The Outsider Test, 11. Shopping for surprise!

(Scruff continues)

"Okay," the man said threateningly, "Give it to me, now."
I smiled.
"Give what? I don't have any money, or even my mobile 'phone."
He turned on me threateningly. Ms. Madison quickly kicked him in the groin and disarmed him. The robber fled, robbed of his courage.
"I suppose this must be rather a rough area," she reflected. "Come on."
We were looking for the address where the old ambulance that had been used to snatch the Outsider and Sis was registered. According to the police computer it was somewhere around here. We'd parked a little way away so as not to look suspicious (but I think Ms. Madison's outfit looked that, especially the hat) and we made our way towards the building on foot.
I'm a North London girl. While Dad's factory was in Acton, we lived out in the leafy suburbs in the Muswell Hill area. I don't think I've been to Whitechapel more than twice in my life, and one of them was to go to a church service. While Ms. Madison was cool and collected, as she usually is, I was a little scared. This felt like the sort of place where crimes were committed. Nasty crimes. After all, Jack the Ripper had done his crimes in Whitechapel.
That was one reason I'd gone with Lynnette. I didn't want her to be murdered, and two girls together are a lot less vulnerable.
We emerged from the dark alley into a dark street. It looked the sort of place where low criminals hang out, and where muggings happen. I was okay - I didn't have anything worth stealing - but Ms. Madison looked a prime target.
But there, parked in plain sight, was the ambulance.
"That it, Scruff?"
"It is."
"And that shop is the address."
It was one of those all night places that rents DVDs and computer games out. My clothes would look fine in there, but I have a slight public school accent, and Ms. Madison sounds and looks REALLY posh.
"What do we do?" I asked. Usually I stay at home during all this adventure stuff.
"We go in and ask a few questions."
Before I could stop her, Ms. Madison had gone inside. I hurried after her.
"Good evening," she greeted the disreputable-looking man behind the counter.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, I just saw that old ambulance parked outside. It's beautiful. Is it for sale?"
"No. It belongs to the owner, Mr. Ghul."
"Really? Do you think he'd be willing to sell?"
"No, madam, I am not willing to sell."
Mr. Ghul had emerged from the back of the shop. If the man at the counter looked disreputable, his boss looked anything but. He was tall and handsome, hair swept back. He wore one of those high-collared jackets some Indian gentlemen wear, and a long black cloak worked with rich embroidery. His accent was even more public-school than Ms. Madison's.
"You're not? But I'm willing to buy."
"Ah, then one of us is willing, but our wills do not concur. It was most unwise for you to come here, Ms. Madison. MOST unwise."
"I don't think so." she drew the gun she had taken from the robber. Mr. Ghul shook his head.
"You do not know who I am. That gun is useless against me."
Suddenly an unseen force tore the gun from Ms. Madison's hand and pinned both of us to the wall.
"As I said," Mr. Ghul said as the force crushed us against the wall, "most unwise."

The Outsider Test, 10. Sidekicks to the Rescue

I had time to take a shower and change into more comfortable clothes before Ms. Madison arrived. She was perfectly dressed, as always. Some people think we look funny together, the world’s scruffiest teenager and the world’s best-dressed secretary. I just like Ms. Madison. Especially the way she gets annoyed at Sis.
“Scruff, the Green man is NOT your sister's boyfriend," she said sternly to me. I smiled.
"Sorry, I thought he was. You know, he IS the only man she ever dates, It was kind of natural."
Ms. Madison rolled her eyes.
"Scruff! That's... Scruff, you look worried.”
“I am.”
I showed her in. She looked at me and shook her head.
“Scruff, what are we going to do with you? You have to be the most untidy girl I know. And... what did you do to your arm?” she looked significantly at the bandage on my right arm.
“Accident." I wasn't about to discuss how I got injuries with Ms. Madison. Sis can be bad enough. "Look, some men have captured Sis. I got the number of their car, but I don’t know how to get into the police database.”
“Easy,” Ms. Madison sat down in the computer chair and began to work. In seconds we were inside the police database.
"How do you do that?" I asked in admiration.
"I'll tell you later. Where's that number?"
I handed her the car's registration and she typed it in. At once a record came up.
"Former ambulance, now registered to a Mr. Gordon Grant of Whitechapel." That was good news.
"Great! Did you bring your car?"
"Of course. I don't travel by public transport at this time of night. Look, do you want me to go to Whitechapel and mount a rescue?"
I shook my head.
"Lynette, I want US to go to Whitechapel and mount a rescue. I'm not just some untidy teenager whose only use is to chaperone her sister!"
"Okay, Scruff," Ms. Madison laughed. "I'm sorry, I should have been more considerate. Come on then."
We ran out into the night - and I remembered to lock the door.
Ms. Madison has a beautiful car. I felt like royalty or something as I leaned back in the expensive seat.
"You must be paid well," I said.
"Danger money. How about you? Your Dad was a millionaire."
"He left all his money to his two daughters, but my wicked stepmother stole most of my inheritance. So I live with Sis now. I'm really very cheap."
"Poor Scruff!"
We sped through the London night towards Whitechapel. I don't mind saying I was glad I wasn't alone. It's just not the sort of place I like to go on my own after dark. Like most of London, especially at the week-end.
At last Ms. Madison parked the car in a dingy alleyway and we got out. Even in the warm night I shivered. There was rubbish on the ground and graffitti on the walls. It looked kind of run down.
These days Whitechapel is a mainly Muslim area, so all we saw in the way of people were a number of local young men. They didn't look terribly religious, and I'm sure one of them gave Ms. Madison a lustful look - but they ignored me. And why not? She's a lot better looking.
"Follow me," Ms. Madison said. I followed. I wasn't too sure wherewe were going, but I knew Ms. Madison did.
"And what do we have here?"
Hearing the voice behind us, we turned to see a man pointing a revolver.

