Double Trouble! 15.

I rose early, as I usually do, to find Emily was already up and watching the breakfast news.
Then so was I. A huge fire had ripped through a haulage company's yard in the East End, destroying everything. Five men working for the company had been killed. Apparently it was arson. A girl in skin-tight black had been seen running from the scene, but the police had no leads on her.

I did. The Black Kitten had struck again. Moriarty owned that yard, and although the news report said that the yard and goods had been fully ensured, I knew differently. There had been items in that yard that no-one could insure because they were very, very illegal. The Black Kitten had destroyed several million pounds' worth of heroin shipments that had been stored in the yard prior to their being sold on.
She was waging a one-girl war against her Dad's business. Maybe Laura thought she was clever and wouldn't be caught. Certainly she's overpowered the guards there. But I knew it was only a matter of time before she slipped up and discovered this isn't a game, it's a serious, deadly business.
"It's her, isn't it?" Emily said. I nodded soberly.
"It's her. That was one of her Dad's businesses. He wn't be in the mood to donate funds to any cause, however good, this morning. I know he kept heroin shipments in that yard."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, I have a friend who has sources of information. An old school and university friend. She keeps me up to date with these things. That heroin wasn't moving for another week, and I was planning a raid on the yard myself..."
"But Blackie beat you to it?"
"Yes, she did."
"It must be hard, having a Dad who's a crime boss."
"Yes. Now, I need to take a shower and you need to dress."
She may be black and smoky, but I could see her hair was done up in a towel.
"Okay, boss," Emily slipped off the sofa and ran back to her room while I went to use the shower.
Blackie was playing a dangerous game, I thought to myself as I showered. Obviously she was rebelling against her father, but while for most teenage girls that results in long rows and sulking, Laura was liable to end up dead or worse. Yes, you read that right. There are nastier things than ending up dead, and Mr. Moriarty, charming fellow that he is, knows most of them.
I had to warn her. And I had to deal with Mr. Moriarty. That's not what I normally do, usually I work slowly towards smashing big gangsters like him, but little Blackie had forced my hand. Bless the irritating little girl!

Double Trouble! 14.

We were greeted by a tired Scruff when we got back. She looked like she needed to go to bed.
"Hi, Scruff," I said cheerily. She groaned.
"Hi yourself, Sis. How was it?"
"Great. Emily now knows the Black Kitten, and apparently they get on okay."
"Wonderful. What now?"
"Now we know who she is, I'm going to pay Mr. Moriarty a visit."
"Sis, that house..."
"She gets in and out, doesn't she? Anyhow, it won't be the Girl in Grey, it'll be..."
"Batgirl?" Sometimes Scruff can be very annoying.
"No, Miss Jane Hill, wealthy philanthropist."
"In glasses?"
"In glasses. He's never seen me unmasked before, and if I wear glasses I might look less athletic."
"You won't. What make you think he'll even look at your face?"
"Scruff, now you're being offensive."
"Sorry, force of habit. Will I have to come too?"
"No. I'll take Emily along. If you'll come."
"Try to stop me," Emily said with determination in her voice. Actually you don't try to stop Emily. If you do you end up with a crossbow bolt in you and she carries on without you. Not that she's ever shot me, but she's shot other people.
"Then I want you to go and meet with Laura while I'm talking to Mr. Moriarty. You have to warn her that her Dad won't spare her just because she's his daughter."
"Okay. And what do we do now?"
"We go to bed. Whatever the Black Kitten's doing tonight the clues on her blog are far too vague for me to get in there before she turns up. I wish she'd be more precise because I'm getting worried about her."
"You're jealous," Scruff said tauntingly.
"Scruff, it took me months to train to my presnt level of perfection. When I was tracking the men who paid for Dad's death I nearly died four times. The Black Kitten might not be so lucky. I'm worried about her."
I hoped that would wash. To tell the truth I was a little annoyed with her for kicking me in the jaw and taunting me on her blog.
But I was tired, so I went off to bed. Emily and Scruff went to bed too. We'd need all our strength the following day.
And so would Laura, although none of us knew that.

Double Trouble! 13.

I looked up as I heard the door of my car open. The Outsider slipped inside, red eyes glowing brightly.
"What did you find?"
"Pat Malone's not the Black Kitten, but she's a friend of hers. The Kitten and Pat are trying to smash their fathers' rackets."
"Whew! That's pretty personal!" I exclaimed. Mobster's daughters out to get their dads. THAT was serious family trouble and no mistake! My detective abilities were proven, I'd thought it was family related. A lot of things to do with mobsters are, after all.
"I'm afraid I scared Pat, and her scream brought some bodyguards in. Blackie and me fought them off..."
"BLACKIE!?" I cried, amazed.
"Yes. She's really nice. After I convinced her I'm not a thing, anyhow."
"She's a friend?"
"My friend. She sort of wants to do everything on her own. But we can't let her. She's not a professional like we are..."
"Thanks, Emily." I started the car. "Scruff, did you get that?"
"I did. Are you coming home now?"
"Not immediately, I've got some things to check up on. Like Belle Olivers."
"Fast asleep in her cosy little bed. I got into the security system at her parents' house."
That was strange. It meant we'd checked all three suspects and NONE of them were our girl.
"Widen the search parameters," I instructed. "She may be putting on that Cheltenham accent."
"Okay, Sis. Emily, is she nice?"
"Kind of intense, but yes, nice. She fights really well."
"We knew that. Her Dad's a mobster - which doesn't help, all the girls there were gangster's daughters. That suit doesn't help... but that has to be the idea. She covers her body completely, but that thing's so tight it doesn't conceal anything about her figure. Her Dad's probably quite prominent too. So..."
I could picture Scruff sitting at her computer typing. At first I found her habit of spending hours on the internet annoying. Now I found it wonderful. My sister's so talented I really wanted to make her my secretary.
"Searching now," she said. Then she laughed.
"Sis! This is SO good! It's wonderful!"
"Scruff!"
"It's great, oh, I'd never have guessed..."
"Scruff, give it up! WHAT did you find?"
"Laura Moriarty. She's the right height, public-school educated, dresses a lot like me, although she has brown hair and green eyes. I'll show you." A picture came up on one of the screens in the dashboard.

