"Mr. Ratburn?"

Arthur's teacher lifted his gaze from his laptop and raised his eyebrows. "Arthur? Staying behind during recess? Shouldn't you be out playing kickball? All the boys love kickball. All the boys and Francine."

"I actually have something to tell you, sir."

"Oh, God...this isn't about a dead body is it? I don't think this school's reputation can handle another one of those."

"Well..." Arthur considered the question. "Sir, I think you need to see this."

Ratburn rose from his seat and followed Arthur over to his table, where the small writing carved into the edge was wordlessly pointed out.

"Ratburn must die..." he read aloud.

"There was the same thing written on one of the computers in the library." Arthur explained.

Ratburn actually chuckled "And that's the big disaster? Some graffiti about me?"

"You don't understand, sir!" Arthur protested, annoyed that his teacher didn't appreciate the severity of the situation. "I think...well I know there's a student with a personal vendetta against you. He wants to kill you—in fact, he almost did on the afternoon before last."

"There was nothing suspicious about that incident, Arthur." he insisted, waving the suggestion away with his hands. "There was a problem in the heating, and I accidentally got a pair of scissors to the neck in my confusion."

"But I—"

"As for somebody wanting to kill me, they definitely aren't original. The fact is I'm a very unpopular man at this school. I'm comparable to...I don't know...I guess Hitler. But I think I can handle the threats of some third-graders."

"But I don't think you—"

"No more of this. Run along now Arthur, before Francine single-handedly beats all the boys at kickball."

"You don't know—"

"Dammit Read, I said run along!"

While Arthur was trying in vain to warn Ratburn of the significant danger he faced, Buster leaned casually against the back wall of the gym—well known as the hangout for the lowest scum of the school's social network. Normally, he wouldn't be caught dead her. But he needed to meet somebody, and he didn't want to do it near the prying eyes of the goody-goodies. He wore a dark trench coat and baggy fedora—the standard outfit of Detective Baxter. He was just beginning to wonder if his contact would show at all, when he appeared around the corner.

"Hello, Binky."

The bulldog looked surprised. "Buster? You're the one I'm meeting here?"

Buster smiled grimly. "Who else would it be?"

Binky hesitantly took a step forward. "What's all this about? You didn't mention anything on the note about what you wanted to talk to me about?"

Buster also moved forward. "I'm not going to dance around it, Binky. There's no time for that anymore. I just have to tell you; I know."

"Oh, okay." His face remained blank. "You know what?"

"I know it was you. It's over, Binky."

Still nothing. "Lost what?"

Buster sighed. It was hard to be cryptic with a mind as dense as Binky's. "You lost the deadliest game of all."

Finally he caught on. "Oh, no!"

"Oh yes. It was a foolish move. You should have known that Detective Baxter would find the truth before too long."

Binky dropped to his knees and sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please don't tell anyone it was me! I'll never do it again, I swear."

Buster wasn't expecting this. "You...confess then?"

He nodded frantically. "But don't tell Ratburn it was me! Please Buster, I'm your friend. Remember when everyone turned on Detective Baxter? I stuck by you the whole time."

It was true. Binky had been the only supportive one after the MacGrady Cake Scandal. Buster considered himself an expert at reading the human face, and from what he could tell now, Binky was well and truly sorry for what he did. So he tried to kill Ratburn. He seemed to have learned his lesson. "You'll have a word to those friends of yours then?" Buster asked.

"Yes!" replied Binky immediately. "Yes, I will, I promise!"

"Alright Binky. I guess I can let you off this time. But I'm warning you; the second you slip-up again..." he leaned into his face. "Your ass is toast, punk."

Buster left on that note, leaving Binky behind to think over his chilling final words. As agreed, he caught up with Arthur by the lockers. "How did it go?"

Arthur shook his head. "Ratburn doesn't get it. He just refused to take it seriously. He wouldn't even let me tell him it was Binky."

"It doesn't matter." Buster assured him. "Binky won't be trying it again. I'm sure of it. I think he was probably put up to the whole thing by the Tough Customers."

"So...it's over?"

Buster looked out across the schoolyard. Peace had been restored. He smiled. "Yes, Arthur. It's over."

"Then let me be the first to say; a job well-done—Detective Baxter."