The Outsider Test, 9. Scruff Takes a Hand

(You people out there know me from my sister’s blogging, but after I asked her (for several days) and pointed out she couldn’t tell what I did so well as me, she let me write this:)

I stood in the alleyway, watching what happened to Sis and to the Outsider. I’m not much good in a fight, so I decided I’d just get in the way if I tried to help like that. I was forced to watch helplessly as a gun was produced, and Sis was knocked out. She was loaded into the back of an old ambulance, along with the Outsider, and I had just enough time to write down the numberplate before the vehicle drove off.
One of the really rotten things about being sixteen is you’re not allowed to drive a car. We’d come to the party in Sis’s pink car, but I can’t drive it, so I had to take the tube home. In my Catwoman costume. I hated it. Smart-alec comments were being handed around like, ‘is she real?’ (No, I’m an illusion. Honestly! Don’t these people think I have ears?). I think jumping on the train might have made them wonder, but still, even I have feelings. Just because I don’t care how I look doesn’t mean I don’t care how people look at me.
I got home feeling rather unhappy. Unfortunately I haven’t been able to break into the police car registration database yet, so I couldn’t use the information I had. I pulled off the Catwoman cowl, took off my boots, and sighed.
“Meow?” Samantha looked up at me. I smiled.
“Yeah. Sis got captured...”
Then I had a thought. I picked up the ‘phone and dialled one of the numbers in the memory.
The ‘phone rang on the other end. I hoped someone was in. Then the telephone was picked up.
“Hello, Ms. Madison...”
“Hi! It’s Scruff!”
“Does your sister want to date the Green Man again?” Ms. Madison asked suspiciously. That's the trouble with calling your sister's boyfriend's secretary.
“No! She’s been captured, and I kind of need help to find her. Could you please come over here?”
“Scruff! You’re worried!”
“I am,” I confessed. “She’s the only family I’ve got left! I can’t lose her too!”
“You’re right, Scruff. I’ll be over as soon as I’ve done my hair.”
I thought of several things to say to her, but I decided not to say any of them. I guess it’s her business what she looks like.
I just hoped she could help me find Sis.

The Outsider Test, 8. Fighting for the Outsider.

I saw five men struggling with the Outsider. Their intention was obvious - to capture her. I shouted a warning to Scruff to stay put and, acting on instinct, I threw myself into the struggle, hands and feet dealing out blows. So I was out numbered and surrounded by men taller than I was (I'd be worried if they weren't!), the Outsider was in trouble, and I had to help her.
I made a mistake. I should have thought before I hurled myself into the fight. I ought to have sized up the opposition, and worked out just how good they were likely to be. Instead I just assumed my training would be sufficient to defeat them.
Instead I found I was battling experts. I had intended just to be dealing out blows, instead I was recieving them. Now I was annoyed at my choice of a fancy-dress costume. I'd thought it would look cute to go in a pink version of my usual costume. It did, but I'd left off one thing - my equipment belt. That contained all sorts of things that might have helped me. But of course, I'd left it at home.
A strong hand tore the whip from my grasp, and then a fist slammed into my jaw. I fought back, of course, but the men seemed pretty expert too, blocking my blows. With a jolt I realised they were not what they seemed. Their faces were hidden from sight, behind hat-brims and scarfs, but they were not ordinary London toughs. I can beat them. These men were trained in the martial arts.
Someone brought a Karate-chop down hard on the back of my head, and I staggered back. But I wasn't beaten yet. I struck out, hitting another man in the groin with one small foot. Apparently they hadn't been expecting that, as the man folded up with a cry of pain.
I hit the man who held me in the stomach and, free, I turned to face them.
"Okay, a fair fight!"
"No!"

I looked round. There was another of the men, but he held a small pistol in one hand. His other arm was about the Outsider's neck, and he had the gun held to her head. She did not look happy. Not that I know how a swirling smoke-like figure whose only features are two glowing red eyes can look happy, but I'm sure she can.
In the grip of this large man the Outsider looked very small. Sinister too, but small. One smoke-like hand gripped the arm that was about her throat.
"Stop it, or she dies," the man wasn't local, but I couldn't place his accent. I relaxed my body, standing in the street, unarmed.
"I'm afraid he means it," the Outsider confirmed, sounding a whole lot less than happy. I got the feeling she knew very well who these people were, and why they wanted her.
"Okay, I surrender," I sighed. Just don't...
Then something very heavy hit me on the back of the head, and I fell forward into darkness.
We were prisoners!

Next: Scruff takes a hand!

The Outsider Test, 7. Meeting the Outsider!

I ran after the Outsider, through the kitchens, headed for the rear exit. She was fast, but for once I was chasing someone smaller than I am, and I was gaining slowly. She threw open a door and ran through. I followed. I found myself in a dark, rather spooky alley behind the building.
Then I saw the Outsider's glowing red eyes. She was standing still now, and I ran up to her, whip in hand.
She was still just a swirling, indistinct shape, a little under five feet tall.
"I served justice on him," the Outsider told me, her voice definite. I saw a movement in her swirling shape.
"Outsider, if you're really serving justice, we're on the same side."
"If you are the Girl in Grey, I agree with you," the Outsider replied. "But right now I have a crossbow pointed at your heart."
She was one suspicious girl, I told myself. Did she have a good reason to be?
What was more, from the way she spoke, it sounded like she was pretty normal in some respects - a word I don't use lightly when I'm talking about a four foot ten column of shifting smoke with glowing red eyes who carried an arsenal containing at least a crossbow and a sword.
"I don't want to hurt you," I reassured her.
She seemed to be into dealing with blackmailers. I wondered why. Had some blackmailer harmed her or her family in the past? I liked the idea, but we were hardly past the introductions stage.
"Will we meet again?" I asked.
"We will. For now, I must go!"
The smoke swirled, and it seemed to disperse. Then she was gone, vanished into thin air.
"Sis!" Scruff ran out to join me. I shook my head.
"She's gone, vanished like she was never there to begin with."
"What is she?
"The Outsider. But... I get the feeling that, inside that swirling black cloud of smoke, there's a girl..."
Suddenly a child's laugh broke in on us. I felt something move past me. Could it be the Outsider, invisible?
"What?!" Scruff exclaimed.
"The Outsider. She's gone. But I have a feeling we'll meet again."
Next time, I thought, I was going to be ready for her.
Then I heard a scream. At once I dashed out into the street.
I saw four men in suits and hats, faces concealed by the collars of their raincoats.
And they were struggling with the Outsider!

The Outsider Test, 6. The Outsider strikes!

The Outsider's sinister laugh echoed through the ballroom. The sounds of revelry stopped, and the partygoers stared at the spectral figure in the balcony. I quickly snatched my whip from Scruff's belt.
"What is it?" she called.
"The Outsider." I moved quickly towards Barnard. Scruff followed me, despite my orders. Teenage sisters...
Barnard stared up at the gallery. The Outsider stood there, motionless apart from the slow swirling of her semi-transparent form.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"Justice!"
Suddenly the Outsider moved. She shot forward into space, a cloak billowing out behind her. There were gasps of astonishment and cries of fear.
I just wanted to get between her and Barnard. If there was another, scarier female crime-fighter cutting in on my territory, I wanted to teach her she couldn't ignore me.
The Outsider landed on the dance-floor. She seemed to glide forward, towards Barnard. Quickly I stepped in between them.
"Stop!"
"Who are you?" the Outsider demanded, menace in her voice.
"They call me the Girl in Grey. I agree Barnard's a crook, but..."
"You're wearing pink."
"It's a fancy-dress party. You're supposed to dress up. Are you going to kill him?"
"Of course. Vengeance does not sleep, Girl in Grey. We are on the same side."
"You can't kill him here!" Scruff objected. "What about the dance floor? Blood would ruin it!"
"And you are?" The Outsider asked her. I shot Scruff a warning look.
"I'm Catwoman! Honestly, Sis, no-one knows what this costume is!"
"I think she meant your REAL identity," I pointed out.
"Oh. I'm not telling!"
"She's my assistant," I said.
Barnard suddenly turned and ran for the door. The Outsider moved, and Barnard fell with a cry of pain, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his right leg.
"And now, Jason Barnard, justice will be served."
The Outsider pushed me to one side. I was surprised at her strength, and I went sprawling on the dance floor.
"Hey!"
The Outsider pushed Scruff aside just as easily. With Scruff's costume that meant she ended up with her skirt somewhere around her thighs.
"And now, Jason Barnard..."
The Outsider struck. Barnard's head was severed from his body, and the Outsider flitted towards the door.
I scrambled to my feet and ran after her.
This time I was going to get an answer.

