“Not at all,” I said, without exhaling. “But if the D.C. finds out who I bought this hash off of, C.A. could lose four million frogpelts.”

I exhaled, filling the room with smoke.

“What’s a frogpelt?” Fundy asked.

“Money. Dollars. Four million of them.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked with waning confidence.

I began cleaning out the bowl with a coat hanger. His nervousness got me pumped.

“Well, earlier tonight we purchased a large quantity of blond Lebanese hashish from a certain rich A-rab who resides on the Cornwall Academy premises. And—” I blew into the pipe “should our little get-together here reach the Disciplinary Committee, I’ll just have to spill the beans.” I began refilling the bowl. “Now you don’t think the D.C. could in good conscience expel all of us without also booting that certain Princeton-bound A-rab, do you?”

Fundy started stammering, shifting his weight from leg to leg. Nobody spoke for about thirty seconds but Jonathan Wheeler displayed a rare smile. I felt foolish sitting there holding up the bowl, but I’d played my hand and it was Fundy’s turn to either go out or match me.

He called me “insidious” and “insolent” and “conniving” and noted that what I was attempting was “out and out blackmail.” A series of teary “how dare yous” followed and he capped his speech by threatening to get me “but good” if I ever threatened him again.

“I’m not threatening anyone,” I said, “I’m just doing my duty to ensure that all parties realize the extent of their actions.”

Fundy recoiled.

“Listen,” I said, “if you still feel that I’m being unfair then you have every right to turn around, walk down to Dean Mort’s house, and tell him everything.”

Fundy walked out into the hallway and then back into the room. An air of cautious optimism settled over us. Finally, he said, “Dunphy, can I have a word with you in private?”

Out in the hall, Fundy stammered before saying, “I can’t believe you. You’d actually turn in one of your pals just to save your own skin?”

“Look, I’m really touched by your concern for our minority students but Billy-Fu’s going to do okay with or without a Cornwall Academy diploma. It’s those guys in the room here who’ll be hurt the most.”

“Okay, Dunphy, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let three out of the six go free, and I’ll make certain that you’re one of the three.” He looked down as if he’d been far too generous.

“That’s not exactly my idea of a good deal,” I said.