Read Ellis Peters - George Felse 13 - Rainbow's End for Free Online Page A

‘What’s the use of fair means, if they don’t work? They’ve been trying to chill him out for ages, ever since they found out what he’s like, but he doesn’t even notice. As long as he’s running everything in sight his way, he doesn’t care whether people like him or not.’
    ‘Well, that’s what I’m saying. If he doesn’t care, freezing him out isn’t going to work, is it?’ Toffee Bill, treasurer of the gang’s funds and adviser on best-buys in the sweet world, expert on special offers, competitions and bonus bars, was the thinnest child in the choir, being blessed with one of those metabolisms that can deal with huge amounts of food without putting on an ounce of flesh. His voice was passable, but nothing to write home about, but his value to the group was immense, and they would have resigned
en masse
if his tenure had been threatened. He was, however, a pessimist, necessary ballast to any company that included Spuggy Price, the fiercest and most daring of ten-year-olds, and owner of a light, floating voice, good for at least three years yet, and understudy to Bessie’s mellifluous solo act.
    ‘We could scare him off with a ghost,’ this diminutive genius offered brightly. Three suppressive voices at once opined that of all people, Rainbow would be the last to believe in ghosts, since he didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t buy, sell or boss. ‘Besides, he’s been in the house more than four months now, where’s this ghost been all that time? He’d laugh his head off!’
    ‘He wouldn’t if everybody else was laughing,’ said Bossie thoughtfully. ‘Laughing at him! That’s the one thing he wouldn’t be able to stand. He can’t be all that sure of his ground, he’s always been a townie until now, this is a new venture for him. We’ve let it go on too long, but it’s still new. Once shake him, and he won’t think it worthwhile fighting it out, he’ll make off to the town again. But it’s got to be a real shocker to prise him loose. After all, he can sell the house, can’t he? It’s all done up beautifully, he needn’t lose on it, it’s a walk-in job, ready for occupation. He’d realise and get out. If we can make him a laughing-stock.’
    He had them all eating out of his hand by this time, as he usually could do at need, if only by reason of his overwhelming vocabulary. Bossie was twelve years old, only child of a marriage between a classically-educated intellectual and a shrewd, practical farmer’s daughter, brains on both sides of his parentage, and an insatiable thirst for knowledge in the product. He was relatively small for his age, but compact and tough, as plain as the plainest pike-staff that ever carried a deadly pike, with corrective glasses to eradicate the infant consequences of what is technically termed a lazy eye. His colouring was nondescript brown, with thick dun-coloured hair that grew in all directions, and unnerving hazel eyes enlarged unequally behind their therapeutic lenses, which in a few years he would discard, to become disarmingly human. Altogether, a walking time-bomb, propelled by precocious intuitions and abilities, and restrained by a classical and liberal education. He knew he was formidable, but he didn’t know how formidable.
    ‘And how do we do that?’ wondered Ginger, reserving judgement.
    ‘Well, he’s a dealer in antiques, isn’t he? That’s how he’s made his money, and that’s his weakness, because you can’t know everything about everything, and antiques is practically everything. So if we hooked him on an antique that would get him foaming at the mouth, thinking he’d cornered a fortune, and then show him up either as a cheat who was pinching something belonging to someone else, or a fool who’s fallen for a common forgery – you think he’d stand up to that? I don’t! He’s got a reputation to lose in the trade. He’d spread his wings and fly, as fast and quietly as he could, and hope nobody outside here would ever