"I see. She looks a nice girl."
"Apparent she is. Takes after mother. Intelligent too, and she's the sporty type..."
"Unlike you."
"Hey!"
"Sorry. So... Laura Moriarty. Oh no!"
"What's up?" Scruff asked me.
"She's probably counting on her Dad sparing her. But he won't. Moriarty's the sort of vicious so-and-so who'd just go right on with the torturing even if he knew who she was!"
We were going to have to protect her from her own Dad!

Double Trouble! 12.

[Outsider here]
I might not agree with everything the Black Kitten was doing, but she was brave. I wasn't going to let her show me up and, drawing my crossbow, I stepped through the door to stand beside her.
We faced four armed men in pyjamas and one armed woman in a nightie. The Black Kitten radiated defiance in her pose.
"Hi!" she said.
"The Black Kitten!" one of the men cried.
"Yeah, Moriarty wants her alive," the woman declared. "He'll pay ten thousand pounds for her!"
"Sounds good to me," one of the men agreed.
"You forgot someone," I said, stepping forward.
"The Outsider!" even the men were afraid.
"Stay out of this, Outsider," the Kitten warned. I shook my head resolutely.
"What, and miss all the fun? No way, Kitten-cat. I enjoy a fight too!"
"Okay!" the Black Kitten laughed, "Two and a half to one!"
"Nice odds. I prefer them higher!"
One of the men went for his gun. I shot him through the right wrist, and then there were three men and a woman.
The Black Kitten was a great little fighter. Okay, she's bigger than me, but she's smaller than Jane. We fought as a team, using the geography of the house as a weapon. We moved smoothly, fluidly, knocking out our opponents one by one.
The woman caught the Kitten's left ankle and threw her to the floor. The Kitten was prepared for that, she bounced back to her feet, and when she knocked the woman down, the woman stayed down.

"Go!" the Kitten cried as we heard the sound of heavy boots descending the stairs. We ran through Pat's room together and hurled ourselves out of the window. We landed on top of an expensive car, denting its roof, and then we ran away from the house.
"Outsider, you're wonderful," the Black Kitten gasped when we deemed it safe to stop running.
"You're not so bad yourself, Blackie."
"BLACKIE!!??" she cried. I laughed.
"Blackie. Don't you like it?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Then I'll call you Blackie. I'm Emily Fairbairn, by the way. I'm officially dead, so that name doesn't mean anything to anyone."
"I can't tell you my real name."
"What are you trying to do?"
"Get myself killed, I think sometimes. No, I... I've got a family problem. This is my way of trying to solve it."
"You're deliberately putting yourself in harm's way because your Dad's a gangster?"
"Pretty much, yes."
"I was afraid of that. I have to get back to the Girl in Grey."
"And I have to get home. So long, Emily! See you later!"
"So long, Blackie!"
I watched her until she vanished from sight and I heard a motorbike start up. Then I went back to Jane. I hoped the Kitten would be all right.

Double Trouble! 11.

[Still The Outsider speaking]
"You!" the Black Kitten exclaimed, looking right at me. I decided there was no point disappearing, and I remained visible, black, smoky, and with two very obvious red eyes that glowed in the darkness of the room.
"Me," I confessed. "And you."
"You're the thing that shoots people."
"I'm a girl!" I protested, "not a thing! I'm called The Outsider."
"All right, you're The Outsider. Now, what on earth are you doing here?"
"Snooping. What are you doing here?"
"I'm visiting Pat. You wouldn't understand."
"Try me, I'm a very clever girl. I got in here without triggering the alarms."
"So did I."
"Yes, but no-one left the window unlocked for me. Pat, your friend's here!" I prodded the redheaded girl, who started awake.
"Oh!" Pat sat up and looked at the Black Kitten "It's you!"
"Me," the Black Kitten sat down on her bed. "How did your Dad take my turning up at the party?"
"Not too well. He hustled me out of there in a hurry when that girl in the Batgirl suit joined you. Kitten, that was INSANE! There were men with guns there! You could have been killed!"
"But I wasn't. Pat, you agree that your Dad can't be allowed to carry on making his own personal empire in London, but you won't take any risks!"
"I'm taking one now talking to you. But what you're doing..."

"Is my business!" The Kitten turned away. "I don't have to justify myself to you, Pat. You've got to justify yourself!"
They were friends, I realised, friends who'd come up with a plan to smash the gangs their parents controlled. I smiled. I'd got myself a clue!"
"Why didn't you two go to the Girl in Grey?" I asked. Like I had. I set up on my own as a vigilante, why shouldn't the Black Kitten?
Pat hadn't noticed me before. Now she did, and she screamed at the sight. I'm not too surprised by that, actually, I do look scary.
"Pat!" the Black Kitten cried, "you've torn it!"
I heard the sounds of people running towards the room. The Black kitten bravely stepped to the door and flung it open, to face whatever lay beyond!

Double Trouble! 10.

The Black Kitten had not replied to my reply to her comment, and Scruff was still working on breaking into Joe Olivers' security system. Meanwhile the Outsider was inside the Malone house. I'll let her tell what happened there.

'Muggins' Malone had a pretty good security set-up, but only hermetically sealing the place would have kept me out, and that would have suffocated everyone inside too, so it would have been silly.
I came in through the letterbox as a cloud of black smoke and resolved myself into me on the doormat. A huge ferocious dog bounded in, saw me, and ran off again whimpering with fear, its tail between its legs. I do that to dogs, I'm not sure why. Jane's cats all like me, but maybe it's a cat-dog thing.
The house was a pretty smart one, expensively renovated too. I moved completely silently, ignoring the closed-circuit TV cameras, since I don't exactly go around by daylight. I could have been invisible, but I'm the Outsider, I have a reputation to keep up.
The laser-beams that were projected above dog-height passed straight through my black smoky form. I'm a nightmare to security systems because I'm transparent.
With a dog around there weren't going to be pressure sensors, which meant I could move easily. I headed up the stairs, looking for Patricia's room.
It was a pretty easy search. It had 'Pat's room' written on a pink plaue on the door. That was thoughtful of her. Instead of opening the door I poured myself through the keyhole and became solid again inside.
It was a nice bedroom. Rather like one I had before I was the Outsider, only of course a little more grown-up. There was a dress on the floor, and Pat, arather pretty girl with red hair, was lying in bed sleeping soundly. I always get a little upset when I see pretty girls with red hair, because I ougt to be one. Well, I was one, actually.