The Outsider Test, 5. Fancy Dress

I'm not much of a party goer really. When I was at university I went to parties, and I'd normally be the dull girl in glasses who hung around trying to have a meaningful conversation. I don't need glasses, but I wore them to keep off the sort of dull sports-team captains who seemed to enjoy making passes at me.
But I like fancy dress parties. Having changed I breezed into Scruff's room and whirled in my costume.

"Like it?"
Scruff laughed.
"You're.. you're YOU, but in pink!"
"I can't deny it, Scruff," I laughed. "I'm me, in pink!" I whirled again. "It's to confuse the enemy."
"Who are?"
"Scruff! Jason Barnard's the enemy!"
"Not the Outsider?"
"Well, maybe her as well. Anyhow, it's to confuse them."
"And my costume?" She stretched and yawned again. I suspect she didn't go to bed when I told her to.


"It's sort of matching."
"I'm Catwoman?"
"You're Catwoman."
"But I thought Catwoman wore a black leather outfit a bit like yours, this thing has a skirt."
"You're 1950s Catwoman, Scruff. Retro."
Scruff did not look convinced.
At least I'd got her into a dress. I haven't seen Scruff in one of those since we were kids. She hadn't finished dressing, of course - she still had her boots, cape and belt to put on. Not to mention my whip (I had to get it into the party somehow).
We looked pretty stunning, I thought. Once Scruff had finished dressing we went out to my little pink sports car (grey would be suspicious) and headed off to the party.
Barnard hadn't spared any expense. I wondered how many of his victims had paid through the nose for the lavish party. It was crowded with wealthy guests, women dripping with jewels (and not wearing very much other than those jewels. Some people think a fancy dress party is just an excuse to take off most of their clothes).
I'd even managed to persuade Scruff to brush her hair (okay, I brushed it for her), and we looked quite a pair. We were probably the most modestly-dressed people there.
Jason Barnard, stripped to the waist as usual, was the centre of attention. Dressed as a pirate (fitting, in my opinion), he was building a champagne-fountain. Silly people were standing about and chattering.
"Circulate," I told Scruff. "I'll try to get close to Barnard."
"Don't you want me to do that?"
"Certainly not. My costume's got fewer things he could grab if I wanted to retreat."
"Welcome!" Barnard cried. He was a tall, flashily-handsome man. The sort too many girls go for. Not me. He disgusted me.
Suddenly a little girl's laugh sounded through the hall. I looked up, towards the gallery.
There I saw two red eyes.
"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady..." The Outsider began to chant.
I had been right!

The Outsider Test, 4. Invitation to a murder.

I left Scruff using some of the skills she had learned in that expensive private school - searching the internet for mention of the Outsider - while I went to get ready for bed. Even us crime-fighters have to sleep sometimes.
I stroked Samantha, my head cat and favourite side-kick.
"Purr-row!" she said.
"Same to you, Sam. I hope you like Scruff. She's a wonderful person really."
"Sis!" Scruff called. I wondered what she'd found. I ran into the living-room.
"What did you find?"
"This. It's to do with the death of Mrs. Crowle, the blackmailer."
I looked at the screen and gasped.

It was definitely the Outsider. There was only one person in the whole world who looked like that. And according to the report Mrs. Crowle had been hanged.
Another blackmailer. That sounded like a clue.
"I don't think the Outsider likes blackmailers," Scruff said.
"I don't think she does. Well, tonight we'll get some rest. To-morrow we can find her next target."
"Aren't you going out to a party?"
"Jason Barnard's fancy-dress party? Of course. Would you like to come too?"
"Me?" Scruff sounded surprised - I don't normally have her come to parties with me, since most parties I go to have a rather strict dress code.
"Well, at a fancy-dress party I can have some control over what you wear," I cracked. "I'll get your costume to-morrow."
"But the Outsider..."
"Scruff, the only reason I agreed to go to Jason Barnard's party is that he happens to be the biggest society blackmailer in London. Jason Barnard's got roving eyes - and roving hands."
"If the Outsider decides to gatecrash the party, he'll have a roving head," Scruff offered her opinion.
"Another reason to go to the party. Now, BED."
"Sis..." Scruff began.
"This is my flat, and we have work to do to-morrow."
We went off to bed. I slept fitfully, dreaming of a swirling, smokey figure with glowing red eyes. And murder.
It would be a VERY interesting party.

The Outsider Test, 3. Conference with Scruff

Back in my ordinary clothes (Jeans and sweater, since you asked), I pushed open the door of my cosy little flat and went in, glad of the refuge the place provides for me.
"What happened?"
Scruff, my sixteen-year-old sister, stretched and yawned. She had been lying on the sofa with four of my cats, watching television.
"Lamont's dead."
"What did you kill him with?" was her immediate response. Like I said, she's my sister, and she knows me very well.
"I didn't. That's the worrying thing. I was outside on the fire-escape when someone else visited vengeance on him. He was beheaded in front of me."
"Wow!" Scruff jumped to her feet. "Was it the Green Man?" I saw the look in her eyes and smiled. Scruff's acted as chaperone for a couple of my dates with him - the ones where they'd let a teenager with masses of untidy black hair and dressed in baggy sweater and trousers into the restaurant. For the posh places we have to rely on Ms Madison. Sometimes we get both, which is great fun. Scruff enjoys needling Ms Madison. I shook my head.
"I wish it had been - then we could have gone to a nice bar I know in the area, and Ms Madison would never have known. No. this was someone who sounded like a little girl, but she looked..." I searched for the right words. "She looked like a ghost, a swirling black shape, like smoke. She's calling herself 'The Outsider', and she's pretty scary. You know, laughing, chanting nuresery rhymes. Oh, and she has glowing red eyes."
"The Outsider? And she beheaded Lamont?" Scruff was clearly fascinated. She's adjusting fairly well to my lifestyle. But then, she did go to a girls-only boarding school.
"Yes. I didn't see what with, but she killed him."
"So what now?"
"We have to find the Outsider. If she's on our side we'll benefit from knowing each other - that way we won't be treading on each other's toes on a daily basis. If she's not on our side, but she's really an assassin hired by one of Lamont's enemies, we have to stop her before she can kill someone who isn't such a vile villain as Lamont was."
"You're just curious," Scruff told me. I laughed.
"I can't keep anything from you, can I? Yes, I'm curious. But after all, I do dress like a cat!"
"Well, don't get killed," Scruff warned me. "You're the last family I've got in this country, and I don't want to be an American."
"I don't want to be dead just yet, so you've got a deal."
And so we began our quest to find the mysterious spectral figure that was
THE OUTSIDER.

