“But that’s not his real name,” I went on. “Randle is an anagram. If you switch around the letters, you get—”

“Endral!” Tim exclaimed.

“Nadler,” I said. “I think this must be Johnny Nadler. Your old school friend from St. Egbert’s.”

The captain put down the radio transmitter. He had used it, of course, to set off the explosive charge a few moments before. He didn’t let go of the gun. With his free hand, he reached up and pulled off the fake beard, the wig, and the eye patch. At the same time, he twisted around and released the leg that he’d had tied up behind his back. It took only a few seconds but at once I recognized the thin-faced teenager I had seen in the photograph.

“It seems you’ve worked it all out,” he muttered. His accent had changed, too. He was no longer the jolly captain. He was a killer. And he was mad.

“Yes,” I said.

“But it’s impossible!” Tim burbled. “He couldn’t have killed all the others. We looked! There was nobody else on the island!”

“It was Nadler all along,” I said. I glanced at him. The wind raced past and the waves crashed down.

He smiled. “Do go on,” he snarled.

“I know what you did,” I said. “Last Wednesday, you met us all at the dock, disguised as a captain. You’d sent everyone invitations to this reunion on the island and you even offered to pay a thousand dollars to make sure that they’d all come. Rory McDougal had nothing to do with it, of course. You’d killed him before we even set sail.”

“That’s right,” Nadler said. He was smiling now. There was something horrible about that smile. He was sure this was one story I wouldn’t be telling anyone else.

“You killed Rory and you left the poisoned chocolate for Sylvie. Then you dropped us on the island and sailed away again. There was no need for you to stay. Everything was already prepared.”

“Are you saying . . . he wasn’t here when he killed everyone?” Tim asked. He was still lying on the grass. There was a buttercup lodged behind his ear.

“That’s right. Don’t you remember what Mark told us when we were looking at the picture? He said that Johnny Nadler wanted to be an inventor when he left school. He said he was always playing with planes and cars.” I glanced at the transmitter lying on the ground just a few feet away. “I assume they were radio-controlled planes and cars,” I said.

“That’s right!” Tim said. “He was brilliant, Nick! He once landed a helicopter on the science teacher’s head!”