I dissolved again and poured myself into her wardrobe. That's not a very comfortable thing to do, but I didn't want to wake her. I also thought that, if she was the Black Kitten, there might be a secret compartment in the back of her wardrobe. As a gas I'b be able to find it.
Keeping myself together in a single cloud, I drifted about the wardrobe. It's a really weird feeling, being a gas.
I drifted through a gap, into the cupboards above the wardrobe. I drifted about some more, and ended up back outside the wardrobe, near the ceiling. No secret back. I quickly resolved myself into a girl again, and looked around.
The window slid up, and I gasped. Now I knew Pat wasn't the Black Kitten - there they were in the same room!

Double Trouble! 9.

I left The Outsider at the corner of the street where 'Muggins' Malone lived. Her black smoky form ran down the street until it vanished from sight. I settled back in my driving seat to wait for her, bringing up my own internet connection on one of the screens in the dashboard.
I typed my search parameters into my custom search engine. Scruff manufactured it for me, it's a tad more intelligent than Google, and it looks for the things I particularly want. There are chatrooms criminals use to talk to one another and to plan. They do it in code, of course, but I know the code.
Then I had another idea. I went to the Black Kitten's blog.

There was that familiar black-masked face, and 'The Black Kitten Strikes'.

Dear World. Mr. Moriarty wants to do me some harm. Well, I'm going to do him a lot more harm, because I'm going to wreck his organization for good. He doesn't know how much I know about him and his operation - isn't that fun? So he won't know where I'm going to strike next.

I had a bad feeling about this. The Black Kitten sounded way too cocky for her own good. She might well just go barging in there and get herself captured. A girl doesn't want to get captured by Moriarty, because he's a sadistic so-and-so. I left a comment on her blog:

Kitten, don't let him capture you. He's VERY nasty.

Like she was going to listen to me, but I felt I'd done my duty. She's just about Scruff's age, and somehow I felt responsible for this girl who'd pinched my gimmick. Even though the cat costume's hardly original.
I waited, my system automatically refreshing the page every minute. At last another comment came up, from the Black Kitten herself.

I can take care of myself, Grey Girlie. I know Moriarty.

She probably did at that, I reflected. If she was a mobster's daughter she'd be very close to him and to sources of information I don't have access to. That could work in my favour, but on the other hand it might not.
"How's the search going, Grey?" Scruff's voice came over the secure link.
"Fine, Scruff. Emily's just checking on Pat Malone. If she's asleep in bed that rules her out, since the Black Kitten's online."
"Great, and that leaves Belle Olivers. Is she the daughter of Guiseppe Olivera?"

"Or Joe Olivers as he calls himself these days? Yes. Her parents are both Cockneys..."
"I know Joe. Head of the London branch of the Mafia. Charming if you don't get on his bad side. If you do, you take a nap with the fishes."
"From which you don't wake up?"
"Exactly. You know your gangsters. So you see why I'd rather not break into his daughter's bedroom. He might get the wrong idea."
"He might. I'll see if I can hack into his security system."
"He's got one?"
"Yes. And it's linked to the web. My way in."
I love my team.

Double Trouble! 8.

The thugs lunged for me. I slipped out of the way and let them bang their heads together.
Then I went into action. I left the three huge thugs strewn about the street like so many rag dolls and the intelligent-looking man looking scared.
"I..."

"Sorry, you had a duff bunch of thugs. So, you think Wendy Sanders is the Black Kitten? There are better ways of finding out than going in there mob-handed."
With that I pulled my whip from my belt and began to ascend the building.
It was one of those nice places you can climb quite easily with the help of a study bullwhip, and soon I was outside Wendy's apartement. That high up the windows aren't usually very secure, and I got in easily.
Wendy Sanders was in bed and asleep, but I move quietly. I was looking for clues to establish whether or not she was the Black Kitten. Wendy was the only one of our suspects who lived alone, and that made me feel she was a very likely candidate. Until I saw her face, that is. She'd been at the party all right, but I'd seen her, and her costume would hardly have covered a postage stamp, let along the Black Kitten's costume! No, it wasn't her. That left Pat Malone and Belle Olivers. Both of those girls lived with their parents, and that would make things more difficult for me.
I left the way I came and I landed lightly on top of one of the fallen gangsters.
"I'm back," I greeted the remaining gangster. "It's not her, she was the girl in about two square inches of fabric. You know, the blonde?"
"Her!" the man laughed. "Well..."
Then I kicked him in the jaw and laid him out. I'm allowed to be catty (it goes with the outfit), but I wasn't going to let him make a coarse remark. And anyhow, I don't like having gangsters running around the place. After that I scrammed in the car, since Ken Livingstone isn't too keen on people who leave litter either. If he found out it was me, I'd be in serious trouble.
"Result?" Emily asked me in the car. I shook my head.
"Negative one. She was at the party, but I saw her when the Black Kitten was in the room."
"Pat Malone's next," Scruff's voice said over the secure radio. "She's the daughter of 'Muggins' Malone of Poplar..."
I groaned. I'd been afraid of that.
"Grey?" Emily asked.
"'Muggins' Malone's a vicious sort of man. He lives in a house that's almost a fortress."
"Then leave it to me," Emily suggested. "I can get in through the keyhole or something. Come on, you've got me on the team!"
Like I was going to forget that in a hurry. Emily's wonderful, but she one managed to empty a cinema by making herself visible during the film. It didn't help that the movie was scary anyhow, but think the appearance of The Outsider during a film showing would have scared them even if it had been a rom-com.
"Okay, Outsider, you can see about Pat Malone."
I hoped she would be all right. After all, she is just about twelve.

Double Trouble! 7.

