelight before the big opening. This Bugs Potter has pushed you right off
the front page."

"What can we do?"

"Public appearances at big shopping malls," decided Claire. "That always
works, especially when you wear the emerald."

"It's because of the emerald that I've got this trouble. It dried up that
sheik's oil wells and it's ruining my career."

"Don't be silly. There is no Falusi Jinx."

BiBi pounded on the upholstery in frustration. The entire frame of the sofa
collapsed, and sofa, cushions and movie star fell in a heap.

"You see?" she shrieked. "It's the emerald!"

Claire helped her up. "It's just because Charlie slept on it last night," she
said soothingly. "Don't worry. The hotel will send a repairman."

BiBi burst into tears.

* * *

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"Laura, you are rotten!" snapped Sylvia over the lunch table. "How could you
let Adam and Bugs take the rap for something you did? You stuffed those
drumsticks into the filter. If you go to Darby and confess right now —"

"No! No, please!" Bugs protested. "If you confess, we'll have to go see that
ballet!"

"Well," said Adam, "you know, the Russian ballet — that's pretty important.
It's kind of a shame that we won't see it."

"Well, he was splashing me with those drumsticks —" began Laura.

"Never mind the reason," said Bugs. "We're really grateful. Thanks, Laura."

Laura looked at him oddly. "You're welcome."

"Too bad we couldn't have got out of this afternoon's activity too," he went
on, turning a sour face. "Wait till you hear this — a tour of City
Hall!Boring!"

"The building looks really nice," Sylvia said hopefully.

"But there are no drums," put in Adam, picking absently at his lunch.

"I know," agreed Bugs. "How are we going to stand it? Anyway, I'll be right
back. I've got to go to the hotel flower shop."

"What are you going to do," asked Laura sarcastically, "buy a drumstick
tree?"

Bugs grinned. "I'm going to send a long-stemmed rose to a beautiful lady."

"Oh, Bugs, no," groaned Adam. "Not BiBi Lanay!"

"Yup, BiBi," said Bugs cheerfully. "I'm trying a new approach. I'm going to
soften her up for a few days with little gifts." He ran off towards the lobby.

"He's crazy," Laura announced with firm conviction.

** *

"Barney, I think the emerald really is cursed."

"We've been over that a million times," growled Barney. "There is no curse!"

"Then how come every time we get close to it we end up running away from
Charlie?" whined Ralph. "And all those people have seen us. We'd better get
out of this hotel."

"We check out first thing tomorrow," promised Barney.

"Really? That's great!"

"Yeah," said Barney, settling back in his chair. "We check out first thing
tomorrow — and we steal the emerald first thing tonight."

Ralph turned pale. "From the roof? With a rope? Like last night when I fell?"

"Exactly," confirmed Barney. "Only this time we're going to make it."

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** *

"BiBi, there's a box here for you from the florist downstairs."

BiBi came out of the bedroom and said, for the benefit of the delivery boy,
"Ah, what a surprise! Thank you so very much!" The accent was vaguely Polish.

When the door closed she added, "You were right, Claire. I walk through one
lousy shopping centre and already I've got flowers."

"You can always trust me." Claire smiled smugly.

BiBi opened the box. Nestled in the tissue was a single perfect rose. "Oh,
how lovely!" She reached in and picked up the rose, jamming a long, sharp
thorn into her finger. "Ow!"

Charlie came bursting through the door. "What happened?"

"Band-Aid!" howled BiBi. "Get the iodine!"

"She cut her finger," Claire explained.

"Why do I have to do everything myself?" BiBi ran into the bathroom and
rummaged madly through the medicine cabinet.

"So there's no one for me to chase," concluded Charlie.

"No," said Claire. She followed BiBi into the bathroom and helped bind up the
injured finger.

"Hey," called Charlie, "you didn't read the card." He ripped open the
envelope and pulled out the small gift card. "With love from Bugs Potter ."

BiBi uttered a scream of anguish. Claire dropped the iodine bottle, which
shattered on the tile floor.

Charlie stared at the two astounded women. "Who is Bugs Potter?"

* * *

"City Hall wasn't so bad," commented Bugs as he and Adam entered their room
after dinner that night. "I thought it was going to be really dumb, but all
those alderman guys sitting there yelling at each other and drumming on their
desks — not bad!"

"Yes, Bugs."

"Gee, I wonder if BiBi got my rose."

Adam looked up in alarm. "You're not seriously planning to go up there again
— are you?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. It's too soon. In a few days, maybe, after I've sent
her some more presents." He reached for a duffle bag. "Hey, you know, I've
been doing a lot of thinking about this music festival. Our show at Ontario

Place is going to be dull. I mean, it's going to be the pits. Boring music,
hardly any drums, and us just sitting there like dummies. Man, are we going to
be boring! We've got to do something to liven it up a bit."

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"Well, it's really not supposed to be —"

"So," interrupted Bugs, "we'll do something with this stuff." He placed the
contents of the bag carefully on the bureau. There were six large plastic jars
filled with powdered chemicals, six metal boxes about fifteen centimetres
square, each with a grille top, and a plastic bag filled with several
doorbells and a few metres of coiled wire.

Adam stared at the collection. "What's all that for?"

"Flash bombs, of course. No big concert can be without them. It'll look
really decent."

Adam burst out laughing. "You can't do that," he managed to gasp.

"Sure we can," said Bugs earnestly. "We just mix up the powder and put it in
the boxes, shove in a few wooden matches, hook up two wires to the boxes,
attach the wires to the doorbells, press the doorbells and there you go."

Adam laughed harder. "Where did you learn all that about science?"

"What science?" asked Bugs. "Science is boring. This is flash bombs. It'll
really make our concert!"

Weakly, Adam collapsed into a chair. "It sure will. Darby will kill you."

"No, he won't. When he sees how great it is and how much everyone loves it,
he'll never have another concert without flash bombs. And besides," Bugs
added, "just in case he doesn't like them, the concert will be over by that
time. And the next morning we're all going home. What can he do to us?"

Adam sobered. "Are these things dangerous? I mean, what if someone gets
hurt?"

"They're perfectly safe," Bugs assured him. "I'll make you a little one now,
just to show you."

He poured a small amount of each chemical into one of the boxes and shook the
box to mix the contents until there was about half a centimetre of powder in
the bottom. He studded this with three wooden matches. "Now," he said, "we
hook up the wires like.so."

Adam watched as Bugs skilfully set the wires into place and attached one of
the doorbells to the set-up. "You're not going to set that thing off in here,
are you?" he asked nervously.

"No way. It would stink of sulphur in here for a week. We'll set it out on
the balcony and detonate it from just inside the door."

"But we'll only be a metre away."

"Don't worry." Bugs grinned.

* * *

"This is going to be like taking candy from a baby," gloated Barney, tying a
new rope to the air conditioning outlet on the roof above BiBi Lanay's
terrace. "I saw that BiBi dame leave the hotel, and she wasn't wearing the
emerald. It must be just sitting there in that empty suite, waiting for us."

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"Gee," said Ralph, "I don't think —"

"I'm the one who does the thinking around here," interrupted Barney. "Now,
come on. You go first."

"Me? Why me?"

"So if you fall again, it won't be on me," snapped Barney.

Reluctantly Ralph swung himself over the side of the roof and began to climb
gingerly down to the balcony.

Suddenly there was a blinding flash from below. He lost his grip on the rope,
grabbed madly at thin air and fell with a thud onto the balcony.

Quickly Barney shinnied down after him. "What happened?"

"Didn't you see?" quavered Ralph, terrified. "That flash! What if it was a
camera? What if someone took our picture?"

"What flash? I didn't see any flash. It's all in your imagination."

"But, Barney, there was a flash!"

Barney was not paying attention. "Hey, look, they even opened the door for
us." He pointed to the balcony door, which stood wide open. Switching on his
flashlight, he strolled into the suite.

Still trembling, Ralph followed. He switched on his own flashlight and played
it over the room, looking around nervously. The beam caught the desk, the
curio cabinet, the davenport, the telephone table, the plant stand — and in
the big armchair, Charlie. Ralph jammed his fist into his mouth to keep from
screaming. Charlie was seated in the armchair fast asleep.

Ralph wheeled and wig-wagged the beam across Barney's face.

"Stop that, you idiot," hissed Barney. "You're blinding me." He turned his
own flashlight to illuminate Ralph. Ralph pointed madly in the direction of
the armchair. "What's the matter with you, Ralphie? Settle down!"

A third voice, a very deep one, mumbled, "Lemme sleep… just five more
minutes." There was a shifting noise, a sigh and then gentle snoring.

Ralph dashed back out onto the balcony, Barney hot on his heels. They clawed
their way up the rope, then hauled it up and ran across the roof, through the
door and down the stairs. They did not slow down until they were safely locked
inside their fifteenth floor room.

"That was just a small one, of course," said Bugs, retrieving the
slightly-singed box from the balcony.

Adam remained silent until the beating of his heart returned to normal. Then
he cried, "Bugs, you can't do that at our concert. You'll scare everybody to
death!"

"They'll love it," Bugs declared. "At a big concert the flash bombs are
almost as important as the drums. Anyway," he added, beginning to pack away
his flash-bomb kit, "we won't make the ones for the concert until the last
minute. It's better that way."

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Adam nodded slowly. There was hope, then, that Bugs would forget — or, with
his mercurial temperament, become enthused about something else. Adam decided
to put the question of flash bombs out of his mind.

"Oh, guess what?" Bugs suddenly announced. "I forgot to mention it, but the
bass player from Migraine told me about a nightclub called The Pressure Cooker
just a block the other side of the hotel. Do you know who's playing there
tonight? Vanderboom! They're myfavourite group! I don't believe it — we're
going to get to see Vanderboom!"

"Aw, Bugs,no!" moaned Adam. "You know, three rock bands in three days —"

"Yeah," crowed Bugs. "Isn't it great? The night life in Toronto is fabulous."

"I just thought—"

"But there's still a long time before curfew," Bugs went on, "so —" He
selected a tape, popped it into the deck and cranked the volume control far to
the right. "Now this is theCarrot album by Conquest. The first song is called
'Night Sight.' If you listen to the drums…"

** *

"There." BiBi danced triumphantly into her suite trailing her mink stole
behind her. "That appearance went absolutely beautifully. And Ididn't wear the
emerald!"

Claire came in behind her and switched on the lights. "Charlie, we're back,"
she called. "Yes,BiBi, the evening did go well, but remember, the first
question you were asked was 'Where's your emerald, Miss Lanay?' "

BiBi made a face. "Better that than 'Why are you wearing that body cast, Miss
Lanay?' "

Charlie came to and lifed his bulk out of the armchair. "Hi, girls. How did
it go?"

"Marvellous!" declared BiBi happily. She went into the bedroom and shut the
door.

"You know," said Charlie oddly, "I had the weirdest dream. This flying saucer
landed on the balcony with a bright flash, and these two aliens got out and
came into the room. They had these two ray guns, see —"

"Yes, yes, very weird," agreed Claire. "Meanwhile, you were sleeping when you
should have been guarding the suite. The Falusi was in your care tonight, you
know."

"Don't worry," Charlie assured her. "I'm a real light sleeper. Nothing can
get past me."

** *

Adam examined the table that Bugs had selected for them at The Pressure
Cooker. Exactly like the others, he concluded. Ringside, and watched over by a
tremendous speaker. The only difference was that tonight he had taken his
aspirin ahead of time as a preventive measure.

It was a carbon copy of the Endomorph and Migraine shows as the lights went
out and the crowd stirred with excitement. There was a tremendous boom — a

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Vander-boom, Adam supposed — and coloured spotlights came on to reveal the
five musicians who comprised Vanderboom. The bass guitarist began to thrum at
a terrific pace, and the rest of the group crashed into a loud rock number.
Adam shut his eyes, held his ears and somehow survived almost a complete hour
of Vanderboom. When the lights came back on at intermission, he heard Bugs
toss over his shoulder, "I'll be right back!"

Adam settled back resignedly to wait for his roommate. Same game plan, he
thought. Get Bugs out and home as soon as the show was over. And pray that
they made it undetected.

Bugs ran backstage, dodged an apathetic security guard and entered the room
where the five performers were relaxing.

"That was great," he raved. "You guys are amazing!"

The lead singer downed a glass of water. "Thanks."

"You know, I play a little drums myself," Bugs began.

The members of the group sat bolt upright. "What's your name?" asked the
drummer.

"Bugs Potter. I was wondering if I could do a number with you guys."

"Oh,would you?"

When the lights dimmed after intermission, the lead singer stood centre-stage
and shouted, "He's here! Yes, he's here! The song — 'Continental Boom'… the
drummer —Bugs Potter!"

There was a drum roll in inimitable Bugs Potter style, amplified by eight
hundred watts but still barely audible over the roar of the Pressure Cooker
audience. Bugs and Vanderboom played even harder, just to be heard. The
ovation at the end of the song was deafening, and it was ten minutes before
Vanderboom could resume their show.

Back at the table, Bugs downed a tall glass of grape soda. His eyes were
afire with excitement.

"This crowd is really wild," said Adam nervously. "Let's get out of here."

"Can't go," Bugs shouted. "They might let me play again!"

"I don't think the crowd here could stand that," Adam hollered back. But it
was no use. He could not be heard.

Finally the lead singer cried, "And for our last number, what do you say we
get Bugs Potter back up here? How about it, Bugs?"

The crowd went hysterical as Bugs jumped back up onto the stage and headed
for the drums. "Let's have 'Knife-Edge Boom,' " yelled the lead singer.

Bugs hit the foot pedal and the big bass drum boomed through the room. The
crowd cheered even louder. He paused a second, then broke into form, his hands
flying, his drumsticks just a blur. At the end he gave another tremendous boom
on the bass drum and hurled his drumsticks into the audience.

Only seconds ahead of the rest of the crowd, Adam rushed up onto the stage,
grabbed Bugs and dashed for the exit. As they headed for the hotel, Adam could

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have sworn that he saw The Pressure Cooker rock on its foundations.

Negative vibes

"David Potter," said Mr. Darby coldly at practice the next morning, "you are
without a doubt the most disruptive factor in our entire orchestra. You are
the blemish on the face of progress, the bad apple in the basket, the
proverbial fly in the ointment. Will you please explain to me why, after days
of rigorous practice, you still persist in sprinkling drum solos throughout
our music?"

"Sorry, sir," said Bugs cheerfully. "I just got carried away."

"That is a condition into which you constantly lapse," said Mr. Darby grimly.
"This is not rock music. Are you incapable of remembering that?"

"Well, sir, I do forget sometimes," admitted Bugs. "You see, I think
everything except rock is pretty dull and—"

"What you think," stormed Mr. Darby, "is completely inconsequential! I have
no more patience with you! You will play what is written, whether you like it
or not. Is that totally understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. That will be all for today. I must admit that some of you have
shown a degree of improvement. There is a slight possibility that this group
will not disgrace itself at Ontario Place."

In the equipment room Bugs ran up to Adam, who was talking to Sylvia and
Laura.

"You know," he said, "I'm beginning to get some negative vibes from that
guy."

"I'll bet!" laughed Sylvia.

Laura grimaced. "You're lucky," she said to Adam, "that you don't get blamed
for his drum rolls too."

Adam grinned. "Even Darby couldn't find a way to blame me for drum rolls when
I'm sitting there with a flute in my hand."

"Say, Laura," said Bugs, "if you were BiBi Lanay, what would you want from
me?"

"Peace and quiet," replied Laura immediately. "And I'm not even BiBi Lanay."

"I mean seriously," said Bugs. "What should I send her this time?"

"I read in a fan magazine that she's crazy about chocolate caramels,"
suggested Sylvia. "Why don't you send her some candy?"

"Good thinking!" Bugs headed for the hotel gift shop.

"Boy, Adam," said Laura, "why did you have to get stuck with that guy? He's
awful!"

Adam frowned but did not reply.

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"Well, you can't pick your roommate," Sylvia pointed out. "Look at me. I got
stuck with someone who has absolutely no sense of humour."

* * *

At a table near the centre of the dining room sat four members of the
clarinet section.

"I thought music festivals were supposed to be fun. Some fun!"

"Yeah. Run here! Run there! Don't do this! Don't do that! No TV!"

"Who needs TV? I'm so tired after a day of this stuff that I fall into bed
and pass out. We're lucky Darby gives us enough free time to go to the
bathroom!"

"I feel as if I'm on a desert island. If the world came to an end we'd be the
last to hear abqut it — it might interrupt band practice."

"I was hoping we'd get some free time in Toronto."

"Fat chance! Anyway, what's going on in Toronto is right here. BiBi Lanay is
in our hotel. What could be more important than that?"

* * *

"What do I have to do to get some decent publicity in this city? I've walked
through shopping malls until my feet are worn to the knees, and what do I get?
Pagefour of the entertainment section! And look at page one!"

A huge black headline stood out:BUGS POTTER STRIKES AGAIN . The sub-heading
wasMysterious Drummer Disappears Leaving Third Riot .

Claire read aloud: "Nothing is known about Bugs Potter except that he is the
most exciting rock drummer ever to appear on the Toronto scene. Last night he
proved it again in an impromptu session at The Pressure Cooker with
Vanderboom. Ask anyone who was there. It was colossal.

"The elusive Bugs is a thin dark man with a bushy black moustache. He tends
to jam with the performers for one number immediately after intermission, and
then again for the finale. He is accompanied by a blond, bearded man,
apparently his manager, who spirits him away the instant the show is over.

"Bugs Potter, whoever you are, Toronto rock fans want to tell you—we think
you are The Most. "

Claire frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder who he is."

"I know who he is," said BiBi bitterly. "He's the guy who's ruining my
career. And yesterday he sent me a rose that stabbed me."

The door opened and Charlie came into the suite carrying a copy of theToronto
Sun . "Hey, BiBi, you made the fashion news."

"What page?"

"Forty-eight."

"Give me that!" BiBi grabbed the newspaper. Right on the front page was an
enormous headline:

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WHO IS BUGS POTTER? Story page 3.

She turned the page to reveal another:SUN OFFERS $100 FOR PICTURE OF DRUMMER
BUGS .