The Outsider Test, 2. The Outsider Strikes!

I stared in amazement at the spectral figure that stood there. I realised the childish voice was coming from it. This was something outside even MY experience!
"What are you?" Lamont asked, quaking in his boots.
Again that erries child's laugh echoed through the room.
"Here comes a candle to light you to bed," the thing chanted. "And here comes a chopper to... chop... off... your... head."
"What is it?" Felicity screamed hysterically.
"It looks - and sounds - like a ghost!" Lamont was trying to stay calm. In my opinion he wasn't succeeding. Actually I was having trouble keeping calm too. The glowing red eyes the ghost had were hardly calculated to calm a girl down.
"I'm the Outsider," the ghost laughed. "And you're a criminal, Lambert Lamont. It's my duty to show you that crime doesn't pay."
"You..."
"London Bridge is falling down, falling down..." the Outsider began to chant another nursery rhyme. As a scare tactic it seemed to work wonderfully. Both Lamont and Felicity were scared stiff, and I wasn't exactly calm either.
"Make it go away!" Felicity pleaded. "Make it go away!"
"Felicity Crewe, go!"
Felicity fled in stark terror. I remained to watch.
It seemed someone else had got to Lambert Lamont first, and I could do nothing but watch from the window.
After all, I was going to visit vengeance on him, and it seemed the Outsider had the same motive.
"What do you want with me?" Lamont demanded. The Outsider drifted across the floor to where he stood. I realised she (going by her voice) was only small. Smaller than I am. That fitted the child's voice.
"I want YOU." she said. Then she laughed again.
"Here comes a candle to light you to bed..."
"What?"
"And here comes a chopper to... chop... off... your... head."
The Outsider laughed. Then the lights went off again. All I could see were the glowing red eyes of the Outsider. Lamont screamed. Then his scream was suddenly silenced.
The red eyes vanished and I heard the door open. Quickly I threw up the sash and jumped in, pulling my torch from my belt and turning it on.
The Outsider was gone. But Lamont was still here. I only had to look at him to know he was dead.
After all, I don't know of anyone who can survive having their head separated from their body.

The Outsider Test, 1. The Spectre in Spitalfields.

London is my home. I like it. Where I live is rather Bohemian, lots of artists, little cafes, that sort of thing. But London, like any big city, attracts criminals. Some are little petty crooks, driven by a desire for drugs, or alcohol - or just some sort of authority and power. But others are big crooks, men and women who think in millions.
Lambert Lamont was one of them. A blackmailer who specialised in the daughters of millionaires and had driven at least five girls to suicide. I don't recommend suicide. It doesn't solve anything. Strangling the blackmailer with a nice sturdy stocking, on the other hand, works wonders. Or so Mrs. Arcos tells me.
Still, I was stalking Lambert Lamont.
The trail had led me to London's East End, and to the rabbit-warren of houses that is Spitalfields. Once the homes of Huguenots, French protestant refugees driven from their homes by an intolerant king, then the residence of persecuted Jews, now there are many Muslims in the area. I passed a woman in a full-face veil in the darkness. She did not notice my grey form in the fog that had come off the river.
All the better for me. In fog I'm almost invisible.
I moved quickly and silently through he narrow street between tall houses that had once been a whole lot more respectable than they are these days. Lamont was ahead of me.
I drew my whip from my belt and caugt a fire-escape with it. Quickly I climbed the sturdy leather.
And then I was outside Lamont's window.
Looking in, I saw the greedy blackmailer, a tall, handsome man who wore an Italian suit. He was pacing the room, an evil smile on his face. The other person in the room was a girl. I recognised her as Felicity Crewe, a noted society air-head who I'm glad to say is only a self-inflicted blonde.
"Lambert!" she sobbed. "I thought you loved me!"
"Don't be a bigger fool than you already are, Felicity! I care nothing for you. Just for money. Now, if you pay what I ask I won't tell that idiot footballer you married that I've been having an affair with you. But if you don't..."
Suddenly the lights went out. Felicity screamed, and Lamont yelled.
"What's going on?"
I heard a little girl's voice begin to speak.
"Ding dong bell, pussy's in the well..."
"Felicity!"
"It's not me, Lamont!" Felicity sounded terrified.
The little girl voice began to laugh.
"Lambert Lamont! You've ruined many girls..."
"I got the light!" Felicity cried. She flicked the switch.
The room was illuminated again. The speaker was revealed.
All any of us could see was a swirling, smoke-like figure with a pair of glowing red eyes.
Felicity and Lamont both screamed.

Family Business, 10. Reckoning!

It was after one in the morning when we arrived at Acton, one rather cross girl in grey, her untidy sister, and two criminals, our evil stepmother and her partner in crime.

I jumped out of the car and helped our prisoners out. The Peroxide Peril gazed up in amazement at the building we were outside. An elegant 1930s building, now starting to show signs of dereliction.
"Do you recognise it?" I asked her. She nodded stupidly.
"I... it's... where my husband..."
"... was murdered by you."