I changed into my Girl in Grey costume in the secret base, which is concealed inside an apparently abandoned building around the corner. My computers were working furiously as Scruff did her stuff with the databases. I wonder how I managed without her. All that computer stuff takes up so much time when I could be training or fighting crime. Scruff just loves it. I hoped she'd be able to hack into the Black Kitten's Blogger account too. Yes, I was still feeling catty.
"So, where to?" The Outsider asked.
"My choice. I don't let you drive unless I can't. You don't have a licence."
"I'm black and smoky and officially dead," Emily pointed out. "I can't get one."
"Point taken," I agreed. "But you're also about twelve."
"I can still drive. Where are we going?"
"After the Black Kitten."

The powerful grey car roared out into the night. The radio bleeped and I pushed a button on the ultra high-tech dashboard.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Grey, it's Scruff. I just thought you might like to know that Mr. Moriarty's vowed vengeance on the Black Kitten. He's threatening to do all sorts of nasty things to her."
"Par for the course, I suppose. Any progress on identifying her?"
"Three possible candidates, Belle Olivers, Wendy Sanders and Pat Malone."
"You're kidding me about the last one?"
"No, Pat Malone. Patricia..."
"I know, but still. Just three?"
"Just them."
"Great. Who lives closest to us?"
"Wendy Sanders. I'm sending her address to you now."
That's what I love about computers. And with my state-of-the-art navigation system, Scruff could just send me the address and the computer would tell me where it was.
It told me. I drove there as fast as I could, only to see three huge East End toughs pile out of a car parked outside the building in which Miss Sanders lived.
Apparently Mr. Moriarty had the same idea I did. Only he was a whole lot less subtle than I am.
One of the ape-like thugs pushed a button on the intercom. I quickly parked and juped out of the car.
"Are you boys looking for someone?" I asked seductively, strolling up behind them.
The thugs whirled. Clumsy, I thought, former boxers who couldn't cut the mustard in the ring.
"It's 'er!" one cried. The smaller, intelligent man who was directing them shook his head.
"No, you idiot, that's the Girl in Grey."
"Just as you say," I affirmed. I felt rather annoyed that they'd speak of me like that.
"'Ere!" another thug suddenly cried. "Ain't she the enemy too?"
"Yes," the intelligent-looking man agreed. "Take her to pieces."

Double Trouble! 6.

"All right, girls, put your hands up!"
"Okay," I did so in the most seductive way possible, and the Black Kitten followed my example. Unfortunately the gun didn't waver.
"Now, I'm going to..."
"You're going to put down your gun before I put a bullet in your back."
We'd forgotten about Scruff. She stood there in her Robin costume with a very large gun in her hand. At that moment Emily materialised in the little gallery, crossbow held ready.
"Between us," she told the gunman, "we could kill you. Drop the gun."
He dropped it, and then he ran. Emily juped down from the gallery.
"Let's go," I said with feeling. The Black Kitten nodded.
"I've got my own exit," she said. "So long!"
"Wait, you little..."
She didn't. And I wasn't going to get Emily to stop her.
"Okay," I told my team, "we're getting out of here!"
We scrammed. I like a good fight, but I didn't see any reason to wait until the heavy artillery arrived.
Back at the apartment I flopped on the sofa. We were both still in our fancy-dress costumes.
"There you are, Scruff, we've met the Black Kitten."
"Yeah," Scruff agreed. "She's okay."
"Scruff! She wears a skin-tight costume and she takes insane risks! I can't shake off the feeling that she's got a very personal reason for doing what she does."
"Maybe some London mob murdered her Dad?" Scruff offered her constructive opinion.

"Which leaves the field WAY too wide."
"I know. But her voice was educated. Like yours."
"Which means she went to a good school! Scruff, I think her accent's Cheltenham! That narrows the field enormously!
"Well, I try to help."
"And you DO help! Emily?"
"She has to be on the guest list. Have you got that, Scruff?"
"Yes. But she might have done what I did and added her name. Still, it's a start."
Scruff opened the Black Kitten's blog. She laughed.
"What is it?"
"Listen to this! 'I meet the Girl in Grey'."
I wasn't at all sure I wanted to listen. I was already revising down my opinion of the Black Kitten.
"'Tonight I met the Girl in Grey. Only she wasn't in grey, she was wearing a Batgirl costume, and she had a weird-looking...' Hey! I don't look weird! This girl's got issues!"
I smiled. Scruff had been enjoying herself until she read that description of herself, and I was glad she'd come down a peg or two.
"Of course you don't. Go on."
"... Girl dressed as Robin -as in Batman and - with her. I think she wants to stop me. She nearly got both of us killed, and it was just her weird... her friend who saved us. Her and some really weird black smoky thing with red eyes that sounded like a little girl."
"Hey!" Emily stopped overhauling her crossbow, jumped up and ran over to the computer.
"We've got to find who she is. Scruff, check the guest list. We know she's a white Cheltenham-educated teenager."
"Cheltenham has non-white students!"
"I know, but not many. And that party didn't have any non-whites. It was old London gangsters, not the new breed."
"Okay. I'll patch this machine into your base computers..."
I left her to it. I wanted to go out again, so I took the Outsider and we went to where I keep the car.
Our street doesn't mind my wandering around in a Batgirl costume. Not after dark, anyhow.

Double Trouble! 5.

It was her! The Black Kitten! And there I was in my Batgirl costume, hoping she'd believe I wasn't on the other side!
"Batgirl?" Scruff asked me, "what's the plan?" Trust Scruff to have the presence of mind to keep on needling me even when the Black Kitten had burst not entirely unexpectedly onto the scene.
"You keep out of trouble," I answered. The costume I was wearing was similar enough to my Girl in Grey outfit for the Black Kitten to possibly recognise me. Maybe. Yes, it was rather a long shot.
A dozen gangland enforcers drew guns. Great, I thought, the Black Kitten was about to get herself very nastily killed in a luxury hotel. I wasn't going to let them do that. For one thing, blood's almost impossible to get out of the carpet.
"Watch your backs, boys!" I cried, hurling myself into the fray, cape flying. The Black Kitten took advantage of the distraction, and then both of us were wading through the enforcers, who were afraid to use their guns for fear of hitting someone else's enforcer and sparking a gang war. I love crooks who depend too much on guns, it makes them so easy to beat. Oh, not to mention that they look so pathetic after being beaten up by a couple of cute girls like me and Kitty-cat.
Us girls, we didn't use guns. We used hands and feet. It's so much more fun that way. Funny, when I was a little girl with my hair in pigtails, my teacher told me off for kicking a boy. I've never grown out of the habit, though. If only she could see me now...