"I can't stand it," she wailed, throwing the paper across the room. "Those
should bemy headlines."

"I read that, you know," said Charlie. "Bugs Potter is really standing this
town on its ear. He's appeared three different places, and according to this
article, those crazy rock fans are jamming every club on the chance he might
turn up. All the little dumps are putting in more tables to take the overflow.
And no one has any idea who this guy-"

"Enough! I don't want to hear another word about Bugs Potter!"

"Now, wait a minute, BiBi," said Claire. "Potter sent you a rose, so he must
be a fan of yours. All this mystery build-up is just an act, of course. He's
bound to come out into the open soon. And when he does, it'll be real
frontpage news. That's why BiBi Lanay is going to be by his side. Charlie,
tonight you're going out to find Bugs Potter."

* * *

"Hey," yelled Barney from the depths of the afternoon paper, "have you read
this in theSun about that Bugs Potter?"

Ralph nodded. "Yeah, what about him? All those guys do is a bunch of loud
banging and yelling. Who needs it?"

"I'll tell you who needs it," said Barney. "We need it. Look, they're
offering a hundred bucks for a good clear picture of this guy Bugs Potter." He
grinned. "And I have my camera with me. Here's a list of the clubs Potter
hasn't been to yet. Tonight we're going to pick one and go out and win that
hundred bucks."

"What for? We'll probably pick the wrong club anyway, and have to listen to
all that rock stuff for nothing. And besides, we're going to be getting more
than four million. Why do we have to bother with a lousy hundred?"

"A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks," insisted Barney. "It'll help pay our
hotel bill. We'll go to this one — The Rock Pile. I've seen that. It's only a
few blocks away from the hotel."

"Aw, Barney!"

"Don't 'aw Barney' me. We need a night off from burglaring. It'll give us a
fresh approach for tomorrow."

* * *

"The crest of the Horseshoe Falls," lectured the tour guide at Niagara Falls
that afternoon, "is approximately nine hundred and fifteen metres long. The
drop is about fifty metres. It is estimated that ten million people visit the
Canadian side annually."

Bugs sidled up to Sylvia, who was leaning on the rail gazing out at the
falls.

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"Listen to the rushing roar of the water cascading to the river below. The
sound is loud and violent, yet soft and peaceful."

Sylvia wheeled to face him. "Why, Bugs! Where did you learn to speak like
that?"

"Oh, that," said Bugs. "That was written in fancy letters on the cover of
H2O'sCataract album. You see, the album starts off with this waterfall sound.
Then the bass guitar comes in, and then the drums —"

"Never mind," Sylvia laughed, "I get the picture."

Adam snapped a photograph of the rainbow in the spray of the falls. "The best
part of this," he pointed out, "is that we get back to the hotel too late for
afternoon practice."

"Yeah," agreed Bugs fervently. From his pocket he produced a pair of
drumsticks and began to drum on the iron railing.

Laura emitted a low moan.

"Niagara Falls," went on the guide, "is an important source of hydro-electric
power. There are extensive power facilities on both the Canadian and the
American sides."

"Do you have to drum all the time?" asked Laura irritably.

Bugs nodded. "It helps relieve the boredom."

With a gasp of rage, Laura snatched the sticks from Bugs' hands and hurled
them over the parapet into the boiling waters of the Niagara River above the
falls.

Bugs watched in fascination as his drumsticks floated along to the crest and
then plummeted down to be lost forever. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "My drumsticks
went over Niagara Falls!"

"Yes, and you're next," snapped Laura.

Bugs reached into his pocket, brought out another pair of sticks and resumed
his drumming.

Laura scowled, but Sylvia laughed. Even Adam cracked a smile.

* * *

"Oh, thank you so very much!" gushed BiBi Lanay as the bellhop delivered a
gift-wrapped package. Her accent was strongly Hungarian. Shutting the door,
she turned to Claire. "You open it. It may be booby-trapped."

Claire tore the wrapping paper from the package. "Don't be ridiculous. Look,
it's a little box of chocolates."

"Caramels!" BiBi ripped the lid off the box and stuffed two candies into her
mouth.

"Your diet," warned Claire. "You know how easily you put on weight."

"Delicious," mumbled BiBi, her mouth full. She grabbed the small card and
read, still mumbling, "Love from Bugs Potter. The darling! He must have heard

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that I'm crazy about —" The sentence ended in a long scream.

Charlie burst in through the door. "What's wrong?"

BiBi removed a wad of candy from her mouth. There, embedded in the caramel,
was a silver filling. "Dentist!"she howled. "Pain!Pain!"

"Charlie, call downstairs and see if there's a dentist on the premises.
BiBi's lost a filling."

"It hurts! That miserable Bugs Potter! He did this on purpose!"

"Calm down. We'll get that tooth fixed up in no time. And don't complain
about Bugs Potter, BiBi. This gift proves something — the guy must be crazy
about you."

"He's trying to murder me," wailed BiBi. "And it's all the fault of the
emerald! There wouldn'tbe a Bugs Potter if I didn't have the emerald! I'm
going to get rid of it right now!" She rushed into the bedroom, grabbed the
emerald and headed for the bathroom. "I'll flush it, that's what I'll do!"

"Bibi, no!"

There was the sound of rushing water, and then BiBi appeared in the bathroom
doorway. "Claire," she said sadly, "call a plumber."

"BiBi, youdidn't!"

"It wouldn't go down. At least not all the way." She gripped the side of her
face. "Charlie, where's that dentist?"

* * *

"Man," Bugs said to Adam as they entered their room just before eleven
o'clock that evening, "was that recital ever deadly!"

"I suppose there weren't enough drums," said Adam sarcastically.

"You noticed that too, eh? Hey, I forgot to tell you! Guess what?"

Adam sat down to cushion the blow. "What?" he asked in resignation. "And who?
And where?"

"Spoon Rest, my favourite group! They're at a club called The Rock Pile only
a few blocks from here. Just think — we're going to get to see Spoon Rest! I
can't believe it!"

"I can't believe it either," moaned Adam. "You know, Bugs, we're not getting
much sleep and —"

"Have you heard their latest album?" Bugs went on. "On side one there's a
ten-minute drum and synthesizer duet that just freaks me out! They use a lot
of synth. It's great!"

"Oh, Bugs, I'mso tired!"

"Tired?" repeated Bugs incredulously. "Nobody's too tired for a rock show."

"I am," said Adam. "I mean it. I'm really bushed."

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"Oh," said Bugs, "well, I guess if you're really that tired I could go by
myself. But I'd sure hate to see you miss Spoon Rest."

Adam thought it over. If Bugs weren't hauled out of these clubs immediately
after his performance, who could say what might happen? He seemed to work rock
fans up to fever pitch. Without a firm hand guiding him, Bugs would never get
back to the hotel. "Hand me my beard, please," he said softly.

Bugs awarded him a mighty wallop on the back. "Attaboy! I knew you'd change
your mind after you thought about it. Besides, you can sleep when you get home
to Montreal. Let's go!"

"I can smell that hundred bucks now." Barney patted his camera in
anticipation as he and Ralph sat down at a fourth-row table in The Rock Pile.

Ralph looked around nervously. "The people in here look plenty weird — and
rowdy." His eyes fell on Adam and Bugs who were sitting at ringside by a giant
speaker. "Hey, Barney, look! Don't we know those guys?"

Barney squinted in the direction of Ralph's pointing finger. "Yeah," he said
slowly. "They do look kind of familiar. I can't place them, though."

"Neither can I, but I never forget a face. It'll come to me."

"Aw, no!" Barney pointed to the table directly ahead of them. "Isn't that
just my luck? The biggest guy in the world has to come and sit right in front
of me so I can't see."

Ralph opened his mouth and closed it again, but no sound came out. He pointed
wildly at the massive back in front of them. Finally he managed to blurt,
"It's Charlie!"

The security chief wheeled and looked around question-ingly. Had someone
called his name? Finally he shrugged his enormous shoulders and turned back to
the stage.

"Let's get out of here," whispered Ralph. "He must be after us!"

"It's just a coincidence, his showing up here like this," scoffed Barney.
"Besides, I paid my admission and I'm not leaving here without my
hundred-dollar picture of Bugs Potter."

Bugs Potter. The name was on the lips of everybody in the packed nightclub.

"Bugs Potter! Gee, I hope he comes here tonight."

"I've never seen him, but I hear he's sensational."

"I saw him on his very first night with Endomorph. Fantastic!"

In the shadow of the great speaker, Adam was preparing himself for the ordeal
that he knew lay ahead.

"You'll love this," promised Bugs, squirming with anticipation. "You're not
tired any more, are you?"

"No, I'm numb."

"Once it starts, you'll come alive."

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Right on cue the lights dimmed, the crowd began cheering and the stage
exploded into life. A loud, high-pitched screaming erupted from the speaker. A
synthesizer, decided Adam, holding his ears in an attempt to shut out the
sound. He found himself longing for the simple banging of Endomorph, Migraine
and Vanderboom.

The other members of Spoon Rest joined in, banging, crashing and wailing for
more than three-quarters of an hour. Then they declared an intermission and
once again Bugs disappeared. Adam sipped on an orange soda and settled back to
wait for the inevitable.

The rest of the crowd babbled expectantly.

"Let's go," whispered Ralph. "I can't stand this noise. Andhe's still here."
He inclined his head slightly toward Charlie's massive back.

"No way," replied Barney firmly. "This is it. If Bugs Potter's going to be
here, he'll show up right after intermission."

Fifteen minutes later the lights dimmed and the synthesizer gave a long and
elaborate fanfare. Walking to the front of the stage, the lead singer called
out, "We've got it all together now! Introducing the Prince of Percussion
himself —Bugs Potter! ''

The whine of the synthesizer was perforated by the machine-gun rhythm of Bugs
Potter's drums. A spotlight shone on the performer. The audience went mad.
Flashbulbs went off everywhere, and the stamping and screaming almost
completely drowned out the music.

The group played their big hit, "Scoop That Soup," with Bugs leading the way.
When it thundered to a close he turned to leave the stage, but the regular
drummer rushed over and blocked his way. "Don't go," he pleaded. "We can share
the drums. You take the cymbals and bass and I'll take the snares — and then
we'll switch."

"Sure," said Bugs. "Gee, thanks!"

The next half hour was a nightmare for Adam. The crowd never ceased its
demented roaring, and Spoon Rest had to turn up their amplifiers just to be
heard. The lead singer's voice had cracked long ago, and he was blue in the
face from screaming. The lead and bass guitarists had each broken a string.

Adam shot up onto the stage just as Bugs tossed his drumsticks into a sea of
reaching hands. With his roommate in tow, he ducked out the backstage exit
just as the surging crowd flooded the stage.

* * *

"A plumber!" exclaimed Ralph suddenly from the back of a riot squad wagon
where he and Barney were riding with about twenty rock fans from The Rock
Pile. "That's who Bugs Potter is — a plumber!"

"That's 'drummer,' stupid," growled someone, "he's a drummer."

"What are you babbling about?" asked Barney.

Ralph's voice sank to a whisper. "Remember the plumber who came to BiBi
Lanay's suite when we were there disguised as plumbers too? The one who broke
the pipes and squirted her? That was Bugs Potter. Same face, same moustache,

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same size. I'm sure of it. He's a plumber. And that other guy — his manager —
was probably the second plumber. These guys are plumbers!"

"Maybe you're right," Barney whispered back.

"Hey, you two guys," piped up someone from nearby, "let's have no more cracks
about Bugs Potter! You saw him! Man, he isThe Most!"

* * *

"What an honour! I shared a drum set with Johnny Mulligan! I don't think
anyone has ever been so honoured!"

"Um-hmm," murmured Adam, already half asleep.

"Here, I'll put on a tape. We can listen to some more Spoon Rest."

"Bugs," mumbled Adam, "it's the middle of the night.

Go to sleep."

"You're right. I'll use the headphones." Bugs reached under his pillow and
pulled out a pair of drumsticks.

* * *

"It's almost five o'clock in the morning!" BiBi reached for the coffee pot on
the room-service tray. It was empty. "Claire, call down and have them send us
more coffee."

"We've already had two pots of coffee," said Claire, pacing the floor. "We
don't need any more." She reached for the telephone. "Maybe an early
breakfast."

The two women paced in silence for several minutes.

"If anything's happened to Charlie," threatened BiBi at last, "I'll grind
that miserable emerald into green powder."

"The emerald doesn't enter into it," Claire insisted. "He's probably found
Bugs Potter and —"

There was a knock at the door and they both rushed to open it. It was room
service.

"I can't stand it," said BiBi, sitting down and pouring herself yet another
cup of coffee. "Maybe we should call the police."

"Let's give him another hour," suggested Claire. "If he's not here by six,
we'll call the police."

Just then there was the sound of a key in the lock. In walked Charlie, dirty,
torn and dishevelled.

"Where were you?" stormed BiBi. "What happened to you? We've been worried
sick!"

"Don't ask." Charlie sat down heavily in the armchair.

"You've got a black eye," Claire observed. "Who on earth was brave enough to

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pick a fight with you?"

"She looked about nineteen," said Charlie glumly. "Only she didn't do it on
purpose. She was grabbing for a drumstick and my face got in the way."
Gratefully, he accepted a cup of coffee from BiBi.

"All right," said Claire, "now let's have the whole story from the very
beginning."

"Okay." Charlie took a big gulp from his coffee. "I went to this club — The
Rock Pile. The group there was a bunch of weirdos who call themselves Spoon
Rest. I've never heard so much noise since I worked at the airport clearing
the runways for 747's! And the crowd was nuts. They packed in there just
hoping that Bugs Potter would show up."

"And did he?"

"Did he ever! And he's good — really good. But the people made such a racket
that they had to turn up the volume — and let me tell you, it was loud enough
to begin with."

"So did you talk to Bugs Potter?" asked Claire.

"Talk to him? I couldn't get near him. He's no smalltime operator — he's got
some pretty smart people working for him. I don't even know what happened. A
little guy with a beard jumped up on the stage, and he and Potter disappeared
into thin air."

"Did you follow him?" asked BiBi in exasperation.

"I tried to, but there were too many people. I got this poke in the eye and
then everyone rushed the stage. I headed for the exit, but they knocked me
down and ran all over me. And the strangest part of it is that none of them
did it on purpose. They were all in such an uproar over Bugs Potter that they
didn't even notice they were trampling me.

"Anyway, those riots they talked about in the paper — they're not
exaggerating. When the police finally got there—"

"You were arrested?" Claire was horrified.

"Well, sort of," said Charlie. "They couldn't break it up, so they carted
everyone down to the station. Eventually they let most of us go. But I sat in
a jail cell for more than three hours with about twenty other guys. And all
they talked about was Bugs Potter." He shuddered. "So let me tell you
something, Claire Tanner. I'm a security guard and I protect BiBi. But if you
want Bugs Potter, you can go find him yourself!"

"Oh, you poor dear," BiBi said. "And all because of that emerald!"

The Big Watermelon

C. Fenton Darby sat at breakfast the next day reading the morningGlobe and
Mail . Scanning the entertainment news for any mention of the upcoming
festival concert, he stopped abruptly when the wordsPotter anddrums caught his
eye.

The article read:The mysterious rock drummer, Bugs Potter, is as much an
artist as Bach and Beethoven, Toronto rock fans are proclaiming. For the past
four nights, this elusive cult hero has excited downtown rock audiences to the

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point of riot and beyond. Last night it was at The Rock Pile. Once again
Potter appeared out of nowhere, drummed for the second half of the show, then
disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving insanity behind him. Police
had to be called, and the entire crowd was taken into custody. They were all
released after a three-hour cooling-offperiod .

The questions remain: Who is Bugs Potter? Will he appear again tonight? And
if he does, where will it be?

Beside the article there was a dark and indistinct photograph of a man with a
large moustache pounding on a set of drums.

Mr. Darby put down his newspaper and looked across the hotel dining room to
where Bugs was having breakfast at a table with Adam, Sylvia and Laura.

"David Potter," he repeated to himself. He checked the newspaper picture
again. "Impossible." he decided. The drummer with the bushy moustache and
flying hair bore little resemblance to the well-groomed youth in the dining
room.

Still, drums — Potter. What a disquieting coincidence. But a coincidence
nevertheless.

* * *

"Webb, are we keeping you up?" asked Mr. Darby loudly during morning
practice.

Adam did not stir. He was fast asleep in his chair, hugging his flute to his
chest.

"Adam Webb, wake up this instant!" Mr. Darby rapped sharply on his music
stand.

Adam awoke with a start. "Oh! Oh, sorry, sir! I guess I sort of dozed off."

"One would think, Webb," said the bandmaster icily, "that with the concert
only three days away you could muster up enough interest to remain awake for
rehearsal."

"I'm really sorry, sir," Adam repeated. "It won't happen again."

"See that it does not," ordered Mr. Darby grimly. "Perhaps you can catch up
on your sleep this evening in your room while you and Potter are not attending
the Royal Conservatory Chamber Music concert with the group." He looked up to
meet the wide smile of pleasure he had known he would find on David Potter's
face. "You're quite welcome, Potter," he said sarcastically.

Mr. Darby surveyed the band. "If everyone is awake now, I have an
announcement to make. This morning's practice will be extended one hour, until
lunch. After lunch, until four o'clock, your time is your own to shop for
souvenirs or do a little sightseeing — whatever you wish.

"Right now I'd like to run through our entire program as though this were a
dress rehearsal. Still with us, Webb?"

"Yes, sir," said Adam sheepishly.

"Excellent," said the bandmaster. "Arrange your music in order. 'The Blue
Danube' is first."

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* * *

"I never want to see another Toronto newspaper for the rest of my life!" BiBi
flung down theToronto Star in disgust and stomped on it determinedly. "This
time there wasn'tone word about me — nothing! — while Bugs Potter made
everything but the cooking section. I'm going to listen to the radio instead."
She turned on the radio.

The announcer's enthusiastic voice boomed through the suite: "… and be tuned
to CZOT-FM, 106.3, at eleven o'clock tonight when we will play for you a
one-of-a-kind taping of Bugs Potter! Bugs Potter, live, with Spoon Rest!"