She started violently.
"You killed my Dad!" Scruff protested. "He loved me, he looked after me! And you killed him!"
I took a key from my belt and opened the front door of the old factory. Last year the firm had relocated to a brand-new factory elsewhere in Acton. The site had been sold to developers, but they had not yet moved in.
Making everything perfect for me.
"Come in," I said politely. The Peroxide Peril shook her head.
"Now!" I motioned with my whip and she obeyed. I don't often get nasty, but this woman had murdered my Dad and robbed my sister. Then she'd tried to kill me. There's only so much a girl can take.
So I was going to give her some poetic justice.
"What are you going to do to me?" she protested. I smiled.
"Teach you not to rob your own stepdaughter," I replied with as much humour as I could muster - which wasn't much.
We stepped into the derelict, decaying factory. Moonlight streamed in through broken skylights, bathing everything in a mysterious silvery light.
It was wonderful. My kind of place. But I wasn't in the mood to enjoy it. Neither was Scruff, she walked beside me, holding the Peroxide Peril's own gun in her left hand (Scruff is left-handed).
"Where are we going?" The Peroxide Peril asked deperately.
"Where you stepped over the line, Mrs. Hill. Where you became a murderer."
"What about me?" her partner in crime protested.
"You can go. But if I ever find you commiting one crime again, you'll know what I'm capable of."
The man bolted in terror. The Peroxide Peril made to follow, but I shook my head.
"Not you. I need you. Forward!"
Terrified, she ran forward, into the factory. I ran after her, small feet deftly avoiding all obstacles. At last, on the gantry overlooking the huge empty storage tanks, I confronted her.
"So, Mrs. Hill, you killed your husband for money. How much did they pay you?"
"Ten thousand pounds! And it was worth it! He beat me..."
"You're a liar!"
Quickly I threw back my cowl, and the Peroxide Peril stared in horror.
"Joan!"
"Joan. Scruff!"
Scruff emerged from the shadows, and together we confronted our father's killer. She looked just plain ugly now, a cornered animal. Her peroxide-treated hair looked phony.
"Give me a chance!"
"You never gave Dad a chance. You killed him for his money, and then you found he'd left it to us. So you robbed Scruff. I ought never to have let the court give you custody of her! I should have fought it all the way! How much of her fortune is left?"
"Nothing!" the Peroxide Peril snarled as she stood on the edge of the catwalk. "I stole it all! And now I'll kill you!"
She pushed back on the railings to spring at us, but instead the railings gave way, and with a terrible scream she fell into space.
The storage tank was over fifty feet deep. I shone my torch down into the darkness, and there, at the bottom, we saw the broken body of our stepmother, the man who had killed our Dad.
It was over. I felt Scruff take my arm and heard her sob.
"It's okay, Scruff. She's paid."
So we walked away, out of the factory, to my car. And then we drove home.
The official verdict was suicide, the motive attributed was the approaching discovery that she had been robbing Scruff.
As for Scruff, I'm the only family she has in the UK. So I'm stuck with her!

Next time...

A brand-new story, 'The Outsider Test'.

Family Business, 9. Acton and Adventure

I turned to the door. The Peroxide Peril drew a gun from her handbag.
"Drop the whip. You may have outwitted my men, but you won't outwit me."
I looked down the barrel of the gun, and I knew she was willing to kill. I held on to the whip, sure that she would kill me anyhow.
Then I saw Scruff, forgotten by our Stepmother, move slowly and silently over the carpet towards her.
"You'll kill me anyhow," I said, playing for time. "Why should I surrender?"
"You'll have to die now, then! I was going to leave the country anyhow!"
Quickly I dodged as she fired. The bullet tore into the sideboard. The Peroxide Peril made to fire again, but Scruff bit her wrist and made her drop the gun.
Two men entered, one middle-aged and hard-bitten (I'm not sure by what, but probably by Scruff when he tried to hurt her), the other in his late teens.
"What...?" the older man began.
"Justice." I replied. "This woman has been robbing her stepdaughter, and she intended to force her into marriage with your son."
"I don't want to marry her," the young man mumbled. "She's untidy and she can't cook."
"And you intended to force your son to marry her. Then she would find it impossible to escape. However, she came to me. I'm the Girl in Grey, and I'm going to make you pay for your crimes. Especially," I turned to the Peroxide Peril, "your crime of murder."
She gasped. I laughed.
"I know, you murderer. You killed your own husband for his money. How it must have smarted when you found he had left it all to his daughters! But right now, you're coming with me."
Scruff helped me take them out to my car. We left the boy behind - he was as unwilling as Scruff.
I set the car's navigation system to take us to Acton. It was the only place that we could end this.

Family Business, 8. In the lair of the Peroxide Peril.

Leaving my would-be killers lying in a garden in Hampstead with broken legs, I ran back to my car. The Peroxide Peril had Scruff in her clutches and was going to force her into a marriage with the son of one of her criminal associates. I couldn't let that happen.
I reached the car quickly and jumped in. A turn of the key and my car's considerable computer equipment was activated.
I hoped that the Peroxide Peril would be heading back to her home, because I knew where that was.
I didn't need the navigation system to find my way there, I know that route. It didn't take long either.
And the beautiful part of it was that everyone thought I was dead. They wouldn't be expecting me at all.
I drew up a little way from the house and slipped out of my car. Keeping to the shadows my slight form was invisible in my grey suit.
I heard shouting. The Peroxide Peril!
"YOU are going to marry him! If you don't I'll kill you AND that snooping sister of yours. Stop snivelling!"
So Scruff was there. And she thought I was dead. Well, I'd reassure her in a moment.
I slipped down the side alley and jumped over the wall into the back garden, whip at the ready.
There was no-one there. Apparently the report of my death had lulled her into a false state of security.
I ran silently across the lawn to the French windows. Looking in I saw Scruff, looking very upset, while the Peroxide Peril berated her.
"You're useless! All I ever got from you..."
"You stole my money!"
"Nearly all of it. You..."
I saw her raise her hand to strike, and I acted quickly. I picked up a garden chair and threw it though the glass.
The Peroxide Peril turned. I saw her hand reach for a gun, and one crack of the whip disarmed her.
"Now, how about you tell the police what you just told Scruff?" I said with a smile.
"How...?"
"Oh, I had a little help. Your men leaped before they looked and I'm afraid they won't be doing much for a while."
"You..."
"Language. You're through."
Suddenly I heard the front door open.
"In here!" the Peroxide Peril called.
I prepared to fight.

Family Business, 7. In an English Churchyard

Scruff watched helplessly as I was dragged away. I was glad that the Peroxide Peril had not heard me call Scruff my sister, and apparently the crooks hadn't connected my words with what the Peroxide Peril had said.
The men pulled me into the street, a gun pressed to my back.
"One squeak out of you, girlie, and you'll get it in the back. And THIS time the gun's silenced."
I nodded.
"And if someone sees me in this get-up?"
"We'll think of something."
I felt him pull the tail of my suit, keeping me on a short leash, as it were.