"Do I know you?" the Black Kitten asked.
"Well, you kicked me in the jaw last night, and it still hurt."
"Oh, sorry, you were wearing a different costume."
"I bet you weren't wearing that one when you came in!"
"Okay, I wasn't," she smashed a crook's front teeth in with her right foot. "The men on the door wouldn't let me in dressed like this."
The gang leaders were running away, but I got the idea that the Black Kitten was just trying to scare them, not bring any of them in.
"So, you're striking terror into the hearts of the wicked?"
"And their faces," she added, socking another enforcer in the face. I smiled. With all these illegal handguns around the place the hotel was unlikely to call the police.
"You nearly got yourself killed!"
"I had a plan," she protested. Yes, I thought, she was about Scruff's age, just a teenager with some serious issues. "I don't need your help!"
"From where I was standing I thought you did. Come on, let's get out of here before reinforcements arrive!"
"You're going no-where!"
We turned to face one of Moriarty's men. The man had a huge gun pointed at us, and he looked angry enough to shoot us both several times over.
"Hi," I said. I wasn't sure what else to say.
We were caught!

Double Trouble! 4.

I like fancy-dress parties, and I chose our costumes carefully. The Green Man is unfortunately right when he says I have a Batman thing (but I don't mind HIM saying that), and I decided to go as Batgirl with Scruff as Robin.

The Outsider was easier. She was our invisible protectress. I assumed they weren't going to want a girl of about twelve at the party. Fully attired in our smart costumes, we arrived at the Lansdowne in good time.
I smiled sweetly at the man on the door, who looked like he'd had a short career as a boxer followed by a longer one as a gangland enforcer, and I showed him the forged invitation. The invitation's just for show these days. Really the important thing is the tablet PC that the rat-like man behind the bouncer has.
"Yeah, they're in," the rat-like man confirmed.
"Go in," the bouncer sounded pretty threatening when he was welcoming us. I hated to think what he's like with gatecrashers, although I had the feeling I might have to find out.
"Welcome."
Our host was David Moriarty, no relation to Sherlock Holmes's adversary (well, no blood relation). An intensely charming man, he stood surrounded by pretty girls who thought a fancy dress party was an excuse to remove most of their clothes.
"Hi," I smiled sweetly at him. "Roberta Kane. This is my sister Sally."
I knew Emily had come in with us, but I had less than no idea where she was now. Knowing her, The Outsider would be scouting the area.

"Hey, Batgirl," Scruff was enjoying the party already, I thought, "a word?"
We withdrew to a corner and Scruff whispered to me.
"Sis, should we be looking for the Black Kitten?"
"Well, sure..." I looked around. There were all sorts of costumes around, some with full face masks - like the three Darth Vaders who were wandering around. I knew the Black Kitten was nearly as small as I am, with a reasonable figure. I told Scruff that and she laughed.
"Sis! You're being catty again!"
"I know. She has that effect on me. I nearly wore my Catwoman costume tonight."
"So, is your utility belt fully stocked?"
"Weapons bag masquerading as my purse," I replied.
"Clever. So, who are these people?"
"Gangland aristocracy. Our host, Mr. Moriarty, 'Knuckleduster' Smith of Wapping, Miss Candy Delgardo, don't let her cute looks fool you, she's nearly as powerful as Moriarty. You know, usual people. You might recognise them from the database."
"Oh, those people? Of course. I kind of spend most of my time doing internet research for you, remember?"
"I know. That's why I employ you as my secretary. I ought to take you along to a board meeting just to see the faces of the board..."

Suddenly our party was interrupted. A figure sprang from the musicians' gallery (the picture is of the place when it's empty, Scruff thought it might help) and I had a sense of deja-vu, remembering when we'd first met Emily.
But this figure was very solid, if rather small. And she was dressed in skin-tight black from head to toe.

Double Trouble! 3.

"You think she was hacking in to Scotland Yard? Can you do that?"
"If you know how you can get in and out without leaving a trace. Unfortunately I don't think the Black Kitten knows how to do that. Last time I was in there there was another hacker in leaving great big footprints. I managed to erase them, but what she was after was the sort of stuff we use. She's good with computers, but not as good as I am."
"From what I saw last night I think she's about your age. It's difficult to tell when a girl's in a suit like hers, but I think she's under eighteen."
"I'll try to contact her online. She's probably got a Myspace page or a blog or something."
"She wouldn't...?"
"She might!" Scruff ran out of the room. I got out of bed.
"Sis!"
I ran out to the living-room where Scruff sat in front of her computer.
"Look!"
There it was. A blog called 'The Black Kitten Strikes!'
"She blogs?" I looked at her picture. It was the girl who kicked me in the jaw, the same all-concealing mask with its green eyepieces and black 'nose'.

She seemed to be posting about what she'd done and what she wanted to do.
"How many hits has her blog had?" I asked.
"A thousand," Scruff told me. "Sis, if she's hacking into Scotland Yard they'll want to see her."
"Great, so the cops are after her too. Well, at least it means Ken Livingstone's anger's divided."
"Actually no, she doesn't appear to use a car, and he really wants to get you for the congestion charge."
"Wonderful." I looked at the Black Kitten's blog. Unlike me she'd chosen a very black theme for her blog, and the writing on it was threatening. The girl had anger-management issues, I thought, serious ones.
"She mentions you. Listen to this, 'Last night the Girl in Grey tried to stop me, so I had to knock her down. She ought to watch out for me. I don't let anyone get in my way.' Then she writes about the drug-dealer she killed. Apparently she does martial arts."
"And she still can't control her anger? Scruff, something happened to make her this way. I mean, I wouldn't be the Girl in Grey if Dad hadn't been murdered, and this girl's angrier than I ever was."
Scruff refreshed the page, and we both stared at the screen in horror.