Madly, BiBi gave the dial a spin. Another radio voice exclaimed, "… and if
you have any information to add to the little bits and pieces we've gathered,
call the CLKT Bugs Potter Hot Line! The number is —"

She switched off the radio in despair. "I can't believe it. All they care
about in this stupid city is Bugs Potter. And they don't even know who he is!
I want out!"

"Calm down," Claire advised. "The big opening is in two days. It'll be a huge
success and then we'll leave."

"But Bugs Potter will haunt me as long as I've got the emerald. Honestly!"

"All right, BiBi, cut it out." Claire spoke with authority. "I'm sick and
tired of your blaming everything on that emerald. You know as well as I do
that curses and jinxes don't exist. You have to stop all this nonsense and act
like a grown-up woman."

"I never should have left the Bronx."

"Oh, don't be silly," snapped Claire. "What were you then?"

"I was young, I was pretty and I wasn't 'European'! I didn't have to worry
about my public image or my accent or the Falusi Emerald or Bugs Potter! I
could have married a doctor or a lawyer and lived happily ever after!"

"Oh, let's not argue. We don't even know Bugs Potter. Why should we let him
make us fight?"

The door was flung open and Charlie burst in, waving a copy of theToronto Sun
. "Hey, did you girls see the latest on Bugs Potter?"

"Out!"screamed BiBi.

* * *

"Boy, Adam, that was quick thinking, falling asleep and getting us out of
tonight's torture." Bugs commended Adam with another mightly slap on the back.

Adam cringed. "Bugs, I really did fall asleep."

"That made it all the more convincing to Darby. You know, every day you
remind me more of myself."

"I think you've just been paid the highest compliment in the book," said
Sylvia, grinning at Adam.

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"Did you notice that Mr. Darby said we weren't terrible at rehearsal today?"
put in Laura. "I think that means we're sounding great."

"Yeah," agreed Bugs. "Hey, what should I send BiBi today?"

"Why don't you send her a pair of drumsticks?" suggested Laura nastily.

"Nah," said Bugs. "She's probably got her own. I was thinking about a little
ornament. Yeah, that's what I'll get her. I'll send up a nice figurine or
something. I can get it right after lunch."

"So," said Adam, changing the subject, "What have you girls got planned for
this afternoon?"

"Oh, we're going to do a little shopping," said Sylvia. "You know — pick up
some souvenirs for our families. Do you guys want to come along?"

"Great idea," agreed Bugs enthusiastically. "I've got to pick up a tape of
the new Iced Tea album,Manhole to China . Whirlwind von Helwick is on drums,
you know."

"Okay," said Adam. "Let's go shopping."

* * *

A teenager in faded jeans strolled into Cosmic Records on Yonge Street and
walked up to the counter.

"Hey, do you have any of those Bugs Potter T-shirts that I've been reading
about in the paper?"

"You bet," said the clerk. "That's our best seller. They've been going like
hot cakes all day. Here — I'll show you one." He held up a light blue shirt
with pictures of ants, beetles, flies and moths scattered all over the front.
Below the design, in gleaming silver glitter, was the single wordBUGS . "We've
got blue, yellow, red or black. They're $5.95."

"Man, that's great. I'll take a black medium."

"Have you ever seen Bugs Potter?" asked the cashier as the boy paid for his
shirt.

"Sure have," announced the teenager proudly. "I was outside The Pressure
Cooker when he and that guy with the beard ran by after the show. His manager
even said, 'Excuse me.' I was that close."

"What's he like? Is he young?"

"No, he's pretty old. Maybe twenty-five. They were running really fast."

"You know, you're probably one of the few guys who's ever seen Bugs Potter's
famous disappearing act. You should call the CLKT Bugs Potter Hot Line."

"Yeah, I might," said the teenager. "As soon as I get home. Bye!" He left the
shop just as Adam, Bugs, Sylvia and Laura were coming in.

Adam brushed against the boy in the doorway. "Excuse me."

The boy wheeled, looked at Adam oddly, then shrugged and walked off.

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Bugs caught sight of one of the T-shirts hanging on the wall. "Will you look
at that!" he crowed. "I've got to get me one of those! What a coincidence!"

Adam stared at the T-shirt strangely.

"Our best seller," the clerk put in. "A steal at $5.95."

"Yeah," said Bugs. "I'd like a red one, size small. Hey, do you have a
cassette ofManhole to China !"

"Iced Tea? Sure. A load of them just came in."

"I've never been so mad in my life!" ranted Barney, entering the hotel room
where Ralph was waiting for him. "What happened? Did you get the hundred
dollars?"

"No, I didn't get the hundred dollars!" snapped Barney. "I went all the way
down to theSun building and I was a hundred and forty-third in line. I waited
an hour and a half, and when they finally developed my film, it was all white!
They couldn't even explain what had happened. I've had it with this Bugs
Potter! I put up with that stupid night club and all that noise, and then I
get hauled off to jail — and for what? I didn't win the money and I'm out the
price of a roll of film."

"I told you we shouldn't go," pointed out Ralph. "I'm the one who wanted to
get out of town, remember."

"There you go, crabbing again. Well, tomorrow you're going to get your wish.
The three of us are leaving town — you, me and the Falusi Emerald."

"Aw, Barney, I'm sick of stealing the Falusi Emerald!"

"We steal it tonight," said Barney firmly.

* * *

"Package for you, BiBi."

"Not another present from Bugs Potter!"

Claire ripped the package open and looked at the card. "Yup.With all my love,
Bugs Potter . It's a little plaster model of a castle." She held it up
critically. "Well, we've found out something else about Bugs Potter. He isn't
exactly open-handed with the big buck."

BiBi took the tiny castle from Claire. "I think it's kind of cute. Look — the
drawbridge comes down, and there's even a little gate." She poked her finger
through the small opening and wiggled it about. Suddenly an odd look came over
her face and she shook her hand vigorously.

"Stuck!" she cried. "My finger's stuck — and it hurts! Get the cold cream!"

Charlie came charging in through the door. "What happened? What's all the
yelling about?"

"BiBi got her finger stuck in the latest Bugs Potter extravaganza," explained
Claire, dipping BiBi's whole hand into a large jar of cream. "Hmm — it won't
budge."

"Hurry!" demanded BiBi. "It's cutting off the circulation! My finger!"

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Charlie reached out for her hand and smashed it, castle and all, against the
marble top of the coffee table. The little ornament shattered and BiBi's
finger was free.

"Thanks." She moved her finger gingerly.

"Now don't try to blame that on the emerald," warned Claire. "It wasn't any
curse that made you stick your foolish finger through that little gate."

"I suppose not," sniffled BiBi. "But why are these things happening to me?
Why?"

* * *

Sylvia and Laura entered their room after shopping and dropped their parcels
on the beds.

"You know, this entire music festival is being ruined by that stupid Bugs
Potter," complained Laura, kicking off her shoes.

"I don't think so," said Sylvia shortly.

"Oh, he's awful! You can't take him anywhere. If he was in Buckingham Palace,
he'd drum on the crown jewels."

"The crown jewels are kept in the Tower of London."

"Well, you know what I mean," said Laura in exasperation. "When he drummed on
that mannequin in Eaton's I thought I'd die. We were actually thrown out
ofEaton's — and all because of him and his drumming."

"You know Bugs doesn't mean any harm."

"Well, he sure causes enough."

"At leasthe isn't mean and crabby," Sylvia said coldly, strolling into the
bathroom to take a shower before dinner.

* * *

Once again Barney fastened a rope tightly to the air conditioning outlet on
the roof above BiBi Lanay's balcony.

"Barney," quavered Ralph, "whenever I go down that rope, I fall. And then
something awful happens. We can still call it off, you know."

"Call it off, nothing! I saw the Lanay dame and her friend go out for dinner,
and Charlie the gorilla was with them. This time absolutely nothing can go
wrong."

"I hope you're right."

Barney swung himself over the edge and started down.

** *

Adam stared with a strange intensity at the red T-shirt that was draped over
Bugs' bed. A T-shirt covered in insects and bearing the legendBUGS . Bugs
himself had called it a great coincidence. But was it? What could it mean?

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WhyBUGS? Did it mean 'crazy'? Did it mean bugs as in 'insects'? Or did it
mean… He immediately dismissed the thought from his mind. Yet why would such a
thing be a best seller? There was something extremely disquieting about that
T-shirt.

Scrubbed and clean, Bugs burst out of the bathroom. "Let's listen to my new
Iced Tea tape," he suggested enthusiastically. He plunked the cassette into
the deck and switched the music on. "The first song is called 'Getting
Busted.' I've heard it on the radio. There's this part where the music stops
and they use a real police siren. Listen!"

* * *

"Okay, Ralph," called Barney. "It's all clear. Come on down."

Ralph climbed over the ledge and began to shinny down the rope. Suddenly the
silence was broken by the howling of police sirens below. Ralph lost his grip
and grabbed vainly at the rope. He fell to the balcony, landing neatly on
Barney and knocking him down. The sirens grew even louder.

"Let's get out of here," cried Barney. He made a dive for the rope and
scrambled up to the roof. Ralph climbed after him at top speed.

"Barney, they're after us!"

Frantically Barney untied the rope and the two burglars ran back to their
room.

Up on the deserted roof, the sound of police sirens died away, to be replaced
by the hard rock rhythms of Iced Tea.

* * *

Bugs ejected theManhole to China tape. "Isn't that an excellent album? Iced
Tea is my favourite group. Isn't that Whirlwind von Helwick something? What a
drummer!"

Adam put down the book he had been reading. "All right, Bugs. I know your
tactics. Every time you mention that some group is your favourite, we end up
seeing them that night. Is Iced Tea in town?"

"Wishful thinking," replied Bugs. "But there's a group just as good at this
club called The Hideout. Guess who?"

Adam closed his eyes. "I can't imagine."

"Dorchester Melon!" exclaimed Bugs. "They're a British group, you know, and
their last album was on the charts for twenty-three weeks. It was one of the
best album covers I've ever seen. It had the group walking down the street
carrying umbrellas, and it was raining melons. You could see this big
watermelon splattering right at the lead singer's feet. They're my favourite
group!"

Adam checked his watch. He was long past the stage of arguing with Bugs over
these nightly excursions. "Well." he said, "we've got some time yet. I'm going
to read a little."

"Right. And I'll put on some music." Bugs popped another tape into the deck
and switched the music on. It was a loud, heavy-metal rock song with electric
guitars and blaring vocal.

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Adam looked up suddenly from his book. "Endomorph, right?"

"You bet," replied Bugs. "They're my favourite group!"

Adam laughed until the tears were falling onto the pages of his book.

* * *

"We should have come earlier," Bugs lamented from the sixth row table where
he and Adam had finally managed to find seats. The Hideout was teeming with
humanity. "I should have known. Dorchester Melon is so great that everybody in
Toronto is here tonight."

Adam Webb looked around. The nightclub was indeed jammed beyond capacity, and
almost every single soul in the place was wearing aBUGS T-shirt. What could it
mean? Whatcould it mean?

"Look," he said to Bugs, who was wearing his own new shirt. "Look at all the
shirts. I don't understand it."

Bugs shrugged. "What's to understand?I bought one, didn't I? It's a great
shirt. Boy, Dorchester Melon! I can't believe I'm actually here."

"Neither can I," said Adam, unable to take his eyes from the sea of coloured
T-shirts.

The lights went out, and illuminated by a spotlight, a giant marrow squash
rolled across the stage. A tremendous blast erupted from the speakers and
Dorchester Melon burst onto the stage in a foggy pink mist.

"Class," shouted Bugs. "You can see they've got class!"

Adam coughed and kept coughing until the pink mist dissipated.

On stage the four members of Dorchester Melon were busy pounding out the hard
rock rhythms that Bugs loved so well. The first half of the show was
unexpectedly short — only about half an hour, Adam guessed. Maybe it was going
to be a short performance. He hoped so. It wouldn't do to fall asleep at band
practice again tomorrow.

Bugs scooted backstage where Dorchester Melon were relaxing.

"Hi," he said with a big friendly grin. "My name is Bugs Potter, and I play
the —"

"Have a seat!"

Immediately all four musicians were on their feet escorting Bugs to a
comfortably padded chair.

"Gee, you guys sure are friendly," said Bugs.

"Now," said the Dorchester Melon drummer, "they have a spare set of drums
just waiting for you. But if you want, you can use mine and I'll use the
spare."

Bugs was overwhelmed. "You mean you'll let me use your set? With the famous
watermelon painted on the bass?"

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"Anything for you, Bugs," promised the lead singer. "I say, do you know any
of our songs, or do you wing it?"

"Do I know any of your songs?" repeated Bugs. "I know all of them. I think
yourSpitting Out the Seeds album is the best thing ever recorded."

"Okay," said the lead guitarist, all business. "Roger, you go out there and
introduce Bugs. Bugs, you open with a long drum roll while we wheel on the
spare drum set. Then we'll break into 'Crazy Cantaloupes.'" He looked at Bugs.
"Is that okay with you?"

"Sure. Hey, it's your show. You call the shots."

"Will you listen to that," said the lead guitarist in awe. "The bigger they
are, the nicer they are."

On stage, the lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated Roger, the lead
singer. "We had a chap drop in backstage — "he began.

The crowd exploded. Roger's voice could scarcely be heard, but the
introduction was not necessary. Everybody knew.

Bugs broke into his drum roll, bouncing up and down with the effort of his
drumming, beating out tommygun rhythms that drove the crowd into hysteria. At
one point, when he improvised a dialogue with the regular drummer, the crowd
started banging on the tables. So he dialogued with them too.

"Man," called the regular drummer, "you sure do know how to rile up a crowd."

"Thanks," yelled Bugs. "Let's give them some bass."

The show went on from song to song without any spoken introductions, because
the general uproar never diminished. Suddenly Adam realized that Bugs had
tossed his drumsticks into the crowd. The show was over. Like a bullet, he
shot out of his chair and up onto the stage, grabbing his roommate and heading
for the nearest exit. Again, he was just seconds ahead of the surging crowd.

He flung open the door and stared aghast. The doorway was completely blocked
from the outside with unruly fans. Frantically Adam shoved the door shut and
hauled Bugs away from the exit, back onto the stage. The mob rushed forward.
The two boys darted across the stage, vaulted to the top of an enormous
speaker and wriggled to the alley through a small open window.

Out on the street, Adam and Bugs were momentarily blinded by a camera flash.
They ran. The photographer pursued them, but they soon outdistanced him. They
did not slow down until they were safely inside the underground parking garage
of the Hotel Empress.

It's the thought that counts

"This group is definitely coming along," approved Mr. Darby at the end of the
next morning's practice. "You are perhaps not at the point you should be two
days from the concert, but nevertheless your level of proficiency is quite
acceptable. Maybe the overall sound would be better if the flutes were
slightly more accurate in their higher register. And maybe the sound would be
fuller if I could coax a little more volume out of the trombones. And perhaps
the final effect of our music would be more pleasing to the audience if the
trumpets learned to count. But we have two days yet, and I have great hopes
that — David Potter, where did you get that appalling shirt?"

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"It's aBugs shirt, sir," grinned Bugs. "Everybody in town is wearing one.
Isn't it a beauty?"

Mr. Darby stared at Bugs, going back in his mind to the picture he had seen
in the morningGlobe . It was a murky photograph of two men running down the
street. One of them was supposed to be the mysterious rock drummer everyone
was so excited about. The person in the picture was wearing a T-shirt
identical to the one now proudly sported by David Potter. Yet if everyone in
town was wearing one, perhaps David was just a fan. Bugs Potter would be the
type of person a boy like David would admire. And after all, they did share
the same last name.

Mr. Darby's features relaxed. "All right," he said. "That will be all until
four o'clock. If you check the bulletin board, you will find that we are going
to the Ontario Science Centre this afternoon. Please be prompt for the bus."

* * *

Charlie burst into BiBi Lanay's suite brandishing a copy of theToronto Sun .
"Hey, girls, did you see the latest on Bugs Potter?"

"Charlie," said Claire reproachfully, "don't tell me you're turning into a
Bugs Potter fan."

"It's not Bugs Potter," Charlie explained earnestly. "It's his security man!"
He held the paper open. "Look, there's a picture of them getting away after
last night's performance. He's the guy with the beard. Nobody knows his name,
but can you imagine it? A nightclub full of screaming lunatics, all after a
piece of Bugs Potter, and this little security guy — no bigger than Potter
himself — gets him away without so much as a torn handkerchief. Gee, I'd like
to meet him and maybe talk shop about the security business.''

"Well, that should work out very well," said Claire. "You go out
nightclubbing again, and we kill two birds with one stone. You find this
security man for your discussion, and you bring Bugs Potter here to BiBi."

"No way!" Charlie protested. "I wouldn't go into one of those places again
for anything. I'll tell you what I plan to do, though. I'm going to pick one
of the clubs where Potter might show up and hang around outside. When the show
is over I might just grab them doing their disappearing act. It'll be hard,
though. That guy's a real genius. He could probably get across a subway track
with a train passing by."

"You make sure you get them," ordered Claire. "And it has to be tonight.
Tomorrow night is the opening ofRedhead in the Big City , and when BiBi
appears there she's going to be escorted by Bugs Potter!"

* * *

Four members of the trombone section were seated at a table in the dining
area that had been roped off for the music festival participants.

"Play louder! What does Darby think I am — a wind tunnel? I'm already blowing
my brains out!"

"Maybe we could play louder if he'd let us rest for five minutes. There are
so many activities I can't even breathe."

"And we're missing the biggest thing that ever hit this town. Some rock
drummer — Bugs Potter — is turning Toronto inside out while we rehearse and

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march through museums."

"Don't talk to me about Potter. We've got our own Potter — David Potter. He's
trouble enough."

"Yeah. Every time he acts up, Darby gets upset and takes it out on the
trombones."

"Hurry up, you guys. Culture calls. We have to catch the bus."

* * *

"This is a terrific place," declared Bugs at the Science Centre that
afternoon. "Not only are you allowed to touch stuff, but you'resupposed to
touch stuff."