They took me down Church Row, a beautiful street of Georgian houses that led down to the parish church, built in the 18th century and dedicated to St. John. Which St. John no-one knew until 1917 when the then Bishop of London said it was St. John the Evangelist, thus ending over a century and a half of ambiguity. Much altered since it was originally built (in fact completely turned around internally), it is an imposing structure, surrounded by a rather overgrown graveyard.
Perfect for murdering me in. I looked up at the church's tall tower, topped by a small copper spire. I had to do something, otherwise I'd end up dead. If only the man would remove the gun from my back.
I heard the men open the iron gates of the churchyard. I was pushed inside.
"Not far now, girlie."
I was hustled into the churchyard, around the north side of the Church. There was a high wall on one side and overgrown trees all around the gravestones and monuments. No-one would see.
"And when they find my body?"
"No-one will know who killed you. Kneel down."
I knelt. There was really nothing else I could do.
Suddenly a strange voice broke in on the scene of intended murder.
"'Ave yer got anyfing ter drink?"
The speaker was an odiferous old tramp. My would-be killers turned to get rid of him.
I saw my chance. In a flash I was on my feet. Two kicks sent the gunmen sprawling in the dirt under the trees. Two more kicks sent their guns flying away, across the churchyard, into a rabbit hole.
And then, with a mocking laugh, I was gone, taking a flying leap over the churchyard wall.
What I had not ralised was that the drop on the other side was somewhat greater than the height of the wall on my side. Desperately I pulled out my whip and caught the branch of a tree.
I swung safely to the ground on the other side. A well-kept lawn.
Then I heard two yells of fear behind me and two loud thuds as my would-be killers tried to follow me over the wall.
I left them for the owner of the house to find and ran off to try to rescue Scruff.

Family Business, 6. In the Hands of the Peroxide Peril!

I looked down the barrel of the pistol and gave the gunman a cute smile.
"Hi there. Your pal's hurting my sister."
"That's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you, girlie"
He lowered the pistol - but only until the barrel touched my navel. Nastier, I thought. A bullet there would kill me very slowly and painfully.
"You're not going to kill me, are you?"
I knew that a place like this would have guards, but I'd hoped they'd just send Scruff packing with a clip round the ear. Instead they'd held on to her and waited for me.
The gunman laughed.
"Don't be dumb! Without a silencer everyone in Hampstead will hear the shot!"
"What's going on?"
I recognised that voice. It was the Peroxide Peril.
But the man who held me turned his head. At once I turned my body away from the gun. I kicked the pistol aside and sent the man reeling with a punch to the jaw. He fell back, against the Peroxide Peril. I turned to run.
Then I saw Scruff. She was still in the hands of her captor, and he had a knife to her throat.
"Stay right where you are, girlie, or your little pal dies."
I stopped dead. The Peroxide Peril advanced on us.
"Scruff!" she exclaimed. Scruff's eyes widened.
"Mum! What are you doing here?"
"I think your friend in the grey suit knows that. Don't you?"
I nodded.
"You've been robbing your own stepdaughter. You were hiring a man to recapture her and beat up your other stepdaughter. You're a crook."
"I admit it, Girl in Grey. But you're not going to do anything about it. Take her to Hampstead Church Yard and deal with her - for good. The little snooper knows far too much."
"Mum! You don't mean... kill her?" Scruff sounded scared. The Peroxide Peril laughed.
"What else would I mean? Scruff, you don't know me. But you will. We're going to get much better acquainted. And you're going to get smartened up."
"I..."
"You're going to get married, Lilian. To the son of a friend of mine."
"I don't want to... Anyhow I'm too young..."
"You're sixteen. You can get married if I give my permission."
I struggled in the hands of my captor, long legs kicking.
"Take her away!"
"This time," the gunman said with an evil grin, "I'll use a silencer!"

Family Business, 5. Girls' Night Out

The day passed quickly as we went shopping in central London. But when night came two small figures in raincoats moved silently through the night, towards a blind alley.
Behind the brick wall at the far end of the alley was a secret door, and behind the door was my secret base.
It impressed Scruff. She looked... odd in there. My base is so tidy, and Scruff is so UNtidy.
I took off my raincoat and hung it up, then pulled on my grey mask. Scruff whistled.
"Well! What a wonderful outfit!"
"I'm afraid you'll just have to put a scarf over your face," I told her.
Soon the pair of us were in my grey car, speeding through London, towards Hampstead. I had word from one of my agents that the Peroxide Peril was visiting someone out there at a bar.
I parked the car in a quiet street in the London suburb, somewhere no-one would notice it. The two of us moved off silently, through the shadows.
We avoided main streets, preferring alleyways with dim light, where my grey costume melted into the shadows. Scruff followed me, until we were at the back of the bar.
The Peroxide Peril would be in a first-floor room, at the back. I pulled out my whip, and caught the sturdy guttering with it. I turned to Scruff.
"Keep watch here. I'll be listening outside the window."
I climbed up the whip while Scruff kept watch below.
The windows weren't curtained, and inside I could see the table.
The Peroxide Peril came in, dressed up in expensive clothes I suspected she had bought with Scruff's money. A man followed.
"Thanks for meeting me here at such short notice," the Peroxide Peril said. The man nodded.
"That's what I do. What do you want me for?"
"My stepdaughter Lilian has run off. I want her brought back. She's staying with her sister."
"And that sister...?"
"Hurt her badly. Teach her a lesson."
"Okay, lady. Family trouble..."
Suddenly I heard Scruff scream below. I slid down my whip and turned.
To look straight down the barrel of a gun.

Family Business, 4. Plotting in the kitchen

I got up early. Not that I didn't want to sleep in, but the cats (little bandits!) pestered me until I got up to feed them.
Having fed the cats I started to cook breakfast for myself and Scruff. If I didn't I knew Scruff would try to do it, and she has been known to get egg on the ceiling, which is funny, but murder to get off.
Samantha watched me from the kitchen table, and I smiled at the sight.
"Don't worry, Samantha, Scruff's a friend. Remember?"
"Yeah."
Scruff entered, yawning. In a pair of pyjamas that looked like they had been made for someone considerably larger than her, she looked quite funny. She was barefoot, of course, and her waist-length black hair was a mess. But then, it always is.
"Breakfast," I explaned cheerily.
"What about the Peroxide Peril?"
"Oh, her. Well, what we have to do is link her to Dad's death. I'd hoped there was come other way of doing it, but right now it looks like we'll have to kidnap her and get her to confess."
"Great! I've always wanted to kidnap her! But she's my legal guardian..."
"Scruff, you're sixteen. You can choose where you live. With me, for example. We'll find a nice school in London, or a college where you can do A-levels..."
"And if I don't want to?"
"Then we'll have to think of something you can do. I'm afraid there won't be a lot of your inheritance left after the Peroxide Peril has robbed you."
"I could help you fight crime."
What could I do? Scruff's so appealing. I shook my head and laughed.
"All right, Scruff. But remember, I'm in charge. Now, I have an idea...
As I explained it to Scruff her eyes grew as wide as saucers.
It was, after all, a brilliant plan.