'Dear world. The Black Kitten's going to be at the fancy-dress ball at the Lansdowne tonight, and I'm going to take down some serious criminals.'

That was all, but it was enough. She probably thought most of the people at the ball would be ordinary, decent people. I knew that it was a crooks' gathering. I had to invite myself, or we'd be in serious trouble.
"Scruff, can you hack into the Crime Syndicate's computer and convince them we're on the guest list?" I asked.
"Of course. Names?"
"Not our real ones. Roberta Kane and her sister Sally."
"Really those aliases?"
"Well, why not? I'll get the costumes..."
"NOT the one I had last time!"
"No," I agreed. I already had ideas. Part of me wanted to show up the Black Kitten. The better part of me was just thinking about making sure she didn't get herself killed.

Double Trouble! 2.

When I'd recovered from the vicious kick that girl gave me, I pulled my Girl in Grey mobile from my belt and called Scruff at my secret base where she'd been keeping an eye on things.
"Scruff!"
"Hello Grey Car, this is Huston, we are recieving you strength nine..."
"Scruff, stop fooling around, this is important!"
"Okay. What is?"
"Some little wannabe in a black outfit running around pretending to be me. Well, sort of. She dresses like a cat too, and she calls herself the Black Kitten. I want any and every reference to her, partial reference, sighting of me places I haven't been... that sort of thing."
"Wow! You're serious. What's the problem?"
"she kicked me in the jaw and I'm feeling hissy. No-one kicks me in the jaw and gets away with it, not even if she's wearing a rather impressive costume."
"Okay, but you're getting a reputation."
"For what?"
"Being the world's cattiest detective. Catbasket out."
I DON'T call my secret base that either.
I know I can be catty, but that girl kicked me in the jaw and left me lying in the road, defenceless. That I didn't like, and I inisist that it was her disregard for my safety that sent me after that Black Kitten, not my cattishness. Well, maybe a bit of that, but it was mostly worry that she might not care about bystanders that made me check up on her. And I'm sticking to the story.
I took an early night, and my jaw still hurt in the morning. Kindly Emily had fed the cats, so I was able to lie in bed for a while.
I couldn't help thinking about the Black Kitten. I'd heard anger in her voice. Was it because she was mad at me (very possible) or was she just angry? Did that anger drive her to be the Black Kitten?
"Sis, are you awake?"
The sound of Scruff's voice made me smile.
"Hi, Scruff. How did the search go?"
"Someone reported seeing you in Brick Lane on Christmas Day, and there was a sighting of you on the roof of the Metropolitan Tabernacle on New Year's Eve. You weren't even in London then. Four drug-smugglers were killed in a mysterious explosion on a barge in Docklands on Boxing-Day, and a dozen gangsters were beaten up by an unknown person in black on 7th January. The name 'Black Kitten' occurs in four files. A threatening letter signed by a 'Black Kitten' was found in the home of 'Big Knuckles' Carrier, who was found beaten half to death on January 3rd. He swore he was attacked by a seven-foot tall thug, but the note was apparently written by a young woman."
"That figures. 'Big Knuckles' wasn't going to say he'd been whipped by a girl. What next?"
"13th January. A young woman calling herself the Black Kitten and using a disguised voice called in a tip-off to Scotland Yard that netted a dozen major-league gangsters in the Borough. 15th January, same name, a tip-off that led to the recovery of a couple of million in stolen used banknotes. 20th January, a kidnapped girl returned to her home saying 'the Black Kitten' had freed her. When the police went to the place the girl said she'd been held it was like a bomb went off in there. Someone beat up the kidnappers."
"Where did you get that?" I asked. Scruff laughed.
"I hacked into the Scotland Yard mainframe. I think she does that too."
Progress!

Double Trouble! 1.

I was on my way back from convincing 'Big Vinnie' Clay that he didn't really want to send his men round to break a widow's legs, and there was some distance between me and my car. I know my way around London perfectly, and so I moved easily towards my destination. Not only is my car theft-proof, I left the Outsider in it as an extra deterrent. She would be using my onboard internet connection, but I trust her.
I'd just left a rooftop in Wapping when I heard the cry. My perfect directional hearing pin-pointed it, and I turned and ran, pulling my whip from my belt as I ran. As I rounded a corner I saw a man lying on the road with a broken neck, and through the fog ahead of me I saw a dark, indistinct figure.
I ran to the fallen man. Then I stopped as I saw who was standing in the fog.
It was a girl, dressed a lot like me. Only she wasn't me. Her costume was darker, her eyes covered by green eyepieces.
"Who are you?" I demanded. "Did you kill him?"

She bolted. I ran after the girl in the dark costume. I'm not against other girls doing what I do, but I like to know they really are fighting crime, not just getting kicks from killing people while dressed in a strange costume. There are people like that, and I don't like it.
I ran around a corner, following her flapping tail. I ran into a fist like a piece of lead and I went down. I found a black boot rather uncomfortably on my throat and a black mask that completely concealed its wearer's face looking down at me.
"Stay away," she said simply. I could see nothing through the green eyepieces, although she could see me, and I could detect no expression beneath the black mask. I hate that. I like to see who I'm talking to, especially when I'm at such a disadvantage.
"Who are you?" I asked, holding her slim ankle with both my hands. I don't like the idea of having my throat crushed much.
"Who made you the boss?"
"I did. Sister, it's not a game..."
"I know. Stay away from me."
"Give me a name. I'm the Girl in Grey..."
"I know. I'm the Black Kitten. Stay away."
She tried to lift her foot. I let go of her ankle.
Then the Black Kitten kicked me in the jaw and sprinted off.
I hate that. Seriously.
When my vision cleared and I was sure my head was still in place, I got cautiously to my feet and staggered over to the body.
He looked like an East End mobster. There's a lot around. I felt too groggy to search him, and I only just managed to stagger back to the car.
Emily jumped out when she saw me.
"Grey! What happened?"
"Some little thug calling herself the Black Kitten kicked me in the jaw. She's wearing a dark and sinister version of my suit, and I don't like it."
"Why not?"
"She's stealing my gimmick. But the important thing is that she kicked me in the jaw. Home, Outsider. We've got work to do."
I fell into the passenger seat as Emily started up the car.
I don't mind telling you I felt very, very catty.