"You weren't supposed to touch the light switch in the Great Hall," said
Laura angrily.

"Oh, that — that was just a mistake. What did you think of that thing in
Communications where I could drum on one side of the room and you could hear
it all the way over on the other side?"

"Fascinating," said Laura sarcastically.

"You know, this scientific stuff reminds me of the latest Test Tube album
cover. You see, there's a whole room full of stuff like this, and in the
middle there's a cage with white mice in it, and they've got the group's
faces. It's incredible!"

Sylvia laughed. "Bugs, you made that up. Admit it. You made it all up."

"No, really!"

"I don't doubt it," grinned Adam. "Not since I heard about the album cover
that was raining melons."

"You know what else is great about this place?" Bugs went on. "You get to
wander wherever you like. There's no guide telling you a bunch of boring stuff
you're not interested in, like everywhere else we went."

"I really liked the laser demonstration," said Adam. "That was all new to
me."

"If you didn't know about it, you should have asked me," suggested Bugs. "I
know all about lasers. They sometimes use them at big rock concerts. At the
Cephla-pod concert in New York last year they had a big rotating laser
projector. It was amazing!"

"I liked the weather exhibit best," said Laura.

"I liked the computers," said Sylvia.

"Don't you love the sound computers make when they print out?" asked Bugs.
"It's sort of like drums."

"To you everything is sort of like drums," laughed Adam. "What part did you
like best?"

Bugs thought it over carefully. "The talking typewriter," he decided at last.

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"I got it to say 'Vanderboom.'" For the benefit of the girls he added,
"They're my favourite group."

"Barney, the police are on to us. Why don't we leave?"

"Look, I don't know where those police cars were going last night, but they
definitely did not come here. I asked around the lobby and not one person
remembers any policemen coming in. No one is after us and no one is on to us.
And we can't leave because we haven't got the emerald yet."

"Okay. But do we have to go down from the roof again? That's three times I
fell."

"What do you suggest we do?" asked Barney. "Knock on the door and say, 'Hi,
Charlie, we've come to steal the Falusi Emerald'?"

"The roof it is," gulped Ralph.

Barney switched on the radio. "And which will be the lucky club tonight?" the
announcer was saying. "Only Bugs Potter himself knows that. All we can do is
pick a club and hope."

"I don't see all the fuss over Bugs Potter," snorted Ralph. "Who cares about
all that noise anyway?"

"Shh! Listen!"

"And don't forget we're offering twenty-five dollars for any new information
on Bugs Potter. The number to call is — "

Barney switched off the radio in disgust. "Blast!" he shouted angrily. "We
could get that twenty-five bucks with our information about Potter being a
plumber!"

"So why don't we?"

"Think, stupid! What are we going to say? 'We sneaked into BiBi Lanay's suite
disguised as plumbers so we could steal the Falusi Emerald, and when the real
plumber came along, sure enough, it was Bugs Potter'? Okay, we might win
twenty-five bucks — but there's nowhere to spend it in jail."

"Gee, Barney," said Ralph admiringly, "you really think of everything.''

"One of us has to think," growled Barney.

* * *

"Ooh, that Bugs Potter drives me crazy!" stormed Laura as the two girls
changed for dinner. "He has to be the biggest idiot in the world!"

"I don't think Bugs is the problem here," commented Sylvia mildly.

Laura ignored her. "And this business of sending presents to BiBi Lanay. Do
you know what he sent her today? A ninety-nine cent bottle of cologne. Can you
imagine sending a rich and famous movie star a batch of stink water?"

"It's the thought that counts."

"And today in the Science Centre," Laura raged on, "he acted like a

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two-year-old! Now Adam won't be allowed to go to the theatre tonight because
Bugs turned off the lights and scared all those people. Do you realize how
much Adam has missed on this trip because of Bugs? I can't stand it any more!
I really like Adam, but I hate Bugs Potter! I just hate him!"

"Well, I like him — better than I like you."

Laure wheeled. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," Sylvia replied calmly.

* * *

"Not more junk from Bugs Potter," BiBi complained to Claire as the door
closed after the bellhop.

Claire opened the package and looked at the card. "You guessed it.Much love,
Bugs Potter . It's a bottle of perfume."

"French?"

"Eau de Mille Fleurs," read Claire, handing the glass bottle to BiBi. "It has
a French name, but it looks pretty cheap to me. What do you expect from the
big spender?"

BiBi opened the bottle and sniffed at the contents daintily. "Boy does that
ever stink." Suddenly her famous face wrinkled and she began to sneeze
violently. The bottle fell from her fingers and shattered on the floor at her
feet.

"What's wrong?"

"Allergies!" howled BiBi between sneezes. "Call the doctor!"

Once again Charlie burst into the room. "What's happening? What's that awful
smell?"

"The latest Bugs Potter gift," explained Claire. "BiBi is allergic to it."
She pointed down to where the pool of perfume had oozed across the floor and
was now soaking into the carpet.

BiBi was still convulsed with sneezes. "Get that stuff out of here," she
gasped. "Quick!"

"There's no way," said Charlie. "It's soaked into the rug. You girls go next
door to my room and I'll see what I can do about getting it cleaned up."

"Don't bother," said Claire as BiBi sneezed violently in the background.
"They'll never get the smell out. I'll have our suite changed."

"Okay." Charlie wrinkled his nose. "Boy, it sure stinks inhere!"

* * *

"Well, this is it," announced Bugs as he and Adam entered their room after
dinner that evening.

"This is what?" asked Adam suspiciously.

"I've sent BiBi four nice presents," said Bugs, "so she must really be dying

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to meet me by now. And you can come with me."

"No moustaches? No disguises?" asked Adam cautiously. "We're just going to go
up there, and you'll introduce yourself and get her autograph or something?"

"Right," said Bugs. "Everything on the up and up. Come on, now. Darby and the
band have left for the theatre. Let's go."

Well, thought Adam, it was harmless enough, and it really seemed to mean a
lot to Bugs. He had to go along. As Bugs would put it, "That's what pals are
for."

"Okay," he decided. "So long as we're not repairmen or anything like that."

The two boys left their room, walked down the hall and started up the stairs
to the eighteenth floor.

* * *

"Okay," said Barney, securing the rope around the air conditioning outlet,
"this time no slip-ups. Hang on to that rope, Ralph, and you won't fall."

"Gee, Barney, do I have to go first?" said Ralph, eyeing the rope nervously.

"Yes, you do. Now get down there."

Gingerly Ralph eased himself over the edge of the roof. Slowly he climbed
down to the balcony. When he touched down, he turned a beaming face up to the
roof. "Barney, I made it!"

Quickly Barney shinnied down to join him. "Congratulations," he commented
dryly. "Now we go in."

Ralph tried the handle on the door. "It's locked," he announced. "I guess
that's the end of that."

"Of course it's locked, you idiot." said Barney. "If you had a four million
dollar emerald, even you would have the brains to lock the door. But it
doesn't matter. I can pick that lock in five seconds."

Soon Barney had the door open, and the two burglars walked into the darkened
suite.

Ralph wrinkled his nose. "Hey, what stinks?"

"That's expensive French perfume. This BiBi Lanay is no cheap dame." Barney
switched on his flashlight. "Okay, into the bedroom. When I saw the emerald,
it was on top of the bureau.''

They entered the bedroom and scanned the bureau.

"No emerald," said Ralph. "How do we know she wasn't wearing it when she went
out tonight?"

"Don't you know anything about style?" asked Barney in disgust. "You saw her.
She was wearing slacks and a sweater. No one wears expensive jewellery with
clothes like that. Use your head. We'll have to search the room."

Ralph opened a drawer, and then another. "Hey, this bureau's empty."

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Barney rushed to the closet and flung the doors open. "Empty!" he exclaimed.
"I can't understand it. She didn't check out."

There was a polite knock at the door. The two burglars froze in terror.

"What'll we do?" whispered Ralph.

"Keep quiet," rasped Barney. "Then they'll go away."

The knock came again, this time more insistent. "Miss Lanay," called a voice.
"Open up. It's me — Bugs Potter."

"I don't get it, Barney," whispered Ralph, beginning to panic. "Let's get out
of here!"

"Yeah, we'd better," agreed Barney, looking around. "This room looks empty.
She must have changed suites."

They left silently via the balcony.

"Let's go, Bugs," Adam said out in the hall. "I guess she's not in."

"Yeah. She's probably out making arrangements for the big opening of her new
movie. It's tomorrow night, you know."

Adam and Bugs headed down the hall. They opened the door to the staircase and
found themselves face to face with Barney and Ralph, who were descending from
the roof level. The four paused, stared at each other strangely, and then
continued awkwardly down the stairs together.

By the time Adam and Bugs reached their room, Adam's palms were sweating.

"Bugs, it was them again — those two guys! Whoare they?"

Bugs shrugged. "I don't know. Hey, I forgot to tell you, Toast is in town.
They're at a club called The Bastille. Have you heard their latest single,
'Grilled Cheese Sandwich'? It's going to be a big hit, I can tell."

"They're your favourite group, I suppose."

"Yeah. And we're going to see them!"

Adam had a vision of a screaming crowd all wearing T-shirts just like Bugs'.
He wished it all made sense.

* * *

"Barney," gasped Ralph, "we're up against forces we don't understand! Let's
get out of town!"

"Not without the Falusi Emerald."

"But, Barney! What was Bugs Potter doing banging on BiBi Lanay's door? What
has he got to do with her? And who are those kids we saw on the stairs? They
look really familiar! And why did BiBi Lanay change suites? She must know
we're after the emerald. We could be in big trouble if we don't leave right
away!"

"I don't care," snapped Barney. "We've paid out a lot of money in hotel bills
and I'm not leaving here empty-handed. What are you afraid of — a couple of

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kids?"

"Not exactly, but —"

"Well, then, that decides it. Tomorrow night the Lanay dame is opening her
new movie and for sure she'll be wearing the emerald. So we get the day off.
But we're going to use that time to find out what suite she's in now. And the
day after that we're going to get that emerald once and for all!"

* * *

"You'll love Toast. They're magnificent!"

Adam did not reply. He was busy looking around the capacity crowd at The
Bastille. Everyone was wearing aBUGS T-shirt. He glanced in resignation at the
enormous speaker he was seated so painfully close to. Bugs had insisted on
coming early tonight and had managed to secure his favourite ringside table.
Adam was in for another headache.

The house lights went out abruptly and an excited murmur rose from the crowd.
Toast burst upon the scene with the usual bang and broke into an unbearably
loud rock arrangement. They were an odd looking quartet, Adam reflected. The
lead singer was impeccably dressed in white tie and tails; the lead guitarist
was clad in a red-and-white striped 1890's-style bathing suit with a military
hat from the French Revolution; the bass guitarist was in pyjamas with a blue
bathrobe and bedroom slippers; and the drummer wore jeans with no shirt. On
his head he sported a Toronto Argonauts football helmet.

"Aren't their outfits great?" Bugs shouted over the din.

"I've never seen anything like them," Adam shouted back.

"I knew you'd love it!"

The music went on for slightly more than half an hour, and then the lead
singer shouted, "We're going to take a short break now. Everybody—keep your
fingers crossed!"

When the lights came on, Bugs was gone, as usual. Adam looked around. He
spotted an exit to the left of the stage and decided that he would get Bugs
out through there. He was getting to be an old hand at this, he reflected
ruefully. When he had received the invitation to perform with the High School
Band Festival, he had never imagined he might be doing something like this in
Toronto. Underneath his beard he permitted himself a little smile. It was
funny the way things sometimes turned out.

Fifteen minutes later the lights faded again. The lead singer rushed
excitedly out onto the stage. "All right, fasten your seat belts for the most
exciting experience of your lives!" He went on shouting but not another word
could be heard. The crowd noise swelled and broke over the stage like a tidal
wave.

A single spotlight came on, and there he was — Bugs Potter, poised over the
drums in intense concentration. Suddenly he broke loose and became a study in
motion. The audience went wild.

With a crash, Toast joined in, labouring to keep up with Bugs. They watched
their guest performer with undisguised admiration.

The building rocked.

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* * *

Charlie walked the streets of downtown Toronto looking for nightclubs that
featured rock performers. According to the newspapers, Potter had already been
to Dante's Inferno, The Snake Pit, The Pressure Cooker, The Rock Pile and The
Hideout. Theoretically that cancelled those places out.

He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to one. Most of the shows must be
finishing just about now. He had to decide, and quickly, which club he was
going to stake out.

A low and persistent rumble kept tugging at his ear. As he moved quickly in
its direction, the sound grew. Ahead of him he spied a red flashing sign —The
Bastille . The sound was coming from there, the sound of hundreds of people
cheering themselves hoarse.

"This is it," he said aloud. He went down the alley to the side exit, where
he found a large group of photographers milling around, cameras poised. Using
his weight, Charlie pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing
right in front of the door.

Suddenly the roaring inside the building rose to a crescendo. There were loud
scrambling noises. The exit door was flung open and Adam and Bugs appeared in
the doorway. Flashbulbs went off everywhere.

Charlie stepped in front of the two boys. "Hey, I want to talk to you!"

Panicking, Adam dived between Charlie's legs. He grabbed Bugs and pulled him
past the big man, ploughing through the group of photographers. While cameras
flashed steadily behind them, the two boys darted down the street. Charlie
pounded after them.

"Hey, Bugs, wait!" he bellowed. "I want to talk to you guys!"

With the security man hot on their heels, Adam and Bugs ran the whole three
blocks to the hotel and into the underground parking garage. Not daring to
wait for the elevator, they began to run madly up the stairs. They could hear
Charlie's voice reverberating in the garage.

"Hey, I just want to talk!"

The boys took the stairs three at a time all the way up to the seventeenth
floor. They darted down the hall and into their room. Adam shut the door,
locked it and propped a chair under the handle.

"Safe!" he gasped, staggering over to his bed and collapsing heavily onto it.

The two boys lay for a long time, coughing and gasping for breath. Finally
Adam managed to say, "Bugs, that was Charlie, BiBi Lanay's bodyguard. He's
after us—and he called you 'Bugs'! He knows who we are, and if he tells Darby,
we're dead!"

"So what?" said Bugs. "The concert's the day after tomorrow. Darby doesn't
have enough time to rehearse another flute-guy, and he sure can't replace me.
All he can do is yell. Big deal."

"Flautist," mumbled Adam. "Charlie must have found out that we were the
plumbers and that you were the telephone repairman who broke the window."

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"I played with Toast," Bugs was saying. "I actually got to play with Toast!"

* * *

The door of BiBi Lanay's suite burst open and in staggered Charlie, gasping
for air, his face bright red. BiBi and Claire rushed to the door and supported
the giant security guard over to the sofa, where he collapsed in a heap.

"Water!" he pleaded hoarsely.

Claire brought a pitcher of water and a glass. Charlie drank from the
pitcher, draining it. Finally he managed to speak. "I should have known better
than to match wits with that guy! He's like Houdini!"

"What happened?"

"I found the club all right," explained Charlie. "You could tell from the
noise that Potter was in there. I even found the right exit — the alley was
crawling with photo-graphers. We formed a wall a bulldozer couldn't get
through, but they did. Potter's security man is like a whirlwind. He dove
right through my legs. I didn't have a chance."

"Didn't you go after them?"

Charlie nodded. "I sure did — and this is the pay-off! I chased them three
blocks, right into the parking garage of this hotel! They lost me down there."

"So Bugs Potter is staying at this hotel?"

"Probably not. He probably just parked his car here tonight. But I searched
the entire garage and couldn't find a sign of them." Charlie breathed deeply.
"This is the end of my night-time career. Nobody is going to find out who Bugs
Potter is, or get anywhere near him, until that security man decides it's
time."

Extra towels

Adam played his way through rehearsal the next morning nervously expecting
that at any moment Mr. Darby would turn on him and Bugs. He could hear it in
his mind: "There's been a complaint from Miss Lanay's entourage… you broke her
sink and the balcony door… you've been harassing her… you've been sneaking out
at night… you've done this… you've done that… you'll be sent home… you'll be
shot!" Adam shook his head to clear it.

"Having trouble staying awake again, Webb?" came Mr. Darby's sarcastic voice.

"No, sir!" Adam replied quickly. "I'm all right, sir!" Here it comes, he
thought.

It did not come.

"Tonight," the bandmaster said instead, "there will be a special practice
session lasting from seven-thirty until nine-thirty, after which I suggest you
go to bed early. Tomorrow morning there will be just a short rehearsal. We
will run through the program to sharpen up our confidence and iron out any
last-minute difficulties that may arise. May I add that your effort this
morning was definitely respectable."

"What does he mean 'respectable'?" Sylvia asked resentfully in the equipment
room. "We were great! We were perfect!"

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"He's just one of those guys who talks like that all the time," explained
Bugs. "He wouldn't tell us we were good if we were Nuclear Teacup! They're my
favourite group," he added.

Adam drew a relaxed breath, his first one since last night. For whatever
reason, Charlie had not reported to Mr. Darby what he knew about him and Bugs.
At least, not yet.

* * *

"Here it is," said Claire, opening theToronto Star. "BiBi Lanay Premieres New
Movie Tonight at Palace Theatre . It's with your publicity picture."

"Great," said BiBi sulkily. "And it's under the latest big news flash about
Bugs Potter. Another night club riot, I suppose. Why don't they put that guy
in jail? He's a menace to society!''

"You made Entertainment, page one, for the first time this week," Claire
pointed out. "And tomorrow you'll be at the top of the page."

"Maybe."

At that moment Charlie strode in waving a copy of theToronto Sun . "Hey, wait
till you hear this. Bugs Potter is even bigger than I thought. It says here
they've got two thousand letters for him at the post office with no address
but 'Toronto'!"

"I don't want to hear about it," BiBi declared.

"Sorry, BiBi," said Charlie. "It's just that I've never seen anyone get so
famous so fast."

"What does it say about BiBi's opening?"

"Here it is — a full column.Redhead in the Big City Opens at Palace."

"No picture?" protested BiBi.

"Well, there's a big picture in the movie ad," soothed Charlie.

