“The javelin was hidden in the branches of a tree,” Nadler explained. “It was on a giant rubber band. Remote control again. It was just like a crossbow.” He giggled for a second time. “Only bigger.”

Well that explained the leaves. Some of them must have traveled with the javelin when it was fired.

“And that just left you, Tim,” I said. “Nadler had to wait until you came out here. Then he was going to blow the ground out from beneath your feet and watch you fall onto the needles below. And with you dead, his revenge would be complete.”

“Revenge?” Tim was genuinely puzzled. “But why did he want revenge? We never did anything to him!”

“I think it was because he came in second,” I said. I turned to Nadler. “You came in second in every subject at school. And the boat you picked us up in. It was called the Silver Medal. I guess you chose the name on purpose. Because that’s what you’re given when you come in second.”

“That’s right.” Nadler nodded and now his face had darkened and his lips were twisted into an expression of pain. His finger tightened on the trigger and he looked at me with hatred in his eyes. “I came in second in math, second in chemistry, second in French, second in geography, second in history, second in music, and second in sports. I even came in second in needlework, even though my embroidered tea towel was much more beautiful than your brother’s stupid handkerchief!”

“It was a lovely handkerchief!” Tim said.

“Shut up!” Nadler screamed, and for a moment I was afraid he was going to shoot Tim then and there. “Do you have any idea how horrible it is coming in second?” he went on. Saliva flecked at his lips. The hand with the gun never moved. “Coming in last doesn’t matter. Coming in fifth or sixth . . . who cares? But when you come in second, everyone knows. You’ve just missed! You’ve missed getting the prize by just a few points. And everyone feels sorry for you. Poor old Johnny! He couldn’t quite make it. He wasn’t quite good enough.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been coming in second all my life. I go for jobs and I get down to the last two in the interviews but it’s always the other person who gets it. I went out with a girl but then she decided to marry someone else because as far as she was concerned, I was Number Two. When I’ve tried to sell my inventions, I’ve discovered that someone else has always gotten there first. Number Two! Number Two! Number Two! I hate being Number Two . . . !