Family Business, 3. The Peroxide Peril

I crouched in the darkness outside my stepmother's house, trying to take in what I had heard.
First of all, my stepmother had been embezzeling Scruff's inheritance. That was bad enough. You've seen my drawing of Scruff, she's the sort of girl it's easy to like so long as you don't have to tidy up after her. Kind of like a big, untidy cocker spaniel, I suppose. To think the Peroxide Peril had been robbing her made my blood boil. How dare anyone mistreat MY sister!
What was worse, the Peroxide Peril was the assassin who had been hired by the men who killed my Dad. She had assumed that he had willed everything to her, and to add to that she had the pay-off for the murder. I knew she married Dad for his money, but I'd had no idea she'd KILLED him for it.
Now I did. I could bring her to justice for robbing Scruff, but then I might never be able to get the proof I needed that she had been the assassin who killed my Dad. To do that I'd have to use my head. To crash in there and start to make trouble might work for a huge young man, but not for me. Men might be able to get away with using their muscles instead of their brains, but not me.
I turned and ran back across the garden, back to my car.
When I got back to the flat I found Scruff asleep on the sofa, and the TV still on. I turned off the set and she woke.
"Oh! It's you!"
"Who else would it be?" I asked. I sat down on the arm of the sofa.
"Scruff, I want to... We don't have secrets, do we?"
"Well, we never did," she agreed.
"Okay. I went to our stepmother's place tonight."
"You didn't?" a look of concern flashed into her eyes. I laughed.
"Don't worry, I didn't crash in there and make a scene - you ought to know me better than that. I just listened at the window and left. She was talking to a man there. She's been stealing your money."
"The dirty..."
"That's not all, Scruff. She said she killed Dad."
"No!" Scruff cried. I could see she believed me. We both know her too well to think well of her.
"Yes, Scruff. Have you heard of the Girl in Grey?"
"You mean the mysterious female crime-fighter who dresses as a cat?"
"Exactly. Well, I'm the Girl in Grey."
"I know," Scruff laughed. "Give me SOME credit for a brain! So, when do we start?"
"To-morrow," I answered. "Tonight we'll rest."
The two of us went off to bed.
The next day we would begin to make our plans to visit justice upon our father's killer.

Family Business, 2. The wicked Stepmother

As I'd suspected the room I keep for Scruff was now a tip, with clothes scattered all over the place. I nearly threw a pile of them in the wash, but she told me they were actually clean - apparently she couldn't be bothered to put them in the wardrobe.
She's a great sister, really, but very, very untidy.
"I have to go out tonight," I told her. "We'll get some fish and chips from the place round the corner and watch TV while we eat."
I had decided to pay my stepmother a visit. She's poisonous, a peroxide blonde who married Dad for his money. I'd let the court appoint her Scruff's guardian, but now I was starting to see that I'd made a huge mistake.
Supper was great, just like when we were children, when Dad was still alive, Scruff and me sitting on the sofa, watching TV and eating fish and chips. Scruff talks with her mouth full - but you've probably guessed that already.
Once it was done I jumped up and went to wash my hands. Coming back, I ruffled Scruff's lovely black hair and grinned.
"Okay, I've got to go out now. Make yourself at home."
"'Bye," she said affectionately. I left quickly.
I made my way to a place hidden in the back alleys of London, a place where I kept a sleek grey car for nights like this.
There I changed into my close-fitting costume, and soon I was on my way from the more Bohemian streets where I chose to make my home towards the respectable suburbs of the capital.
I stopped in a leafy avenue, full of large, respectable-looking houses. Houses I knew hid terrible secrets, worse than the houses of Limehouse.
And in one of them lived my own stepmother, the woman I detest above all others.
I got out of the car and jumped over the rear fence, landing silently on the lawn. Light came through the French windows, filtering through curtains.
I padded silently over the wet grass until I stood at the French windows. Through the curtains I could see my stepmother, dressed in an expensive gown that told me she was not alone.
"... apparently the child's gone to stay with that sister of hers," she said. "You know, the suspicious blonde who lives in a flat in the City?"
"I know," I heard the voice of a sophisticated, ruthless man. "Why did you let her?"
"Clive! You know I have no control over her! You can't exactly control a girl like her with money! And it was YOUR son who refused to marry her!"
"Harry quite naturally refused to marry a scruffy teenager who looks like some sort of vagrant!" the man answered. "And now she's with this suspicious sister who's sure to work out that you've been robbing Lilian's inheritance."
"She has no proof. Just like she's got no proof I pushed her father into that pulping vat..."
I gasped.
I had never even realised how poisonous she was! And now my campaign for justice, my quest to visit vengeance upon the wicked, had turned very, very personal.

Family Business, 1. Home again.

Much as I enjoyed my trip to Spain (at least after the Akenbola brothers were safely locked up in my castle dungeon again), I was glad when I parked my car in the garage of my London home and, suitcase in one hand and Samantha's basket in the other, climbed the stairs to my flat.
My neighbours usually feed the cats for me - we have an agreement about that - so I wasn't too concerned when I found the door unlocked. I once tried those timed cat-bowls, but the little bandits just forced them open. Once Inside I put down Samantha's basket and let her out again. She ran into the flat.
Then I saw a pair of shoes that weren't mine, and I smelled bacon. Fried bacon.
I hurried into the living-room. Then I sighed.

I had a visitor. She stretched and yawned. I shook my head.
"When did you arrive?" I asked the untidy black-haired girl.
"A couple of days back. You weren't here..."
"I was in Spain. I told the neighbours..."
"Well, I just got your spare key from under the mat. I can look after myself..."
"I suppose your room's a tip now? Did you put any washing on?"
"No. I didn't need to."
There's something about Scruff that brings out my mother-instinct. It makes me want to yell at her. She's actually my little sister, aged sixteen, and her name's Lilian. I hope my drawing illustrates why she's better known as Scruff. She had been living in at the boarding school, and I wasn't sure why she was in London.
"Scruff?" I asked her. "What happened?"
"I don't want to do A-levels," she replied. "I'm no good at them, and I want to leave that school anyhow. I thought I'd come to London and live with you. After all, you've got plenty of money. And I could help you."
Great, I thought. The world's untidiest teenager wanted to be my assistant.
Truth to tell I'd have let anyone other than Scruff do it. It's not that she isn't a great kid and a friend, it's that what I really need an assistant for is filing, and if I left Scruff to do that I'd end up with my files all covered in egg and bacon stains, all over the place.
"Is that all?"
"No. Mum stopped paying me my allowance."
'Mum' - our stepmother - was supposed to be looking after Scruff's inheritance. She had no right to refuse to pay her allowance. It sounded serious.
"Okay, Scruff, I'll look after you. Is there a pile of washing-up in the sink?"
She nodded guiltily. I just laughed - little sister can be so annoying sometimes. But maybe it was that posh school where she'd had all her meals cooked for her, and all her washing done for her.
"Settle down. I'll call the maid and see if she can do anything about your room."
I thought I might be saddled with my sister for a while.