"But they found room to print a picture of Bugs Potter and that other guy
running down the street. I suppose that big ox running after them is you."

"Let me see that," said Charlie, "Hey, thatis me! I'm in the paper!"

Claire sighed. "Let's face it, BiBi. You're doing okay in Toronto. It's just
that fate sent us somebody who's doing better."

"Yeah, fate! A big green lump on a diamond chain! I'd like to give it to Bugs
Potter and see how he does then!"

"Don't be silly. If you didn't have the emerald, you probably wouldn't get
half the publicity you do."

"I wish someone would steal it. Then I'd have both the publicity and the
insurance money — and I'd be rid of it! But the jewel thieves in this world
are smarter than I am."

"Oh," coaxed Claire, "that's not BiBi Lanay talking."

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"You're darn right it's not," snapped BiBi. "It's BrendaLifschitz."

She sat down and flicked the remote switch for the TV.

"Hello, and welcome to News At Noon. Our top stories today — the Bugs Potter
saga continues, NATO declares membership crisis, garbage strike ends, and
Hollywood star BiBi Lanay opens new film tonight at Palace Theatre. Details
after this message."

BiBi switched off the TV in disgust. "Bugs Potter is first on the list and
I'm last — after the garbage! I just can't stand it!"

"Maybe you should come out as a big Bugs Potter fan," mused Claire. "First
we'll get you a T-shirt —"

"No way! I don't want anything to do with Bugs Potter and that's final!"

* * *

"… And so," blared the radio in room 1549, "the new news on Bugs Potter is no
news. We don't know where he's from or why he's here; we don't know if he'll
appear again, or if he does, where; we don't even know who he is. If you want
to see the legendary Bugs, our only advice is to pick a rock club and hope.
And be sure to stay tuned for exclusive interviews with members of Migraine,
Vanderboom, and Dorchester Melon, who have all met and played with Bugs
Potter."

Angrily Ralph switched the radio off. "If I hear another word about that guy,
I'm going to go nuts. Everywhere you go — Bugs Potter, Bugs Potter! Do you
know what someone spray-painted on the side of a bus I saw?Bugs Potter For
Emperor . People are nuts."

Barney handed him a white jacket. "Put this on."

"Why?"

"We're going up to the eighteenth floor with an armload of towels, and we're
going to knock on doors until we find which suite BiBi Lanay is in."

"Why do we need towels?"

"Because, you dope, we can't very well say we're looking for BiBi Lanay's
suite because tomorrow we want to steal her emerald. Now listen. You knock on
the door, and when someone answers, you say, 'I'm the steward. Did you order
extra towels?' That way you get to see who's in the rooms."

"But, Barney," Ralph protested, "those areour towels. What if somebody takes
them?"

"No one will take them because nobody ordered them. It's that simple."

The two white-coated burglars left the room and took the service elevator up
to the eighteenth floor.

"Now," whispered Barney, "I'll take this side of the hall and you take the
other side."

"Gee, I don't know —"

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"Here, watch me." Barney rapped smartly at the first door on his side of the
hall. A man answered it.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm the steward. Did you call down and order extra
towels?"

The man smiled. "Gee, thanks. We can always use extra towels." He grabbed the
entire stack from Barney's arms and shut the door.

"Barney," said Ralph, "if I do like that, we're going to run out of towels
pretty quick."

"Shut up and get working."

Ralph knocked on his first door. It was opened by Charlie. Ralph tried to
speak, but no words came out.

"Yeah?" said Charlie. "What is it?"

"I'm the steward," Ralph managed to speak. "Did you call down for fresh
towels?"

"Come on in," said Charlie. "I'll check to see if I need any." He peered into
the bathroom. "No, I'm okay." His eyes narrowed. "Say, don't I know you from
someplace?"

"No," replied Ralph quickly. "I don't go to any places."

"I remember," laughed Charlie suddenly. "We were in jail together. A few days
ago, remember? After the Bugs Potter rock show."

"Oh, yeah, that," replied Ralph. "Now I remember." He fidgeted and picked
nervously at the towels in his arms. "Well, I'd better be going—"

"What did you think of that guy Potter?" asked Charlie.

"Oh, great, great — the best drummer I've ever heard."

"I don't know, I think the crowd there was kind of nuts. He was good, all
right, but those people! Anyway, it wasn't worth three hours in a cell."

"I — I gotta go," stammered Ralph.

"Yeah, okay. Nice talking to you," said Charlie. "Say, why don't you stop in
next door on the right and see if Miss Lanay needs any towels. She goes
through towels like some people breathe air."

Because Charlie was standing in the doorway watching, Ralph was forced to
knock on the next door.

Claire Tanner appeared. "Extra towels? Oh, thanks very much." She grabbed the
entire stack and shut the door.

"What did I tell you?" said Charlie. "Like some people breathe air."

Ralph walked back to the service elevator where Barney was waiting for him.

"You were great," said Barney. "Now we know where BiBi Lanay's suite is."

"Yeah," said Ralph, "but we've got no towels."

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* * *

"Boy," exclaimed Bugs at dinner that evening, "the famous Toronto Zoo!
Bor-ing!"

"Well," said Sylvia, "I guess you either like monkeys or you don't."

"Monkeys I like," said Bugs. "Busted Chandelier does a song called
'Civilization' which starts with all kinds of monkey and ape sounds. It's
great! But the zoo? No way!

I'm going to see if I can snag more dessert." He ran off.

"He is unbelievably stupid!" exclaimed Laura when Bugs was gone.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Adam casually. "He can recite the history
and complete repertoire of every rock group that ever existed. Can you do
that?"

"No," said Laura, "and why would anybody want to? I mean, his interests are
so childish — and he's just obnoxious! I really can't stand him."

Adam stood up and looked down at her. "You are talking about my best friend,"
he said evenly, "my roommate and pal. I'll tell you one thing about Bugs
Potter. Heis The Most, and I won't listen to anyone putting him down. And
don't you ever, ever touch one of his drumsticks again!"

Red-faced, Laura got up and stomped out of the dining room. Adam stood
frozen.

"Why, Adam," Sylvia breathed, "I didn't know you felt that strongly about
Bugs."

Adam looked at her absently. "What? Pardon?"

Bugs loped back to the table carrying a tray with four generous servings of
chocolate pudding. "I got us all some," he explained. "Hey, where's Laura?"

"She wasn't feeling well," said Sylvia blandly.

"Oh, that's too bad," said Bugs with genuine concern. "Do you think she'd
mind if I ate hers?"

"Not at all," said Adam. "I think you're entitled to it."

* * *

The bassoonist sat with four alto-saxophones at the dinner table, relaxing in
an attempt to build up courage for what promised to be a murderous practice.

"When I get back to Ottawa," he was saying, "all my friends are going to say,
'Ten days in Toronto, eh? You must have seen Bugs Potter.' To which I will be
forced to reply, 'No, I did not see Bugs Potter — but I did see Indian relics
and enough sheet music to burn for a winter!' "

"Who is this Bugs Potter anyway? I keep hearing bits and pieces about him."

"We've got a Potter. That weird guy over there drumming on the pudding
dishes. He's wearing aBUGS shirt too. I'll bet he knows who Bugs Potter is.

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It's probably his father."

"Who knows? Who cares? We'll never get to see Bugs Potter. We belong to
Darby. We get to practise, practise, look at museums and practise. And tonight
we're getting in some extra practice!"

"Oh, well, tomorrow's the concert. After that it's goodbye Toronto and
goodbye Darby. I'm never going to play this miserable bassoon again. I'm going
to fill it with earth and plant ivy in it." He sighed. "But Ido wish I'd had a
chance to see Bugs Potter, whoever he is."

* * *

"Caught!" howled BiBi Lanay as Claire tried to place the Falusi Emerald
around her neck. "The chain is caught in my hair! Ow! Stop pulling!"

Claire yanked the emerald and chain away from BiBi's head.

"Ow! What are you trying to do — scalp me?"

"Calm down," Claire said, removing tufts of red hair from the diamond-studded
chain. Carefully she placed the emerald around BiBi's neck and stepped back to
inspect the finished product — the divine BiBi in all her splendour.

"You look simply breathtaking!"

BiBi examined herself in the mirror. "You bet," she agreed enthusiastically.
"This is one thing Bugs Potter can't do — look great in a satin evening gown."

"Your opening is going to be a huge success, I can feel it."

There was a knock at the door and Charlie came in, resplendent in a
midnight-blue tuxedo. He stopped and stared.

"Wow, BiBi! I've never seen you looking better!"

"Thank you, kind sir." BiBi dropped a very continental curtsey.

"Good," approved Claire. "Your accent's okay. We'd better get going. Your
limousine is waiting out front and the lobby is full of photographers."

* * *

"That was some practice," Adam said after the special rehearsal that evening.

Bugs unlocked the door and the two boys entered their room.

"Hey," he observed, "did you notice that Laura was there even though she's
supposed to be sick? And she didn't talk to me — or you — or even Sylvia. I
don't think Laura's sick. I think she's just sore about something. She and
Sylvia are roommates; they should be pals! Maybe we should go up to their room
and straighten it all out." He headed for the door.

"No!" hollered Adam. "Uh —what I mean is — people have to be left alone to
straighten out their own problems."

Bugs nodded understandingly. "But it's a shame they can't get along the way
we do."

Adam laughed and kicked off his shoes. "No two people in the universe get

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along the way we do. Anyway, we'd better take Darby's advice and get to bed
early." He tensed, waiting.

"Are you kidding?" cried Bugs. "Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you the big
news. There's this little club called The Trap Door a few blocks east of here.
Adam, when you hear who's playing there, you'll just freak out!"

"I'm ready. Give it to me straight. I can take it."

"Plankton," crowed Bugs. "Wow — we're actually going to see Plankton! They're
my favourite group!"

"Okay," conceded Adam. "This is our last free night in Toronto. Plankton it
is."

* * *

Bugs selected their table in his usual favourite spot, underneath an immense
speaker. The Trap Door, Adam thought, was slightly larger than the other clubs
they had been to. But the crowd was the same — excited, restless, packed elbow
to elbow, and all clad in those strangeBUGS T-shirts.

"Do you see Bugs Potter around here?" asked a man at the very back of the
club.

"Hard to tell," replied his companion. "The pictures in the paper are never
very clear. I mean, take his manager, for instance. There's a blond guy with a
beard over there in the fifth row, and there's one a couple of rows over from
us. There's one right up front by the left speaker. As for Bugs himself —you
could be Bugs. You've got dark hair and a big moustache."

"You're wasting your time," put in a girl from the next table. "Bugs never
comes until intermission. And a guy like Bugs Potter doesn't sit in the
audience. He's probably got a special seat backstage."

"You're right," agreed her date. "He's too big and too famous to be in here
with us."

"I heard a radio interview today with the bassist from Dorchester Melon,"
called someone from a table in the row ahead. "He said Potter's really humble.
Maybe hecould be sitting in the audience."

"That's no help," said someone else from a nearby table. "There are fifty
guys in here who could pass for Bugs Potter."

"He might not even come to this club."

"Hey, think positive!"

"Hehas to come here. I figured it out mathematically."

"Hey, there's a guy with a big moustache. He could be Bugs."

"I was just going to say the same thing about you."

"I wish the newspapers could get clearer pictures."

"I brought my camera."

"Look," said Adam. "Everyone seems to know everyone else in this club.

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They're having a big conversation back there."

Bugs shrugged. "Maybe it's a convention in town and they've all come to see
Plankton."

The lights flashed and went out, bringing all conversation to an end.
Plankton ran onto the stage, all four of them wearingBUGS T-shirts. They began
to play furiously, and Adam's head started pounding in time with the heavy
beat as one song followed another: "A Whale Is Here."

"Out With the Tide."

"The Ballad of Al The Moray."

"Ocean Minestrone," a special rendition of "Under the Microscope," which
included a ten-minute drum and guitar duet, and the group's biggest hit,
"Seaweed Rhapsody."

Finally intermission arrived. Bugs scooted backstage where the lead guitarist
noticed him and called, "Hi, Bugs! Glad you could make it!"

The group made Bugs comfortable in a large easy chair. He was flushed with
pleasure. "Hey, do you think I could do a number with you guys? I know all
your songs."

"Sure!" exclaimed the drummer. "But why stop at one number? Play the whole
second half. They've got an extra set of drums here. I'll use it and you can
use mine."

"Gee, thanks!"

"Say, Bugs," said the bass guitarist, "you can tellus . Who are you?"

Bugs looked surprised. "Me? Bugs Potter."

"Who do you play with?"

"Don't ask!" groaned Bugs. "Please don't ask!"

"Okay, okay, anything you say."

"How do you want us to introduce you?" asked the lead guitarist.

"Gee, that's up to you. You don't have to introduce me at all, just so long
as you let me play."

"Let him play," muttered the drummer. "I would have gone down on my knees for
this."

"Well, we'll start with a drum roll," decided the lead singer. "How long can
you sustain one?"

"Well, gee," said Bugs thoughtfully, "I never clocked it. Someone always
tells me to shut up after the first five or ten minutes."

"Who'd have the nerve to tellyou to shut up?"

"You don't know my mother."

"What a wit! Bugs, you're priceless!"

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Bugs glowed with happiness.

"Okay, you guys," said the lead singer, jumping to his feet, "let's do it!"

He walked onto the stage and stood in the single spotlight. "We're going to
start with a drum roll!" he cried.

Bugs started drumming, and pandemonium broke loose. Confetti, streamers, and
even some flowers rained onto the stage. "Bugs Potter!" bellowed the lead
singer.

Plankton began to play, struggling valiantly to keep up with their guest
artist. Bugs was in true form as he twirled his drumsticks in the air and beat
savagely upon the snare drums and cymbals. His foot worked relentlessly at the
pedal for the bass drum, aad he bounced up and down, hair flying from the
sheer speed of his movements.

The audience began to chant, "Bugs, Bugs, Bugs!" in time to the music.
Plankton stopped in the middle of their song and joined in with the crowd.
Bugs never wavered. He played along furiously, to the rhythm of the crowd's
chant. For fifteen minutes he soloed, before Plankton burst back in, playing
another song — any song, it didn't matter. There was no rest for Bugs; there
was not one instant when he was not drumming. And he thrived on it.

Plankton, however, were showing signs of stress. Finally they stopped and the
lead singer held up one finger to indicate that they were moving into the last
song. By the time the music crashed to a finish, the frenzy of the audience
was beyond imagination.

Bugs sprang to his feet, ran up to the lead singer and shouted into the
microphone: "Big night at Ontario Place tomorrow!"

As he flung his drumsticks into the turbulent crowd, Adam leaped onto the
stage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sea of fans storming through the
backstage exit from the alley. More were stampeding in through the other exit.
Desperately he scanned the Trap Door. No window, no skylight, no escape. How
was he going to get Bugs —Bugs! Where was Bugs? He'd lost Bugs!

In horror Adam caught sight of his roommate, flushed with victory, in the
centre of a huge group of fans. He tried to push his way through the crowd,
but succeeded only in getting himself jammed in a bottleneck. Appalled, he
watched Bugs being hoisted onto a pair of broad shoulders.

In a desperate attempt to create a diversion, Adam jumped up onto a table and
shouted, "Look! There's Whirlwind von Helwick!"

The crowd was unmoved, but Bugs stiffened in excitement, wrenched himself
from the sea of hands and vaulted through the air to land on the table beside
Adam.

"Whirlwind von Helwick?Where ?"

"Come on!" Adam grabbed Bugs, and the two took off right through the club and
out the front door.

"Why are we running away?" screamed Bugs. "Where's Whirlwind von Helwick?"

"Shut up and keep running!"

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* * *

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when BiBi, Claire and Charlie
finally made their triumphant return to the Hotel Empress.

BiBi was flushed with glory and champagne. "That was one of the best openings
of my career! Maybe I misjudged Toronto. Let's see who makes the top
entertainment story today!''

"An absolute success!" Claire beamed. "BiBi, you were perfect — beauty, charm
and wit!"

"And the picture was terrific," added Charlie.

"The picture stinks," said BiBi honestly. "All the 'Redhead' pictures stink.
But that's nothing. People love them."

"And what a wonderful party afterwards," added Claire. "It was just a
fabulous evening. And remember, BiBi, this puts an end to all that Falusi Jinx
nonsense. You own the emerald, you wore it, and your career is brighter than
ever."

"I suppose you're right." BiBi awarded her a dazzling smile. "I guess I've
just been acting silly."

"Well," yawned Claire, "I'm going to bed. Remember, Charlie, we want all the
newspapers —Globe, Sun andStar . Only not too early, eh? Try about noon."

The new BiBi Lanay

"Well," said Mr. Darby after practice the next morning, "this has been our
last rehearsal, and I must say that I am quite pleased with the results. We
have come a long way since this group first met. Our flutes now play on key;
our trumpets have mastered the art of counting; our trombones can be heard;
our bassoon is enriching the bass section; our alto saxophones are no longer
blaring mindlessly; and" — he looked up at Bugs — "our esteemed percussionist,
David Potter, appears to have learned to control those annoying bursts of
enthusiasm. In short, this is a very fine orchestra. I feel confident that
your performance tonight will be fairly good.

"The Ontario Place Forum will, I think, be unique in your experience. The
stage is circular and the seats surround it. During the concert the stage will
revolve — very slowly, mind you — perhaps one revolution every half-hour. No
one need take seasick pills." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Dinner will be at five o'clock, so that you and your instruments can be
loaded onto the buses by precisely half past six. Our performance is not
scheduled until eight, but there will be a great deal of setting up to do when
we reach the Forum. I suggest you spend this afternoon resting and relaxing.
Dismissed."

"I think Darby's flipped his cookies," said Bugs to Adam and Sylvia in the
equipment room. "Did you hear all the nice things he said? That's not Darby!"

"Maybe it is," laughed Sylvia. "Maybe it's the real him. You'll notice that
after all that praise he told us our performance was going to be 'fairly
good'? I'll 'fairly' him! We're going to be a smash!"

"And there should be a good crowd there," put in Adam. "The weather's really
nice."