Priory of Death: The shocking truth!

"I..."
"I took the liberty of doing some snooping, and while I might not be the world's greatest detective, I found your black habit!"

I pushed back the book-case. Victoria stared in horror at the garment.
"I always thought you'd get into bad habits," I told her. "But MURDER is the very worst!"
"I..."
"Like I said, Victoria, you made the mistake of assuming everything you read in two very doubtful books was true. But I'm a detective, and a very good one. That's why you tried to kill me, isn't it?"
"I... How could I have killed Connie?"
"You followed her to the Pit and turned on the mechanism while she was in there, then your accomplice moved the two bodies. He used a recording of you screaming to alert me and set me on a false trail. Only I didn't fall for your trick. And I know you've got a gun in that sporran, Mr. Campbell, so don't try to draw it."
"Or I might shoot you somewhere serious," The Outsider materialised slowly, crossbow held ready. Amelia screamed.
"A ghost! This place is haunted!"
"No, the Outsider. She's a friend of mine - and a handy shot with a crossbow."

Emily demonstrated, her bolt pinning Mr. Campbell's kilt to his chair.
"Mr. Duncan Campbell, alias 'the Highlander', Glasgow hitman," I said. "You and Victoria set this place up as a trap. Lure people out here and kill them with the 'Devil Pit'."
"But Mr. Hamilton..." Amelia began.
"A former Glasgow gangster and police informer. That's why he was killed. And where is your husband, Victoria?"
"I told you, at the station waiting for a train."
"Really?"
"Really! Look, I screwed up on this place, I believed the stories, but I really do have a husband, and he really is at the station."
"No he isn't," the door opened and a man I didn't recognise entered with a dozen police officers. "I was waiting for an expert to come from London, and she was a few days late. Ah, the Girl in Grey. I heard you were here. I see you've just exposed my wife as a killer. Detective Inspector Hoffmann, Glasgow Police."
"We're married!" Victoria wailed.
"Not really. You see, the minister who performed the ceremony wasn't a minister. All right, men, take them away."
"What's that?" one of the officers was staring at Emily.
"She's called the Outsider, and she dosn't like being stared at."
"No," Emily made herself invisible again.
The criminals were removed. D.I. Hoffmann sat down at the table.
"Now, I don't want this New Year's party to be a total disaster. Is there any more breakfast?"
"That goes for me too," Emily reappeared and sat down.

And we actually had rather a good time too.


THE END
of 'Priory of Death'
But the Girl in Grey will be back in

'DOUBLE TROUBLE'

Priory of Death: 21

"A fake!" Victoria cried.

"You've all been looking at this wrong," I said seriously. You've been asking whether things that happened centuries ago could affect things now. The real question is whether things that never happened at all could affect things now.
"This book," I picked up Rev. Robert Kilbride's book, "is a work of fiction from beginning to end. I checked - which is very easy to do these days. There are no records of a Dentree Priory before 1847..."
"But there wasn't a house here before that," Victoria objected.
"There was. Dentree House, a very boring, very ordinary house. Not open ground strewn with bits of priory the way Kilbride tells it. And before Dentree House was built in the 17th Century there was a Medieval fortified house."
"And the Priory?"
"THIS is the Priory, the only building called the Priory there's ever been on this site."
"What about the ruins?"
"Fake, follies. That was what disturbed poor Connie. There was no order to the ruins, no ground-plan. And the carved stonework was a hodge-podge of periods, pieces taken from real Medieval sites. I checked one of the old walls. It hasn't enough foundation to stand much higher than it is, but it's supposed to have been part of an incredibly rich priory. There never was a real priory here, there never were any monks here, so there was no concealed treasure, no Prior and his faithful monks to torture. It was all a story made up when the house was built. Robert Kilbride and his friend Sir Archibald Broun were Romantics. It was fashionable to call houses 'castle' or 'priory' back then. That didn't mean it was on a real monastic site, and Kilbride's original readers would have understood this. Look at the book, it's got acres of dialogue, details of the sort of things that were unlikely to have been recorded, and no details at all of the things that would have been in real histories. It's a conceit, an invented history for an invented house.

"The monasteries in this part of Scotland weren't destroyed in the Reformation at all, they were destroyed by English troops BEFORE the Reformation, when Henry VIII wanted to force the infant Mary Queen of Scots to marry his infant son Edward. What's more, small monastic foundations in Scotland weren't rich then, they were usually very poor. Local nobles used them as slush funds. Kilbride's story isn't a real story of the Reformation, it's a 19th century Romantic's story of the Reformation.
"The bit about the Jesuit torture-chamber is another piece of fiction. In England Bloody Mary had protestants burned, but Mary Queen of Scots never had the authority to arrest protestants - and she never tried to. Her 'counter reformation' was a charm offensive. She was young and pretty and charming, and she could make the Catholic Church look attractive. These stories about torture reflect a Victorian, not a 16th century, mind.
"As for 'The Devil Pit', the idea of the Jesuits being in league with the Devil is a Protestant one. No Roman Catholic would say such a thing..."
"But the Roman Catholic Church burned all those people..." Victoria began. I shook my head.
"No, Victoria, the Roman Catholic Church never burned anyone. Medieval society was very ordered, a place for everyone and everyone in his place. The Church didn't kill, it handed people over to the state to be killed. The story of the Devil Pit by James Broun is just imitation Edgar Allen Poe. It never happened in Scotland, it never happened in England - it never happened anywhere. But a Protestant public was eager for stories about the wickedness of Rome and wasn't soo concerned whether or not they were true. Broun was writing an alternative fake history to Kilbride's of a generation before."
"But the pit..."
"A Medieval well that the killer specially adapted," I replied. "The pointing in the walls of the pit was new, not centuries old. The equipment was in perfect working order - things like that only stay working without being maintained in the movies."
"How did you escape?"
"Brains. The killer was pretty clever too, but made two mistakes. The first was believing eveything they read in Victorian histories, the second was trying to kill ME in the pit."
"Who did it?" Victoria asked in wonder.
"Don't give me that, Victoria Hoffmann. YOU did it!"