Revenge of the Spanish Prisoner. 8, Plunge of Peril.

I fell forward, into the dark and yawning chasm before me. I screamed, and I heard the Akenbola brothers laughing like a couple of drains behind me.
But the scream had been for their benefit. Knowing that every crook who ever captured me would take my belt, I had other gadgets secreted about my person.
You may have noticed from my self-portrait that my costume has a tail. There's a reason for it!
As I fell I reached round to my costume's tail and quickly pulled a spare bullwhip from it. Desperately I wielded the whip, and I felt its thong take hold!
The whip became taut. The jerk nearly pulled the whip from my grasp and my arms from my shoulders - but only nearly. I braced myself and winced in pain as my small body slammed against the side of the chasm.
And there I hung in the darkness, in shadow, invisible against the wall of the chasm. Up above I could see the figures of the Akenbola brothers and their goons on the bridge, in the moonlight.
"She's gone," I heard O. Bucky say. That was wonderful - he's always been the leader, and if he thought I was dead the others would too.
I watched them go, and then I began my climb to safety.
It wasn't pleasant. Viñacos is built on the gypsum plateau, and the sides of the chasm were pure gypsum, tough, shiny crystals. The whip helped, of course, and at last I was on the bridge.
I ran from house to house along the main street of the ruined village. Then, seeing a projecting beam, I spotted a better way.
With a crack of my whip and a jump I was on the rooftops of Viñacos, away from prying eyes. I ran, glad that the roofs were able to support my meagre weight.
I was nearly at the Akenbola headquarters when I heard a van starting up. I ran faster, and then, as I saw the van below me, I jumped.
I landed safe on top of it, just as it moved off. It was one of those with an entirely separate front cab, just the sort I liked.
"What's that?" I heard someone call.
"Something landed on top of the van!"
I reached down the wrenched open the front passenger door, then pulled out the man sitting there. Just a goon, he was thrown into a stand of prickly pear. Painful, but nothing else.
Then I pulled open the driver's door `and yanked him out before slipping in there myself.
Now I was in the driving seat!
I picked up the driver's mobile 'phone and called the Hacienda.
"Manuel, have the staff all ready and armed. I'm bringing in the Spanish Prisoner. And call the cops and tell then that some bandits have been using Viñacos!"
I sat back with a smile as I drove down the mountain, towards the main road.
The Akenbola brothers were not happy when they arrived at my hacienda. O. Bucky tried to tear me apart with his bionic arms, but they just fell off again.
We turned their men, a bunch of bandits, over to the police. As for the brothers... well, now there are TWO Spanish Prisoners in my castle dungeon, and all their outgoing mail is censored.
And J. Bucky has to act as arms for his brother.

THE END

of 'REVENGE OF THE SPANISH PRISONER'

But

The Girl in Grey will return!

Revenge of the Spanish Prisoner. 7, Drop of Doom

Having taken my belt, J. Bucky Akenbola hustled me brutally down the street, twice knocking me to the ground. By the time he pushed me inside I had lost my hat and my grey suit was besmeared with the dust of the street.
He opened the battered wooen door of the building and threw me inside. I landed heavily on a hard floor.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” O. Bucky Akenbola, now equipped with a new bionic right arm. I looked defiantly up at him - which led to him kicking me in the ribs.
“Well, Girl in Grey, just the guest we needed to complete the party.”
“You mean this is all some revenge plot?”
“Sure! You locked my brother up...”
“Your brother connec people out of hundreds of thousands of pounds. I just made him feel how his victims do.”
“You little...”
“Language,” I reprimanded him. “There’s a lady present, you know.”
“You’re no lady!"
"Still, I'm touched you did all this for me."
"Not just for you, you witch! There's a weapon out in the badlands, left over from tests Franco did. A weapon that could make us the most powerful villains in the world! And we are going to get our hands on it to-morrow."
"Not if I have anything to do with it," I replied boldly.
"But you won't be able to have anything to do with it," O. Bucky said with an evil grin. "Take her to the chasm!”
I didn’t like the sound of that. But when you’re as small as I am, and your enemy has you in the clutches of a half a dozen huge thugs, there’s not a lot you can do about it. I was dragged from the building and along the main street to the huge chasm that divided Viñacos in two. I was taken onto the bridge and lifted onto the parapet. Looking down I saw jagged rocks on the side of the chasm, and darkness far below. It didn't look the sort of place I wanted to be jumping into, and I said so. My enemies and captors just laughed.
“Goes down over a hundred feet, into underground caves,” O. Bucky told me. “And you’re going to find out where!”
Then he grabbed my ankles and pulled. I tried desperately to resist, but I toppled forwards, into space. Then I was falling into the abyss...

Revenge of the Spanish Prisoner. 6, Village of Villainy

I rode out of town into the moonlit night. Almeria's kind of romantic by moonlight. In the daytime it's... well, it's hot, and my favourite time of day is siesta. For one thing, it gives me plenty of opportunities to get out at night (and to dream about the Green Man).
With the sound of guitars in my ears, I rode out, onto the plateau, and towards Viñacos.
It was a pleasant enough journey, down what was left of the dirt road that used to connect Viñacos to town. I just wished the Green Man was with me - that would have made it perfect. Just us, in the moonlight.
Dreaming like that somehow shortened my journey rather considerably, and soon I was high on the cliff overlooking Viñacos.
It must have been a pretty little village. It still was really, but kind of sad too, all derelict and deserted. Some houses were roofless and some had partially collapsed. It had a main street and a couple of small lanes, and was split in two be a huge chasm, over which was a bridge.
"Stay here," I told my horse. "I'll be back for you."
I slid out of the saddle and began to make my way down the cliff, towards the village. My grey costume blended perfectly with the rock.
I slid down behind a huge stand of esparto grass and stayed there a while, listening. Someone, close at hand, was playing rap music. After the guitars in town I thought it was quite a come-down.
I crossed the street quickly, then stood stock-still, looking and listening, back to the wall.
"Theñor Akenbola! Theñor Akenbola!"
I heard the voice and smiled. Local hired hand. The man's accent was so thick you could use it for insulation. I remember the first time I went to Almeria I couldn't understand a word the locals said. Kind of like going to Glasgow, really.
"Yeah, what is it?"
That was O. Bucky.
"The weapon it is very dangerous."
"Sure, well I know that. That's why we want it, you idiot."
"Who you call idiote, Theñor? I Do not have arm that fall off."
I stifled a giggle.
"Yeah? Well because of that arm the Girl in Grey is coming here - right into my little trap. And then, when she's been disposed of, we'll get the weapon, and Spain will be at my mercy!"
That, I thought, sounded important. Suddenly I heard someone cock a revolver behind me.
"Turn around real slow and keep rour hands above your head," J. Bucky Akenbola said menacingly.