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"Our show will be fantastic," promised Bugs. "You just wait and see!"

* * *

"Hey, Barney, I've got an idea."

"Iget the ideas," said Barney loftily.

"But listen," insisted Ralph. "All we have to do is go up to BiBi Lanay's
room and say we're with hotel security and we're worried about the safety of
the Falusi Emerald because we think someone might be trying to steal it. Then
she gives it to us to put in the hotel vault and we take off with it. What do
you think of that?"

"That's a stupid idea. I've never heard anything so stupid in my life. How
can you come up with such a ridiculous idea?" Barney looked at Ralph oddly.
"As a matter of fact, it's so ridiculous it just might work."

Ralph looked dubiously pleased.

"I'll have to do it myself," Barney went on. "They won't believe you're a
hotel detective when just yesterday you were delivering towels."

"I knew you'd love it," said Ralph proudly. "Wow, my very first idea!"

"We'll go just before supper," decided Barney, "so we'll catch her before she
goes out."

"Does the idea entitle me to a bigger cut of the money?"

"Shut up," snapped Barney. "I'm thinking!"

* * *

"No-o-o-o!" BiBi Lanay stared at the entertainment section of theToronto Star
in disbelief. The entire first page was taken up with a story under the
enormous headline:BIG NIGHT AT ONTARIO PLACE CRIES BUGS POTTER .

"They can't do this to me! I won't let them!"

"Hey, BiBi, lookat your story," urged Claire, turning to page two. "A full
page with a colour picture and a rave review ofRedhead in the Big City ."

"But it's on pagetwo! Andhe made page one again!"

Charlie came in carrying theToronto Sun . "Well, you made page four. That's
pretty good. And the reporter calls you 'dazzling.'"

"Page four! Let me see that!"

Charlie held the paper close to his massive chest. "You don't want to see it.
You won't like it."

BiBi snatched theSun from his hands and stared at the front page.

DRUMMER BUGS VOWS BIG NIGHT AT ONTARIO PLACE.

"Why is this happening to me?" she shrilled, holding her head. "Last night I
had the best opening ever and I'mstill being upstaged by this — this nobody!"

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"I don't understand it myself," Claire said to Charlie while BiBi raged on in
the background. "The opening last night was a smash success. And BiBi Lanay is
one of the most popular stars in the world. I don't see how Bugs Potter beat
us out. So he sneaks into nightclubs and performs brilliantly. So what? He's
been doing it all week. By now it's not news."

"Itis news," said Charlie grimly. "According to theSun , his performance last
night was absolutely incredible. He played the drums non-stop for fifty-five
minutes. People were screaming their lungs out. But the really big story is
this: last night, for the first time, Bugs announced where he was going to
appear next — Ontario Place. And that's why it's big news."

"So we picked the wrong night for the opening," moaned Claire. "Oh, well, I
guess it couldn't be helped. And actually we got great coverage and great
reviews. We were just kicked down the ladder by this Bugs Potter thing."

"It's all because of that emerald," BiBi was fuming. "Why didn't the blasted
thing go down with Falusi? Why didI have to get it? I was a big star without
it, and now I'm playing second fiddle to a stupid little drummer!"

Claire and Charlie did not reply. There was nothing they could say.

* * *

Adam lay down on his bed to relax after lunch. "Darby was right, you know,"
he said to Bugs. "We'd better rest up. It's going to be a big night tonight."

"Big? It's going to be enormous!" From the cupboard Bugs pulled out the
duffle bag that contained his flash-bomb kit.

Adam sat up in dread. "Oh, Bugs, you can't seriously mean you're going to go
through with that!"

"Of course I am," said Bugs. "Listen, do you want to be known as the guy who
took part in a boring concert? And besides, it's almost ready. Look." He held
up a piece of wood with six doorbells stapled to it. "I did this while you
were taking your shower this morning. All we've got to do is put the powder in
the boxes and wire it up." He started to unload the duffle bag, placing the
contents carefully on the bureau.

"Aw, Bugs—"

"Oh, I get it," said Bugs. "You're tired. Well, never mind. You just rest. I
can make them up myself. Do you want me to put on some music to help you
sleep?"

"No, thank you." Adam yawned. "Endomorph isn't much for lullabyes." He closed
his eyes and tried to think of pleasant thoughts — anything but flash bombs.

Bugs started pouring generous amounts of powder into each of the six metal
boxes. He filled each up to the ten centimetre mark and found that, when all
were done, there was still quite a bit of the powder left. He thought it over
for a few seconds, shrugged and poured the remaining powder into the sixth
box, which he marked carefully with anX . Then he tossed a handful of matches
into each box and began to unwind the coil of wire.

* * *

"Sylvia," said Laura shyly, "can we talk?"

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"So long as we don't talk about how you hate Bugs," said Sylvia shortly.

"I'm sorry about that. I don't know what made me so crabby. I was just out of
patience — you will admit that a steady diet of Bugs is not an easy thing to
adjust to."

Sylvia laughed. "I'll admit that," she agreed. "But Bugs is nice. He really
is."

"I know," said Laura. "Today at practice he came over to me and he was really
worried because you and I weren't speaking. He even volunteered the use of his
tape deck."

"How's that supposed to work?"

Laura smiled. "I believe he said 'there's nothing like rock music to smooth
over an argument.' Have you ever in your life seen better intentions? Or more
ridiculous ones?"

"He's something else, all right," agreed Sylvia. "Anyway, I understand. Let's
just forget it. What are we going to do this afternoon? Just lie around?"

"I was planning to hang around the room and read the paper," said Laura. "I
haven't had time to look at a newspaper since we got here. For all I know the
world might have come to an end in the last ten days. So I bought a copy of
theStar ."

"Can I have a section?" asked Sylvia. "I feel kind of cut off from the world
myself."

"Sure. I always read the Entertainment section first. Here. You take the
front."

The girls spread the newspaper out on their beds and began to read. A sudden
high-pitched screech came from Laura. Sylvia looked up with a start. "What is
it? What's wrong?"

Laura's mouth worked furiously, but no intelligible sound came out.
Frantically she pointed to the front page of the entertainment section.

Sylvia read the headline out loud: "BIG NIGHT AT ONTARIO PLACE CRIES BUGS
POTTER."

The two girls looked at each other in amazement and chorused, "Bugs Potter?"

Sylvia grabbed the paper and began toread:"The mysterious rock drummer
sensation, Bugs Potter, made his seventh guest appearance in as many nights
yesterday at The Trap Door, during the Plankton show. It was a triumph —some
fans say his best ever. Bugs wowed the crowd and the group with fifty-five
minutes of non-stop drumming, including an incredible fifteen-minute solo .

"When it was all over but the shouting, the fabulous Potter gave the first
ever indication of where he will appear next. He called out, 'Big night at
Ontario Place tomorrow!' Fans believe he intends to crash the Winged Tortoise
rock concert at the Ontario Place Forum tonight. The only other event
scheduled at the waterfront spot is the Canadian High School Band Festival
Concert. The rock concert begins at nine, but it is not known when Potter will
make his customary surprise appearance."

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Sylvia looked at Laura. "I don'tbelieve this! What on earth has Bugs been up
to?"

"Read — read some more," stammered Laura.

Sylvia read: "Bugs Potter's seven-day rise to stardom is rock history here in
Toronto. It began a week ago today when a thin, dark man with a big bushy
moustache— "

"A big bushy moustache?" echoed Laura.

"Shh! Don't interrupt!It began a week ago today when a thin, dark man with a
big bushy moustache wowed the crowd at Dante's Inferno where the group
Endo-morph was opening. In the next two days Potter dropped in on Migraine and
Vanderboom, creating an even greater sensation. Pottermania was beginning to
spread like wildfire through the downtown rock culture. After Potter's fourth
surprise appearance, this time with Spoon Rest, Pottermania attained epidemic
proportions. Riots broke out, and had it not been for the miraculous escape
tactics of Potter's manager, a blond man with a beard — "

"Adam!" cried Laura. "Adam with a beard and Bugs with a moustache!"

"I'll strangle both of them!" snarled Sylvia. She continued to read: "—Potter
would have been mobbed by his fans .

"The 'Who is Bugs Potter?' marathon was on. Radio stations ran contests and
special programs, and BUGS T-shirts began to appear on the scene.

"I knew it," she interrupted herself. "Iknew there was something fishy about
that T-shirt!"

She continued reading: "Potter has since appeared with Dorchester Melon,
Toast and Plankton. Fan mail at the post office has now reached 3,000 pieces,
and the Bugs Potter phenomenon seems to be approaching its dramatic peak.
Perhaps tomorrow at this time Toronto will finally be able to answer the
question: Who is Bugs Potter?"

Sylvia headed for the door. "Just wait till I get my hands on those two!"

Laura barred her exit. "Sylvia, you can't go up to their floor!"

"Right! We're not allowed. Andthey're not allowed to go gallivanting all over
town in the dead of the night becoming famous! But they did. And they didn't
take us. They didn't even tell us about it!"

"This is all too much," declared Laura, plopping down on her bed. "I don't
understand it."

"You were right about Bugs Potter and his stupid drumming," raged Sylvia.
"And that goes double for Adam Webb! Oooh, the stinkers!"

"No wonder Adam fell asleep at practice the other morning."

"That's right," said Sylvia savagely. "He was out half the night with the
legendary Bugs Potter, protecting him from his hordes of fans! And some
coincidence that T-shirt was. They've got a nerve putting us on like that! You
should have thrownBugs over Niagara Falls, not just his drumsticks."

"But he must be a fantastic rock drummer," breathed Laura. "People don't get
this excited over a nobody."

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"Oh, he's a somebody, all right. He's The Most, remember? And Adam, I suppose
is Second Most. Second most low-down, miserable, underhanded, sneaky, lying—"

"They never lied," Laura pointed out. "We never asked them if they were out
all night getting famous. They just didn't tell us anything."

"You can say that again. And you worried about poor dear Adam missing all the
activities. They're probably sitting up in their room right now gloating over
this newspaper and chuckling about how clever they've been. They're probably
planning to sneak away from the band after our concert and go play with that
Winged Tortoise group — to bring the Bugs Potter saga to its dramatic peak!"

"Well, I guess they should have at least told us," conceded Laura.

"You're darn right they should have," snapped Sylvia. "But they didn't. And
we're not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that we know about
it, either. As a matter of fact, at dinner tonight they'll be lucky if we even
talk to them at all. Bugs Potter saga! Hmph!"

* * *

Endomorph sat in their hotel room reading theToronto Star .

"We've got to go to Ontario Place and get in on this tonight," insisted the
lead singer. "We were the first group that Bugs jammed with. Now it's our turn
to go and jam with him."

"What about our show at Dante's?" asked the drummer.

"We can be back in time if we hurry. Anyway, after what Bugs said last night,
nobody's going to be at any of the clubs. They'll all be at Ontario Place."

* * *

"Right-o," said Roger, the lead singer of Dorchester Melon. "Then it's
settled. We go to Ontario Place tonight to pay tribute to Bugs Potter."

"Do you think he'll let us play?"

"I hope so," said Roger. "Zonko Harris who drums for Winged Tortoise went to
school with me. I should be able to get us on stage."

"Jolly good!"

* * *

"We've got to go to Ontario Place and get in touch with this Bugs Potter,"
urged the lead singer of Nuclear Teacup. "We open in Toronto tomorrow, and if
we can get seen with Bugs Potter, we're made."

"Yeah. Maybe we can even get him to come to our opening."

* * *

"We've got it in the bag," gloated the drummer of Winged Tortoise. "Our
concert at the Forum tonight is going to be the biggest smash in history. Bugs
Potter is going to be there!"

"You bet," said the lead singer. "He choseus!"

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** *

"I've just been on the phone with Johnny Mulligan from the Spoon Rest,"
announced the bass guitarist of Migraine. "All the guys are going over to
Ontario Place for the big Bugs Potter bash."

"We'll go too," decided the lead singer. "It's going to be some night!"

* * *

"I've been phoning around," said the Plankton drummer. "I've called just
about every group in town. They're all going over to Ontario Place tonight to
see Bugs."

"And we've got to be there too," said the lead guitarist. "We can't miss out
on this. This is the biggest thing since Woodstock."

* * *

"Look," said Bugs in the dining room, "here come the girls — and they're
together! It worked!"

"What worked?" asked Adam. "Have you been meddling?"

"Laura and I had a little heart-to-heart this morning," explained Bugs. "And
now she and Sylvia are pals again."

Adam and Bugs sat down at their customary table and watched in perplexity as
Sylvia and Laura seated themselves at a vacant table halfway across the dining
room.

"I guess they just didn't see us," said Bugs.

"They must have," insisted Adam. "We always sit here, and so do they. That
looked like a deliberate snub to me. Exactly what did you say in your little
heart-to-heart with Laura? Now they're friends with each other and mad at us!"

Bugs stood up and waved his arms at Sylvia and Laura. The two girls looked
away and pretended not to notice.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go sit over there with them." He scurried off
towards the girls' table, dragging Adam with him. "Hi," he greeted cheerfully.
"Mind if we join you?"

"It's a free country," said Sylvia coldly. "But are you sure we deserve the
honour?"

"Sure you do!" Bugs sat down and made himself comfortable. Adam had no
choice; he sat down too.

"What did you girls do this afternoon?" began Bugs conversationally.

"Oh, nothing much," said Laura.

"We read the paper," Sylvia added meaningfully.

"What's going on in the world?" asked Adam lightly. I haven't seen a paper
since I left home."

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"Nothing is going on in the world," snapped Sylvia. "Absolutely nothing. It's
a very dull world."

"Is something wrong? What have we done?"

Sylvia turned to Laura. "Will you listen to Mr. Innocent? He wants to know
what he's done."

Adam looked at Bugs, who shrugged and tried to change the subject. "The
concert tonight is sure going to be terrific."

"Yes," said Sylvia savagely, "you might say it's going to be a dramatic peak
in a saga."

"Well — I never thought about it that way, but now that you mention it —"

"Don't talk, Bugs," Sylvia interrupted sarcastically. "Save your strength.
You might need it."

"Good thinking," said Bugs.

"Listen," said Adam, "if you'll just tell us what we did to make you mad —"

At this point the waiter arrived with the soup.

Dinner was an awkward affair. The girls spoke only to each other and Bugs
kept up a steady stream of chatter which evoked no response whatsoever from
either the girls or his roommate.

Adam was trying desperately to figure the whole thing out. When all the
musicians were ordered up to their rooms to change into their black outfits
for the concert, he found himself no closer to the solution. But he was
extremely grateful to escape from the table.

** *

"Okay," said Barney to Ralph as the two burglars reached the top of the
stairs on the eighteenth floor. "You wait here. I'll go get the emerald."

"Hey, Barney, I've been thinking. Maybe my idea wasn't so good. What if she
won't give you the emerald?"

"She has to give it to me. The way I'm going to tell it to her, she'll think
it's going to be ripped off tonight if it isn't put in the vault right away.
It's a foolproof scheme," Barney concluded. "It's the best idea I've ever
had."

"But it wasmy idea!"

"Well, I'll admit that theprimitive plan came from you," conceded Barney,
"but it was me who polished it up into a working idea. Now, cut the gab. I'm
going."

** *

"Okay!" BiBi Lanay paced back and forth in front of Claire and Charlie. "Now
hear this!"

"Oh, BiBi," chuckled Claire, "you sound like a drill sergeant."

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"That's exactly what I mean to sound like. You are looking at thenew BiBi
Lanay. From now on I'm in control of my own destiny. No more taking advice
that lands me on page two."

"BiBi —" began Claire, becoming a little alarmed.

"Don't worry, no one is going to get fired. I'm not blaming you. None of this
is your fault. It's all because of the Falusi Emerald — and don't tell me it
isn't. As soon as we get back to Hollywood tomorrow, I'm putting that thing up
for sale."

"But the emerald is good for your publicity," protested Claire. "You know it
is. Besides, we're not going to be in Hollywood tomorrow. I scheduled
appearances in Montreal, New York and Boston. And all those people want to see
the Falusi!"

"Youwhat ?" Enraged, BiBi leaped into the air and came down heavily on her
thin spike heels. One heel snapped under her weight, and the divine BiBi went
sprawling painfully to the floor.

"Are you all right?" cried Claire and Charlie together.

Frantic with fury, BiBi kicked off both shoes, ran into the bedroom, grabbed
the emerald and headed for the door.

"Charlie, stop her!"

Before the big man could react, BiBi threw the door open, rushed barefoot out
of the room and flung the necklace as hard as she could down the hall.

It hit Barney full in the face and fell at his feet. He stared in
astonishment for a split second, then grabbed the emerald firmly, turned and
ran for the stairs.

Charlie burst out of the room. "Hey, you!Stop!" He took off after the burglar
with Claire hot on his heels and BiBi running along behind.

"You got it!" Ralph marvelled.

"Run! They're after us!" Barney and'Ralph began to scramble down the stairs.

"Stop, you!" Charlie's voice boomed down the stairwell.

Ralph accelerated, past the fifteenth floor, down, down, flight after flight.
And all the way the same running footsteps followed close behind.

"They're gaining on us," gasped Ralph. "What are we going to do?"

"Keep running," puffed Barney. "Nine more floors to the lobby."

"You'll never get away with this!" screamed Claire.

"But give it your best shot anyway!" BiBi urged behind her.

"Shh! Your accent!"

High-pitched laughter rang through the stairwell.

"Keep moving, Ralphie-boy," wheezed Barney. "We'll make it!"

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"Six more floors," moaned Ralph. "And they're getting closer!"

"Stop right there!" bellowed Charlie.

The two burglars pounded down the last flight of stairs and burst into the
lobby, looking around desperately. The room was crowded with young people
dressed in black, and instrument cases were piled high near the street
entrance.

"Where do we go now?"

Barney paused uncertainly. He heard heavy footsteps on the final flight of
stairs. Charlie was almost upon them.

"Come on!" Barney rushed over to the piled-up instruments, opened a small
black case and stuffed the emerald inside. Then he and Ralph made for the
exit.

