sat down, and the other stood near him. Almost immediately, they started to talk in loud tones.

By now, Quint was looking over my shoulder. I guess we were being nosy together. We stared at the men, fascinated by being able to hear almost every word they said. Suddenly I turned to Quint. "Quint," I whispered, "I think they're fighting!"

Chapter 5.

Within two seconds, there was no doubt about it. The men were fighting, and fighting very loudly. We probably could have heard them even if the windows had been closed.

The man who was sitting in the chair had red hair and a straggly beard and looked scary. The other man had thick, black hair and looked strong.

"You double-crossing weasel!" the black-haired man said.

"I'm not double-crossing you, Frank," replied the red-haired one. "It's just that I'm not so sure about this plan of yours."

"What are you talking about? We've worked on this plan for three months. It's foolproof, Red!"

Red shrugged. He looked sullen. "So you say, but I just don't know."

"What are you afraid of, you lily-livered,

chicken-hearted wimp?" asked Frank. "You make me sick!"

"I'm not afraid of anything — except getting busted."

"Busted?" roared Frank. "By the incompetent cops in this town? Forget it. This is the heist of the century. It'll go down in history as the perfect unsolved crime. The detectives will be going crazy, and we'll be in the islands, living the rest of our lives in luxury. Girls, rum, mangos, and papayas ..."

I glanced at Quint and raised my eyebrows. Heist? Papayas? This was one of the most interesting — and confusing — conversations I'd ever heard. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping. Quint looked back at me, and his eyes were big and round.