Floods 5 by Colin Thompson Read Free Book Online Page B

candidate for the job. The school genius, Winchflat, had solved the problem with a brilliant invention, a special paperbag that the deputy wore over his head to protect him from even the brightest sunlight. 24
    â€˜Normally, headmaster,’ the deputy said, ‘I would agree with you completely. I have found the Floods to be upright citizens, who always live by the magic code of witchcraft, which as you know includes clause three, sub-section eight, which says that no witch or wizard may ever cause any harm to a Belgian professor.’
    â€˜Exactly,’ nodded the headmaster.
    â€˜However,’ the deputy continued, ‘on the night the professor died, at the naughty hour of 3.13 am I saw all five of the Flood students out the back of the school, past the carnivorous nettle patch, by the very edge of the Dark Forest … and they were digging a deep hole.’
    â€˜But the professor wasn’t buried in a hole,’ said the headmaster.
    â€˜He might have been,’ said Grusom, ‘and then got dug up again.’
    This was such a ridiculous statement that no one could think of a response to it.
    â€˜Or,’ Grusom continued, ‘they were digging a tunnel to escape from the valley.’
    Once again, everyone was speechless.
    â€˜Or they were planting some magic bulbs to grow a new professor to replace the one they had killed.’
    This time, in addition to being speechless, everyone began wondering where Matron kept the straightjackets and if the padded cell was available.

    At that moment Avid opened the door andinterrupted their meeting. ‘Phone call for you, boss.’
    â€˜This does not add up,’ Grusom said to the headmaster. ‘I want you to give us photos of all the Flood children. We must get wanted posters made immediately. ’
    He stormed out of the headmaster’s office and followed Avid back to the attic lab. She handed him the phone.
    â€˜Hello,’ said the voice on the other end.
    â€˜Hello,’ Grusom replied.
    â€˜Exactly.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Tuesday,’ said the Belgian Police.
    It was a very bad phone line, made worse by the fact that it was being tapped not just with a hot tap, but a cold tap and shower mixer too, which made it almost impossible to hear what anyone was saying.
    â€˜Will you stop that tapping? I can hardly hear a thing,’ said Grusom.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said Avid. ‘Old habit.’
    â€˜We have contacted Professor Randolf Open-Graves’s place of employment,’ said the Belgian Police, ‘and they say they have never heard of him.’
    â€˜Maybe he works somewhere else?’ said Grusom.
    â€˜We tried there too. They said they have never heard of him either, but they did tell us something that might be of use.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜The professor who they have never heard of and who has no living relatives is currently sitting in the Café Max in the town square of Bruges, drinking coffee and eating after-dinner mints.’ 25
    â€˜At this time of day?’ said Grusom. ‘You’re telling me the professor who everyone says they’ve never heard of is having dinner less than an hour after lunch? I find that very hard to believe.’
    â€˜It’s eight o’clock in the evening over here,’ said the Belgian Police.
    â€˜Well, really, I find that hard to believe too.’
    This strange conversation went round and round and sideways for another forty-seven minutes and ended when the Belgian Police asked Grusom if he could send them an autographed photo of himself holding his blue torch.
    â€˜Colour or black and white? Front or side view?’ said Grusom.
    â€˜Umm, err,’ said the Belgian Police.
    â€˜I know. It’s a difficult decision. I tell you what, I’ll send you ten of each.’
    Grusom never went anywhere without his ‘Special Suitcase’. People assumed it was full of top-secret scientific FSI equipment. It