Charlie burst into the lobby. "Stop! Thief!" He caught a last-minute glimpse
of his quarry as they dashed out the front door, jumped into a taxicab and
drove off. Charlie rushed through the lobby and outside. He hailed another
taxi.

"Follow that cab," he ordered, jumping in and slamming the door in one
motion. "And don't lose it!"

Claire and the barefoot BiBi reached the street just as Charlie drove off.
The two women jumped into the next taxi at the stand.

"Follow that cab," commanded Claire, pointing to Charlie's taxi.

The three taxis raced through the busy streets of downtown Toronto.

"Where to?" the driver asked Barney and Ralph in the lead cab.

"Ontario Place," ordered Barney. "And don't spare the horses!"

"Barney," Ralph pleaded in a low voice, "I don't want to go to Ontario Place
at a time like this."

"Don't be an idiot," Barney whispered back. "I stashed the emerald in a flute
case. That band is going to play at Ontario Place tonight. Some kid carries it
out for us and we pick it up there."

"How will you know which case to look in?"

"There was a name on it. It was markedAdam Webb ."

The second cab sped along through rush-hour traffic, the driver keeping a
careful eye on the taxi ahead. "I think your friends there are headed for the
waterfront," he said to his husky passenger. "They're probably going to
Ontario Place to see that Bugs Potter. The show isn't till nine, but I've
heard from the dispatcher that all our cabs are taking people down there."

"Just follow them," said Charlie, looking anxiously out the front window.

Bringing up the rear, the last cab turned south after the first two.

"Hey, aren't you BiBi Lanay?" asked the driver.

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"Yes, I am she," replied BiBi in an accent that was somewhere between Dutch
and German.

"Keep driving," said Claire grimly. "Don't lose that taxi up ahead."

"Yeah, okay. He won't get far in this traffic. Say, Miss Lanay, I read that
your opening last night was stupendous. Your man seems to be heading for
Ontario Place," he added. "That's where everybody's going tonight. Everybody
wants to see Bugs Potter."

"Bugs Potter?" wailed BiBi. "Let me out!"

"You can't get out," said Claire. "This is an expressway."

"Hey, calm down back there," said the driver.

"We are perfectly calm," retorted Claire icily. "You just keep your eyes on
that other cab."

The first of the three taxicabs pulled up to the west entrance of Ontario
Place. Barney and Ralph leaped out and headed across the long footbridge
leading to the waterfront showplace. They paid their admission and entered.

"What if they followed us?"

Barney laughed. "Who could ever find us in this mob? This is Bugs Potter
night at Ontario Place! Come on, let's find the Forum. That's where the kids'
band will be playing."

By the time the second and third cabs pulled up side by side, there was no
sign of Barney and Ralph.

"They must have gone in there." Claire pointed to the footbridge that led to
Ontario Place.

"We'll never find them," said Charlie dejectedly. "The place is jammed."

"Then we've lost the Falusi!" cried Claire.

"Drat the luck," chuckled BiBi.

Claire turned on her. "You should be ashamed of yourself. That's a
four-million-dollar stone, and you just threw it away!"

"And I'd do it again."

"What are we going to do now?"

"Okay," said Charlie, taking charge, "let's not lose our heads here. We're
going to go into Ontario Place, find a phone and report this to the police.
Then we're going to walk around and look for those two guys. And if we don't
find them, we're going to go to the Bugs Potter concert."

"What?"

"You heard me," said Charlie. "Bugs Potter. I don't like the way that guy's
name comes into everything we do. He climbs to fame just when BiBi arrives in
Toronto — no one had ever heard of him before last week. He's at the hotel

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gift shop buying presents for BiBi. And I'm not forgetting the night I
followed him into the Empress's parking garage. I don't know how, but I think
Bugs Potter is mixed up in this!"

"Bugs Potter is a jewel thief?" asked Claire incredulously.

"Well done, Bugs!" cheered BiBi.

"Oh, BiBi, shut up!"

Man, it's a happening!

One by one the high-school musicians picked up their instrument cases and
lined up to board the buses. As he stood waiting behind a struggling tuba
player, Adam glanced around casually in an effort to avoid looking at Bugs.
His roommate was making a pest of himself supervising the loading of his drums
into the baggage compartment. Also being loaded was a mysterious sack which,
Adam knew, contained the six flash-bombs. He didn't want to think about that.

He also didn't want to think about Sylvia and Laura. What on earth could have
gone wrong in that department? He could understand Laura's being angry after
they'd had those words over Bugs. But now Laura seemed, if anything, the more
civil of the two. What was eating Sylvia?

His eyes wandered over the Empress Flower Shoppe sign, a mail box, a
telephone booth, a newspaper vending box — Adam gasped, staring in shock. The
headline on the front page of the paper read:DRUMMER BUGS VOWS BIG NIGHT AT
ONTARIO PLACE .

Oh, no! He rushed to buy a paper.

"Webb," called Mr. Darby sharply, "you're holding up the line. You have no
need of reading material. Get on the bus. We leave immediately."

In a stupor, Adam stumbled onto the bus and found a seat. Throughout the trip
his mind was in turmoil. Bugs was in the paper! Those screaming crowds! Those
photographers! Those T-shirts! He should have known! Why hadn't he realized
what was happening?

Things began to click in his mind. Laura and Sylvia had spent the day reading
the paper. That was it. They knew. And they were mad because they hadn't been
told. Adam groaned. But how could he tell them when… ? Did Bugs know?
Impossible, he decided. In Bugs' personal code of honour, it was unthinkable
to keep such a secret from a pal. Bugs was just as ignorant of it as he had
been. Bugs saw himself simply as a lucky kid who had got the chance to drum
with his favourite groups.

Vaguely Adam recalled Bugs screaming, "Big night at Ontario Place tomorrow!"
at the Trap Door. Did this mean Ontario Place would be jammed with Toronto's
rock fans? Even so they would be safe, he decided. No rock fan would attend a
high school band festival.

And how would Bugs react to this — suddenly finding himself frontpage news?
He'd probably start drumming through piccolo solos again. He might even set
off those flash-bombs before the end of the concert and ruin everything. No.
Bugs had no self-control where rock music was concerned. Bugs could not be
told — at least not until the concert was over.

Stay calm, Adam told himself. Stay calm and everything will be all right.

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* * *

"Come on," wheedled Claire. "Don't you think it's my turn to wear the shoes
now?"

"No," grinned BiBi. "You're the one who pulled me barefoot into a taxi and
dragged me over here. Suffer."

"But my feet hurt."

"Oh, okay." BiBi stepped out of the shoes and kicked them over to Claire, who
put them on gratefully.

Charlie walked up to them. "I've just been on the phone with the police
again. They're doing what they can, which isn't much. They can't very well
search everyone in Ontario Place. But they have extra men here tonight anyway,
to control the crowd when Bugs Potter shows up."

"I'm hungry," said BiBi. "I want a hamburger."

"How can you think of food at a time like this? We have to find the Falusi!"

"I'd rather find a hamburger."

"No hamburger," said Charlie grimly.

"I didn't have any dinner," complained BiBi.

"None of us has eaten," said Charlie.

"Well then, let's make it three hamburgers."

"We have to find those crooks!"

"Don't crooks eat?" asked BiBi. "Maybe they're having hamburgers."

"We'd better get something to eat," conceded Claire. "That rock show doesn't
start for almost two hours."

* * *

"Okay," said Barney, "here's the Forum. The concert starts in about half an
hour. Now listen carefully. I've got to get the flute case before that Webb
kid opens it up and finds out he's got more than just a flute. So as soon as
the kids get here and start setting things up we sneak onto the stage, get the
emerald out of the case and take off with it."

Ralph looked around. "Hey, this place is getting really crowded. I didn't
know so many people would come to see a kids' band."

"Most of them aren't here to see the kids. After this there's a rock show,
and that's where Bugs Potter's supposed to turn up. See — look at all theBUGS
shirts. Everyone's coming really early to get a good seat."

"Look," whispered Ralph. "Here come the kids now."

Carrying their instrument cases, the girls and boys of the High School Band
Festival began to crowd onto the circular stage.

"They'll be setting up for a while," said Barney, "but I've got to get to

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that flute case before the kid opens it. Come on. Let's move down to the
front."

The two burglars walked down the aisle to ringside and surveyed the stage.
They watched as Mr. Darby directed his musicians to their appropriate seats
and ordered the rearranging of chairs and music stands.

Noting the location of the flautists, Barney strolled non-challantly onto the
stage.

Mr. Darby caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. "Sir, you are far
too old to be one of my musicians. Kindly leave the stage."

As Barney walked back towards Ralph, he noticed that several ringside police
officers were looking at him intently.

"Barney," said Ralph in a low voice. "Cops."

"I see them. This isn't going to work. Let's go and sit down while I think up
another plan."

Ralph looked around. The amphitheatre was packed. "We'll be lucky if we get
seats," he observed.

They found two seats at the rear.

* * *

Adam looked around the Ontario Place Forum with a sinking heart. The
amphitheatre was almost packed, something he had definitely not expected. And
the audience was a sea ofBUGS T-shirts. This audience could not be here to see
the High School Band Festival. It was the rock crowd. They had come to see
Bugs Potter.

Mr. Darby addressed his band. "I just want to remind you of one thing.
Immediately after our performance we must clear away all our equipment.
Shortly after we conclude, a rock group called" — he winced — "Winged Tortoise
is scheduled to perform."

Bugs loped up to Adam. "Did you hear that? Winged Tortoise! They're my
favourite group! Why, their latest album has a cover with —"

"Not now, Bugs," said Adam anxiously. "Let's worry about one concert at a
time. Have you actually set up the — you-know-whats?"

"What? Oh, the flash bombs," said Bugs loudly. "Yup. They're in place and all
ready to go. I've got them set up in sort of a circle around the outside of
the stage. The first one goes off right in front of me at the back. The next
four follow the circle, two on each side. Number six goes off right in front
of Darby."

Adam's face assumed a worried expression. "Are you completely sure they're
safe?"

Bugs shrugged. "I wouldn't set one off in front of me if they weren't. Hey,
the one we did on the balcony was safe, wasn't it?"

"Yes," admitted Adam uncertainly.

"Well, these are exactly the same," said Bugs, "except that they have about

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twenty times as much powder in them."

"Twenty times?"

"Well, the first five anyway. The one in front of Darby is packed almost to
the top. It should be spectacular!"

Adam felt sick. "Bugs, maybe you shouldn't do it!"

"Why not?" asked his roommate innocently. "I mean, they're here and they're
in place — and the detonator's right up there with my drum set."

"You're going to blow this stage to kingdom come!"

Mr. Darby rapped on his music stand. "Places, everyone. Ten minutes. Tune up
quietly, please."

The bandmaster surveyed the crowd in perplexity. The seats were completely
filled, and a large overflow crowd sat on blankets on the grassy hills
surrounding the Forum. Very gratifying, he thought, but hardly the kind of
people he had expected. And yes, Potter had been correct. It would seem that
everyone in town was wearing those disgustingBUGS shirts. Still, a conductor
couldn't choose his audience.

Adam sat down in his second-row seat and opened his flute case. He found
himself staring into the glowing green depths of the Falusi Emerald. The
diamonds in the chain sparkled brilliantly. He snapped the case shut, feeling
a cold sweat break out all over his body. He opened the case again, slowly
this time, hoping against hope that he had seen an illusion, that the necklace
would not be there. But there it was, green fire against the black velvet
lining of the case.

"Mr. Darby!" he cried, leaping to his feet.

"Sit down, Webb," said the bandmaster icily. "And tune up at once. If you
have anything to say, say it after the concert."

"But —"

"After the concert, Webb. Now tune up. We are about to begin."

With trembling hands Adam put together his flute, closed the case on the
emerald and slipped it under his chair. He tried to tune up, but his hands
were shaking so badly that the fingering was beyond him and he had trouble
keeping the mouthpiece to his lips. Finally he managed a strangled, squeaky
sound — far worse than no sound at all.

Calm down, he told himself.

* * *

"I've never been happier in my life," BiBi announced contentedly at the
hamburger stand. "Nobody recognizes me because I'm barefoot and messy, I've
finally got a full stomach, and some other poor sap is suffering under the
Falusi Jinx. I feel like a new woman! And by the way, Claire, it's my turn to
wear the shoes."

"Already? Come on, BiBi, give me a break."

"Is everybody finished?" asked Charlie. "Let's get over to the Forum."

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"You mean you've stopped looking for those two men?" Claire was dismayed.

Charlie shrugged. "In this mob, one place is as good as another. It may as
well be the Forum. And if my hunch is correct about Bugs Potter, it's probably
the right place to be."

* * *

"I know what's happened," decided Barney in the second-to-last row of the
amphitheatre. "That kid Webb must have got so scared when he saw the emerald
that he just closed it up in the case. It must still be in there."

"So how are we going to get it?"

"Here's what we do. See that little room there, the one that saysControl on
the door? Well, I just got a peek in there when the guy went in, and that's
where they control the stage lights. The sun's going down now, and before the
concert's over it should be completely dark. When it gets dark enough I'll
give you the word and you run in there and kill the stage lights."

"But, Barney," protested Ralph, horrified, "there's a guy in there — a lights
technician or something!"

"But we have the element of surprise on our side," explained Barney. "Look,
all you have to do is get in there, throw the main switch and run. You'll be
outside the Forum in two steps. No one will even chase you, because they'll be
too busy trying to get the lights back on. By the time they look for you,
you'll be long gone."

"What will you be doing?"

Barney pointed to the stage where Mr. Darby was preparing to address the
audience. "When the lights go out I'll rush onto the stage, grab all the flute
cases and take the one that rattles. Then I'll meet you at the footbridge near
the entrance where we came in. And we'll both be millionaires!"

"It sounds risky."

"The risk goes with the job. Isn't four million worth a few risks? Hey, look,
they're going to start. All right, let's watch the show. But stay alert. As
soon as it gets dark enough, we go into action."

Mr. Darby spoke into the microphone. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and
welcome to the twelfth annual Canadian High School Band Festival. The young
people you are about to hear represent fine high school musicianship from all
across Canada. I am Cyril Fenton Darby, the festival bandmaster. It has been
my honour and privilege to work with these talented young people over the past
ten days, and I can assure you that you will enjoy their performance. Ladies
and gentlemen, the Canadian High School Festival Band."

There was applause, and the music of the hundred-piece orchestra swelled
through the amphitheatre and over the green hills beyond. The selection was
"The Blue Danube."

"Hey, Barney," said Ralph, "these kids are really good. Now this is music!"

Barney was glaring into the setting sun. "Hurry up," he prompted the
elements. "Get dark."

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* * *

"The place is packed to the rafters," exclaimed Claire. "We'll have to sit
here on the grass."

"Okay," said Charlie. "You girls sit here. I'm going in there to talk to the
security police. Every cop in the place knows about the emerald, so when Bugs
Potter's finished, they'll detain him for me." Charlie ran off.

BiBi and Claire sank down onto the soft grass. The band was playing a medley
fromThe Sound of Music .

BiBi squinted at the stage. "Who's playing now?" she asked.

"It must be that high school band thing," said Claire. "They were staying at
the hotel, remember? They're really very good."

BiBi shivered. "It's getting dark and my feet are cold. Can I wear the shoes
now?"

Claire slipped off the shoes and BiBi put them on.

They listened to the music for a while. "I played the violin once," said BiBi
dreamily. "When I was in high school in the Bronx. I was really good, you
know. Good like these kids, I mean. Good enough to perform in public."

"You're beyond all that now," said Claire sharply. She had learned from
experience that BiBi must not be allowed to reminisce about her Brenda
Lifschitz days in New York.

"What's your opinion?" asked BiBi suddenly. "Do you honestly think Bugs
Potter stole the Falusi?" She laughed. "If the stage blows up we'll know he
has it."

"When we get the emerald back," said Claire, "I don't want to hear any more
of this nonsense about a Falusi Jinx."

BiBi laughed again. "It'll be easy to find whoever has it," she said. "Just
check all the hospitals in town. He's had it for over three hours, so he must
be in intensive care by now. And he won't be hard to catch. How fast can you
run in a body cast?"

Charlie came jogging back, his heavy steps pounding the turf in time to the
beat of the1812 Overture.

"Come on, girls," he puffed. "They've got special VIP seats for us up front.
And you'd better let BiBi keep the shoes on, Claire. Everyone knows who she
is."

"It's a little embarrassing, you know," complained Claire. But she followed
BiBi and Charlie into the Forum amphitheatre.

* * *

"Confound it! Why is it taking so long to get dark?" muttered Barney.

Suddenly Ralph slouched in his seat, pulling Barney down beside him. "It's
Charlie!" he whispered frantically.

The two burglars hid their faces while Charlie, BiBi and Claire walked by

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them down the aisle to some ringside seats.

The band was about thirty minutes into their performance, and the big stage
had made one complete revolutioa The sun was down, but it was not yet dark.

"Barney," asked Ralph, "how are you going to go up there and get the emerald
with Charlie sitting there?"

"It'll be dark," said Barney. "The lights, stupid! You're going to kill the
lights, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

Fifteen more minutes passed as the band went through the ballet music
fromFaust , Gershwin'sRhapsody in Blue , and "The Impossible Dream" fromMan of
La Mancha . The stage had made another half-revolution, and the orchestra was
well into their last number, the theme music from2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY .

"Okay," whispered Barney, "this is our moment of truth. It's practically
dark. I'm going to start down there. When I'm about four rows from the front,
you run into that room and kill the lights. And meet me at that footbridge.
Are you ready?"

"Well —" said Ralph uncertainly.

"Good," said Barney. He stood up and began to walk down the aisle.

* * *

Mr. Darby was conducting with an enthusiasm which he had not known since his
younger days. What a fine group of musicians these youngsters were. How well
this concert was going — and how poised the boys and girls were in front of
such a large audience. Not one of them had let his nerves interfere with his
playing. Webb had worried him a little at first. High-strung, that Webb. A
very talented flautist, though. But the boy had settled down and was playing
well along with the others.

The band moved into the last few bars of their music. Mr. Darby felt a twinge
of regret temper his exultation. It was over. The last bar. He would miss
working with these young people.

