Chapter Seven‘Now even the decent police are going to hate us,’ I said. ‘What a waste. I don’t suppose we could give it back?’
‘Samir’s right: it’s clearly from a bank,’ said Matilda with a shrug. ‘No individual owns this much. The bank doesn’t need it—and imagine what we could do with it!’
‘Build a giant statue?’ Mr O’Connell suggested heavily. ‘A rabbit, perhaps, or a cow? Maybe the world’s largest, most expensive petunia?’
‘This isn’t a joke!’ said Matilda. ‘Money is power. Shouldn’t we be the ones with power, instead of people like Officer Dry?’
Mr O’Connell rasped his thumb along his jaw. ‘Isn’t that what people like Officer Dry say?’
‘We’re already outlaws,’ Matilda pointed out. ‘And I’ve just been framed for murder.’
Mr O’Connell stared at her, aghast. He was so busy thinking
