Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,56

after half a minute, then waved the others up the drive.

‘What if they’d answered?’ Marc asked.

‘Just throw out some bull,’ PT said, making sure Dumont was out of earshot as he stepped on to the front lawn. ‘Ask if they want some gardening work done, ask for some random name and pretend that you’re at the wrong house. When my dad cased a joint he’d always put on a suit and pretend to be an encyclopaedia salesman. People expect salesmen to be crafty and thought nothing of it, even if he’d been sneaking around the side of a house and peeking through windows.’

Dumont was sizing up a large flower pot. ‘I could throw this through the front window, easy.’

PT backed away from the house. ‘You said the old caretaker staggered into the village with a burst appendix. I doubt he went around locking all the doors and windows first.’

Two ground-floor windows were open along the side, but Marc hit the jackpot when he turned the back door handle.

‘Nice one,’ PT said, as he followed Marc into a large kitchen. ‘Now we’ve got to be careful in a place like this because if the caretaker comes back he’ll call the gendarmes. They might dust for fingerprints. We haven’t got gloves, so pull the sleeve of your shirt over your hands or grab a piece of rag before you touch anything.’

Paul had never done anything like this before and couldn’t help thinking that it was stupid because it would attract attention. But he had no leverage over the older boys and knew he’d look a hopeless wimp if he complained. He swiped a doily from the hallway table and wrapped it over his hand before leading into the living room.

Dumont broke the silence by knocking a pair of china horses off the mantelpiece and crunching them under his boot.

‘Up yours, Mr LeConte.’

‘Who’s Mr LeConte?’ Marc asked.

‘The owner,’ Dumont said. ‘My dad hates his guts. He built this place with money he made ripping off my grandfather back in the day. I’m gonna do the biggest piss all over this joint.’

Marc started to laugh. ‘You’re like a tom cat! Why have you got to piss on everything?’

Dumont was too busy kicking over an occasional table and stamping down on its spindly legs to bother answering. Paul followed PT up the stairs.

‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ Paul asked nervously.

‘I smell money here,’ PT replied, as he stopped by a table and picked up a small golden statuette of a mummy. ‘Feel the weight of that,’ he said as they passed it between cloth-covered hands.

‘Blimey,’ Paul said.

‘Solid gold,’ PT explained. ‘Egyptian, probably three to five thousand years old. Untraceable and probably worth more than two thousand dollars at a New York auction house. So how about we let the fat idiot have his fun downstairs, and you and I can make a little money?’

Paul still wasn’t comfortable, but he liked PT taking him into his confidence, especially after he’d brained him back in Bordeaux.

‘And I tell you what else.’ PT smiled. ‘Dumont’s ignored what I told him about fingerprints. If there’s any trouble, we can drop him right in it.’totally

Paul was no fan of Dumont, but PT’s callousness sent a chill down his back.

‘I thought he was your mate,’ Paul said.

PT shrugged. ‘There are people I like and people I don’t in this world, but no one’s my mate. That’s how I’ve survived on my own since the day the cops murdered my dad.’

It was a horrible attitude, but Paul understood how tough it must have been for PT to arrive in France at thirteen years old without knowing anyone. The experience would either break you or make you hard.

‘Nice little library,’ PT noted, as he disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

The balcony overlooking the front hallway contained eight levels of fitted shelving, each stuffed with books. Paul loved to read, but all his books had been left behind in Paris.

‘Is it OK if I take some of these?’ Paul shouted.

PT’s answer was muffled because his head was inside a wardrobe. ‘You’d be rather a bad burglar if you didn’t.’

Downstairs Dumont knocked something over and screamed out in pain.

Marc emerged from the living room, laughing so hard that he had to hold his stomach. ‘You should have seen it, Paul. Big marble column, right on the idiot’s foot!’

‘Shut up!’ Dumont whined.

Paul scanned the rows of books. He didn’t have a bag, so he was limited by what he could carry in his