Over The Top: The Con

"No?"

"She's filthy rich!"

"Oh yeah?" Spike was getting interested now.

"I'll say. She owns the whole Estate, and lives there all by herself. You
could make a killing, working for her!"

"How do you know?"

"She's probably as doddery as an old duck!"

"Is that right?" said Spike. He was definitely interested now.

"Why don't you give her a try?"

"I might." said Spike.

I pulled the drawing pin out and gave the piece of paper to him.

"Go on" I said, "You never know how much you'll make."

"Why don't you do it?" he asked.

"I've got sport on Saturdays, and Sundays I go to church. I haven't got
time."

Spike shoved the paper into his pocket.

"I'll think about it." he said casually.

I knew by the look in his eyes that he'd already thought about it. He was
just about running on the spot, to get round to Miss Huddy's place. I'd
dangled the bait right under his nose and he'd gulped it down, hook, line
and sinker!

Spike turned up at Miss Huddy's on Saturday morning. He pushed the high,
heavy, black, groaning wrought-iron gate open and shut it behind him with
a dull metallic thud. He leaned his bike against the high brick wall, out
of sight of the road, and looked for a way into the property. Before him
lay a gardener's nightmare. The driveway was nonexistent. It was a lane of
short, wild grass, with two wheel ruts in it, where cars had been a few
days earlier. Trees, matted and interwoven, hung down almost to the
ground, and shrubs, long-since gone rank and wild, clumped together in
crazy profusion on every side.

Spike made his way through the festoonery until the house came in sight.
It was two-storied, with a rusty roof and grey wood walls, where the paint
had long ago fallen off. The entrance had steps, with large mossy statues