As the music faded to a finish, suddenly the lights went out, throwing the
Forum into complete darkness.

Hey! thought Bugs as murmurs of alarm ran through the crowd, what a great
time to — He stood up at his drum set and bellowed at the top of his lungs,
"Let'sdo it!"

He hit the first doorbell.

Boom!The first flash bomb went off in front of him with a blinding glare. A
column of red smoke rose into the air.

"The stage is blowing up!" screamed BiBi Lanay. "It's Bugs Potter!"

There was a mad scramble of musicians attempting to leave the stage and
bumping into things in the dark.

Mr. Darby yelled, "Potter!"

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The crowd roared with recognition.

Boom! Boom!Two more flash bombs went off, throwing audience and performers
into a bright blue glare. Bugs hit the cymbals for effect. The crowd went
wild, and more members of the band scrambled for cover.

"Potter, what on earth —?"

Boom!Boom!The fourth and fifth flash bombs erupted into towers of bright
yellow light. Band members dived under their chairs. Bugs hit the bass drum.
The roar of the audience swelled.

Bugs was in ecstasy as he contemplated the gorgeous display of fireworks. His
hand shaking with excitement, he reached for the sixth doorbell.

FLASH!!!

The night was illuminated by a blaze of multi-coloured light. A pillar of
flame shot upward directly in front of the conductor's stand. Mr. Darby hurled
himself to the floor, still shouting, "POTTER!"

A tremendous cloud of smoke hung brilliantly in the air. Bugs started an
elaborate drum roll and the crowd, which had been hushed by the last
tremendous flash, found its voice again. Everyone began to chant, "Bugs, Bugs,
Bugs!"

As the light of the flash bombs faded, darkness once more fell over the
amphitheatre. Crouched beneath his chair for cover, Adam started to breathe
again. It was over. It was all right. But what was he going to do about the
necklace? He reached for his flute case and his breath caught in his throat.
The case was open and an unseen hand was drawing the emerald out. Adam grabbed
at the chain and missed.

From behind the chair a dark figure rose and began to run across the stage
towards the aisle. Desperately Adam lunged at the figure, grabbed a leg and
yanked. There was a crash as the man fell heavily to the stage. The Falusi
Emerald flew through the air in a giant arc, landing in BiBi Lanay's lap.

"Hey, what's this?" she cried. Her fingers felt the contours of something
hard, cold and familiar. She brought the emerald up to her eyes. "Oh,no !"

"It's the Falusi!" Charlie squinted in the darkness. "It's back!"

The man picked himself up from the stage, shook his leg loose from Adam's
grasp and ran off up the aisle and into the night.

Meanwhile Bugs was solo-drumming to the chant of the audience. When the
lights came back on, he looked around, astounded. The entire high school band
was crawling about on hands and knees, gathering up scattered instruments and
music. Mr. Darby was hopping around the stage beating out a small fire in the
seat of his trousers. But the audience — the entire Forum and the hills beyond
were packed with people on their feet, cheering, chanting and screaming.

Four men appeared on stage carrying amplifiers and guitars.

"Winged Tortoise!" exclaimed Bugs in delight. "You're my favourite group! Can
I drum with you?"

"You've got it wrong, Bugs," laughed the lead singer. "We're here to play
with you."

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"Hey, aren't you supposed to have a moustache?" asked the Winged Tortoise
drummer.

"I left it back at the hotel."

"Hey, Bugs," shouted a tall, lean figure stepping onto the stage.

"Endomorph! Hey, Adam, it's Endomorph!"

"Hi, Bugs," cried voices from behind them. The five members of Vanderboom
rushed over.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" asked Bugs.

"Man, it's a happening. We're here to see you!"

"Hey, there's Bugs Potter!" Four more men ran up. "Hi, Bugs. We're Nuclear
Teacup."

"I don't believe it," squealed Bugs. "I don't believe you're here! And
there's Migraine!"

"Hey, Bugs," called the lead singer, "where's your moustache? You look
sixteen years old!"

"Yeah? Really?" Bugs responded in delight. "Gee, I won't be sixteen until
October."

"You're fifteen?" echoed the bassist for Endomorph.

"There he is, chaps," shouted the lead guitarist of Dorchester Melon. "Hi,
Bugs!"

Mr. Darby stomped into the group, his face stiff with outrage. "What on earth
is going on here? Get to the bus this instant, Potter! I'll deal with you
later!"

"Hey, man," said a member of Plankton, who had just arrived on the scene, "be
cool. This is Bugs Potter you're talking to."

"His name is David and I —" began Mr. Darby.

"Hey, this is the guy who did that wild dance with his pants on fire! How did
you manage that special effect, Bugs?"

The bassist of Winged Tortoise ran up. "Let's quit jawing and play. The amps
are all set up." He pushed a microphone into Bugs' face. "Say something, Bugs.
It's your show."

Bugs said, "Hi, everybody," and again the crowd went wild.

"Potter—"

"Shh!" said Roger of Dorchester Melon. "Pay attention! Bugs is speaking!"

"All the best groups are here," raved Bugs into the microphone, "and they're
going to let me play with them!"

The crowd cheered madly and dozens of cameras flashed.

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"Potter — "

Adam approached.

"Hey, Adam," Bugs called out, his eyes shining, "look! Everybody's here!"

"We'll share the instruments," declared the drummer of Winged Tortoise.
"Okay, Bugs, what song should we do?"

" 'Shells At 20,000 Feet'!" Bugs decided.

"Potter, I amordering you —"

"Now listen here, man," said the drummer of Toast, who had recently arrived,
"this is an artist at work. I know you're excited about seeing Bugs, but if
you can't behave yourself, we'll have to ask you to leave the stage."

The lead singer of Endomorph grabbed the microphone. "Bugs Potter —
unmasked!" .

Bugs broke into a drum roll and Winged Tortoise crashed in after him. The
Toronto waterfront echoed with the music.

Mr. Darby gave up his attempts to get his students back to their buses. He
faded into the background to try to sort out the events of the evening. The
high school musicians, saturated with ten days of culture, settled back to
enjoy what promised to be a mammoth rock festival.

"Hey, kid," said the Toast drummer to Adam over the din of the music, "don't
I know you from somewhere? Didn't you used to have a beard? You're Bugs
Potter's manager. That's it. Hey, this guy's Bugs' manager!"

Adam managed a weak smile to all the friendly greetings.

Bugs and Winged Tortoise crashed to a close and Migraine took over the
instruments. The crowd roared its wholehearted approval.

In the front row Claire Tanner managed to get her laughter under control.
"There he is, Charlie! There's your hero, your Houdini, the guy you wanted to
discuss the security business with. He looks about sixteen."

"Look at Bugs," screamed Sylvia over the wail of the electric guitars. "Isn't
he good?"

"Good?" cried Laura. "He'sgratf!"

The Toast drummer dragged the lead guitarist of Nuclear Teacup over to Adam.
"This is Bugs Potters' manager," he reported proudly. "Surely you've read
about him."

Adam and the guitarist shook hands solemnly.

"Hi. I play with Nuclear Teacup."

Adam searched his mind. " 'Refrigerator Repairman,' right?"

The guitarist grinned. "You sure do know your rock."

"I had the best teacher in the world," said Adam. "Bugs."

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"Gee," put in a member of Spoon Rest, "what's Bugs like when he's not
drumming?"

"He's never not drumming."

Bugs and Migraine boomed to a finish and the instruments passed to Busted
Chandelier, who had just arrived. Bugs could hardly believe his eyes.

"Johnny Solid!" he breathed.

The guitarist looked up. "Are you ready to rock, Bugs?"

"He knows me," announced Bugs reverently. "Johnny Solid knows me! Could we
play 'Glass On The Floor'?"

"You bet!"

After Johnny Solid played the introduction, Bugs burst into the Busted
Chandelier hit, and the heavy metal sound rang through the Forum and beyond.

"I've got a great idea," said Claire from her front row seat. "Charlie, as
soon as this song is over you take BiBi up there to meet Bugs Potter."

"Oh, isn't he great?" sighed BiBi. "No wonder the papers were raving about
him. He's just adorable!"

Charlie looked at her oddly. "Just this morning you would have cheerfully
strangled him."

"Go on," prompted Claire as Bugs and Busted Chandelier cascaded to a clanging
finish. "Charlie, take her up there. BiBi, your accent!"

Charlie and BiBi stepped onto the stage. When Adam saw the emerald around the
actress's neck, he almost collapsed with relief.

"You got it back!" he blurted.

"Do you know who stole it?" asked Charlie.

Adam shook his head. "Someone planted it in my flute case and tried to sneak
it out in the dark. I tripped him and I guess he dropped the emerald and you
got it."

Charlie put a huge hand on Adam's shoulder. "Did you ever consider going into
the security business?"

A voice behind them shouted, "How do you do, Miss Lanay?"

BiBi ran up to the drum set, threw her arms around Bugs and kissed him
noisily on both cheeks. "Oh, my little Bugs, you are so very very wonderful!"
Her accent encompassed most of eastern Europe.

"Adam, look who's here! It's BiBi Lanay! Did you get my presents, Miss
Lanay?"

"But yes," squealed BiBi, making sure that the microphone was picking up the
conversation, and posing for the photographers who were anxious to take
pictures of the two famous stars.

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"I've seen all of your movies," Bugs told her, "except the new one. I
likedRedhead in Space the best. Gee, you're beautiful!"

The crowd was roaring, hooting and whistling madly.

"Play some more, Bugs," begged BiBi. She kissed him again and went back to
her seat, blowing kisses to the cheering crowd.

Bugs began drumming like a man inspired. Dorchester Melon snatched up the
instruments and began to play one of their hits, "Squash That Squash."

"So, what technique did you use to get Bugs out of those clubs?" Charlie was
saying.

"Well," began Adam, "I ran as fast as I could…" The impromptu concert went on
and on. At midnight Bugs and the rock groups were still going strong, and
Charlie was still talking with Adam. Endomorph's great hit, "Driving School
Rock," was blasting through the speakers. The audience was as excited as ever
and no one — spectator or musician — showed any sign of calling it a night.
The high school festival band members were still there, and so were the police
and the photographers — and BiBi Lanay. Mr. Darby was there too, sitting in
the place he deemed quietest and coming to terms with the ghostly realization
that David Potter and Bugs Potter were the same person.

It was two in the morning and Radium Sample, a newly arrived group, was
playing with the still energetic Bugs when the great Johnny Solid himself
walked up to Adam. "So you're Bugs' manager, eh?"

"Well," said Adam, "it did work out that way."

"Tell me," said Johnny Solid, "do you play?" Adam grinned. "I play with
Bugs," he announced proudly. "I'm his flute-guy."

Onward and upward

Mr. Darby stood up at breakfast the next morning and tapped on his water
glass for the attention of his high school musicians.

"Young ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I must say that I was extremely
pleased with your performance at Ontario Place last night. You were, in every
sense of the word, professional musicians." He glared at Bugs. "In one
particular case, more professional than any of us might have imagined."

He cleared his throat. "To continue, I should like to say that our orchestra
performed like a well-oiled machine, perfect in all its parts, as I had
expected. You may have found the rehearsals arduous, but the end result was
well worthwhile. The performance was definitely fair."

The students awarded themselves a round of applause. Being called 'fair' by
C. Fenton Darby was, they now knew, the supreme compliment.

"Of the unplanned events of last evening," the bandmaster went on, "I have
this to say: most of you conducted yourselves in a reasonably civilized manner
under the circumstances. The single exception, one David 'Bugs'Potter by name,
finds himself on the front page of every daily newspaper in Toronto."

He held up a copy of the morning paper. There was a huge picture of Bugs in
the arms of BiBi Lanay. The band members cheered. When the din died down, Mr.
Darby continued.

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"I am not going to ask Mr. Potter how he and Webb managed to acquire such
fame over the past ten days. Nor will I ask how the lights came to go out. Nor
where the bombs came from. Suffice it to say that their parents will be
presented with the bill for my tuxedo trousers."

There was scattered laughter and a few more cheers rang out.

"You will all be going home today," said Mr. Darby. "No doubt you will be
subjected to lengthy interrogation by the press, as you have actually played
with the famous Bugs Potter and taken part in what has been popularly named" —
he winced visibly — "'the Bugs Bash.' I would like you to know that I have it
on the authority of Mr. Jonathan Solid that you are an extremely 'cool' group
and are clearly 'with it.'

"I personally consider you all extremely talented musicians. I hope you have
enjoyed participating in this festival. I have enjoyed conducting you."

There was applause as the bandmaster sat down.

"Boy," said Bugs to Adam, Laura and Sylvia at their usual table, "last night
was the most amazing night of my life! All my favourite groups were there!
Johnny Solid knew me! Even Spider Solomon was there with Radium Sample! He's
the greatest drummer in the whole world!"

"Well, actually," said Sylvia, "I think it was pretty well agreed thatyou are
the greatest drummer in the world."

Bugs thought it over. "Maybe," he said. "Iam good. I mean I am really good —"

"Yes, Bugs," interrupted Laura. "You are The Most."

"Okay," said Sylvia, "but there's still the little matter of you two guys
skylarking all over town without inviting us along."

Adam shrugged. "I was afraid to let anyone know in case it got back to Darby.
Besides, I didn't think you'd want to go."

Bugs slapped his forehead. "Why didn'tI think of it? I should have known
you'd want to see those groups. Who wouldn't?"

"Well, anyway, we saw them all last night," said Laura

"And I got to meet BiBi," added Bugs. "She liked me!"

"One thing," said Adam, a puzzled expression on his face. "How did you kill
the lights before you set off your flash bombs?"

Bugs looked surprised. "I thought you arranged that for me. I didn't kill the
lights — they just went out."

Adam and Bugs stared at each other in perplexity.

"Well," said Sylvia finally, "it's been an interesting ten days. I don't know
how I'm going to explain to my folks what went on here, but it sure was fun."

"It was," agreed Laura. "Bugs, I hope I didn't cost you too many drumsticks."

"Oh, no," said Bugs. "That's okay. You see, I buy them by the gross."

Adam, Sylvia and Laura collapsed with laughter.

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* * *

Barney closed his suitcase and sat on it while snapping the clips. "Let's go,
Ralphie-boy."

"Mmm," said Ralph dejectedly. "Gee, it's a shame we didn't get that emerald,
Barney."

"Don't think like that," said Barney brightly. "The Falusi Emerald isn't
everything. There's a whole world of jewels out there. Come on. Shake a leg."

"What's the hurry? Where are we going?"

"Do you know who arrives in Philadelphia today? Gigi Moreau, the famous
European actress! She's launching her new movie,The Brunette Who Saved The
World ."

"I don't like European actresses," said Ralph glumly.

"Yeah, but she's got the Randolph Ruby! It's worth four and a half million
and at seventy-thirty that comes to — umm — carry the six — "

"How did Randolph die?" asked Ralph nervously. "Not another tunafish mishap?"

"No, no," said Barney. "He was hit by a bus. Come on. We'll rent a car and
make Philadelphia in a day. Wait till you see that ruby! It makes the Falusi
Emerald look like mud!"

"Does it have a curse?"

"Only a little one. Come on, Ralphie, onward and upward!"

* * *

"So your Toronto visit was a success after all," said Claire as she and BiBi
worked over the delicate job of packing the actress's elaborate gowns. "You're
in all the papers kissing Bugs Potter."

"Isn't he the cutest thing?" purred BiBi. "And he's so wonderful with those
drums!"

"It was all a terrible racket to me," said Claire, holding her head from the
memory.

Charlie strolled into the room. "The limousine and extra security men are
here to take us to the airport. Are you almost finished packing?"

"Two minutes, Charlie," said Claire. "And from now on, BiBi, there's to be no
whining about that silly Falusi Jinx. There's no such thing. That emerald's
brought you nothing but good publicity." She swung the metal trunk lid down
just as BiBi reached in to smooth out a wrinkle in one of the dresses.

"Oww! My fingers! You closed it on my fingers!" Claire grabbed BiBi and
headed for the bathroom. "It wasn't closed," she said soothingly. "We'll get
some cold water on those fingers and everything will be fine."

"The emerald," wailed BiBi. "The emerald did this!"

"Jinxes aren't real," said Claire, holding BiBi's hand under the tap.

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"Maybe, but pain is!"

* * *

Adam and Bugs walked out of the main door of the Hotel Empress and set their
bags down on the sidewalk. "Well, Bugs," said Adam, "I guess this is it."

"Yeah," said Bugs. "Wasn't it a great ten days?"

"I'll never forget them as long as I live. Honestly."

"Yeah. We had an amazing time! We saw all the best groups, we met BiBi Lanay,
we got in the paper and everything!"

"It certainly was exciting. It'll be hard to go back to the old routine after
this."

"We'll write to each other, of course," Bugs decided. "You know — keep each
other up to date on the latest albums and all that."

"Right." Adam scribbled his address on a gum wrapper and handed it to Bugs.
Bugs wrote his on Adam's train ticket.

"Hey," exclaimed Adam, "I need this to get home!"

Bugs shrugged. "I don't have any paper."

"Never mind, it'll do." Adam stretched out his hand. "Well, so long."

Bugs shook his hand vigorously. "If you ever get up to Winnipeg—"

"Yes, I know. I'll follow the sound of the drumming."

Bugs slapped Adam heavily on the back. "I just don't believe it! I don't
believe that I could be such great pals with a flute-guy!"

Adam grinned. "That's flautist."

"Oh, yeah. That."

Gordon Korman

Gordon Korman wrote his first book,This Can't Be Happening at Macdonald Hall
, as a seventh-grade English project. By the time Korman had graduated from
high school he had written and published five other books includingGo Jump in
the Pool!, Beware the Fish!, I Want To Go Home andThe War with Mr. Wizzle ,
all available in Apple® Paperback editions from Scholastic, Inc. Korman is now
studying film and screenwriting at New York University. Between semesters he
finds time to answer piles of fan mail and make personal appearances across
the country.

About this Title

This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Publisher 2.0, produced by

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OverDrive, Inc.

For more information about ReaderWorks, please visit us on the Web
atwww.overdrive.com/readerworks

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