Sunday With Scruff: Vague Church

Last Sunday Alice persuaded me to come with her to another 'new' church that met in a pub. She wasn't too sure what they called themselves.
I told Lynette about it, and she said she'd come along if I wore a dress. I wore my Pudding Norton College uniform, and Lynette had to keep her promise.

We met the others on the way to the pub, and so we arrived together. We were met on the door by an enthusiastic-looking young man who gave me and Lynette funny looks.
"It's my school," I told him.
"Yes, but... I did safe-cracking there..."
"So did I! We have to talk about it... later." I nolticed Lynette glaring at me. She does that.
"Er... welcome to... er... church," the young man said.
We went into the bar and took our seats. There was an overhead projector on the bar, and a man with a Bible seated behind the bar.
"All right," a girl in a loose-fitting dress and glasses went up to the bar, carrying a guitar. "Shall we worship God?" she sounded kind of unsure.
"Sure!" I yelled. I got more funny looks.
A song went up on the projector. I read.

Lord I love you,
Lord, you're wonderful.

For about fifteen verses.
The next song was:

I love you,
You're wonderful.

When our next song was,

Love you,
Wonderful,

I began to suspect they really only had one song, and they were cutting words out to make it sound like it was more than one.

Then we stopped, which was great because one of the lines of the song had become a single word, and a song that went

You
Full

might have made me laugh.
We had a reading from something called the 'Really Good Thing Bible', which sounded like it had been written for eight-year-olds (It had).
Then the man behind the bar stood up.
"The Gospel's really simple," he said. "We don't do theology. Theology's really complicated and difficult, but the Gospel's easy. Jesus did something or other that somehow or other has something or other to do with our being saved somehow or other. It's really simple. We don't need theology. We don't even need to have gone to school or to have learned to read and write. I dropped out of school at fourteen to take drugs, and I can understand it."
He went on like this for twenty minutes, then we closed the meeting by singing,

You,
Full.

Then we would have gone down the pub, but we were already in one, so we went home. Emily had been in another church... but I'll let her tell you about it.

Priory of Death: 20

I was woken bright and early by The Outsider jumping on my bed. I'd locked the door, but she'd come in under it. There was a girl who could do a locked-room murder and get away with it.
"What?" I asked sleepily.
"It's Scruff. All the guests are clean."
"Great. Thanks."
"Grey!"
I sat up.
"Outsider, I had my reasons for asking Scruff to do that, and the result's confirmed my suspicions. I think we're looking at a hit here, a gangland assassination. One of a very peculiar kind too."
"I'll tell Scruff you're fine and being mysterious," she poked me. I poked her back.
"You do that."
I got up, showered and dressed in my close-fitting grey costume. Then I went downstairs. The butler was still giving me lustful looks, but maybe he didn't think I noticed.
"Hi," I strolled into the breakfast room and sat down. "How are people?"
"Did you find the killer?" Mr. Richards asked. I nodded.
"Oh yes, I know who killed James Hamilton and Connie Yorke."
"Was it the Prior's curse?" Amelia asked me earnestly.
"I fail to see how events five hundred years ago can affect us today," Mr. Richards answered tartly.
"That's because you're a materialist," Victoria scolded him. "Didn't Scruff see the ghost? And didn't Mr. Hamilton vanish in the Pit?"

"No to both," I told them. "I'm sorry, but the 'ghost' was just someone dressed as a monk. It OPENED doors. Yet this building wan't here in the Middle Ages. A real ghost would just have walked through a wall."
"The Pit?"
"It's a machine. A vicious killing machine, but a machine nonetheless. I know because someone tried to kill me in it last night. Unfortunately for them, I survived. The floor lowers, then the ceiling drops down onto it, crushing the victim and leaving an empty floor when the door's opened. Connie was killed there too. I only managed to escape because I have resources the killer didn't know about."
"You mean the Jesuits built a huge killing machine in the old well-shaft?" Amelia was fascinated. They all were. I shook my head.
"No, Amelia, I don't. You see, the Jesuits didn't build anything here."
"Then the monks?"
"No. Because there never were any monks here either."
"But..." Victoria sounded confused. "You mean...?"
"I do," I nodded. They were hanging on my every word. "Dentree Priory is a fake."

Priory of Death: 19

Emily and I got back to the surface as quickly as we could, and we crossed the moonlit garden rapidly, on the look-out for people dressed as monks. Emily had her crossbow ready to shoot anyone who might possibly try to harm us. It was a good thing for the killer that we saw no-one. We went into the house again and silently climbed the stairs to Scruff's bedroom.
Scruff was already at the computer when we entered her room. In her pyjamas, lying on her bed, she looked pretty funny.
"Oh! It's you two. What happened?"
"Someone tried to kill me," I said as if it was no big deal.
"No! How?"
"Using the Pit. We found out how it works. What have you got on Hamilton?"
"James Hamilton, Church of Scotland minister of Dentree, ordained two years ago."
"And before that?"
"That's just it, Grey, there IS no record of him before that! He just kind of happens! He appears suddenly without any previous existence!"
That was a turn-up for the books.
"Do you have a picture of him?"
"Yes. I found one online. I'm cross-referencing it now with our files and the files of every police department in the United Kingdom."

"Start with Glasgow. He had a Glaswegian accent, which might be a clue."
"Okay, Grey, I'll narrow down the search."
She began to work on that. Emily and I watched in fascination. Neither of us are exactly ignorant of computers, but Scruff's a complete genius with them. I think she's hacked her way into computers and databases that everyone else thinks are completely safe. She's quite amazing, even Scotland Yard don't know how she gets in and out.
Computers are so much fun. Back in the old days you actually had to physically break into Scotland Yard to get that sort of information, now you can break in from the comfort of your own arm-chair. Or bed, in Scruff's case.
"Here we are!" she gasped. "Look!"
Angus McGregor, former Glasgow gangster. And, I noticed, a police informer!
"Where is this record?"
"A top-level database. It's a list of former police informers who've been given new identities. Apparently McGregor was converted and wanted to be ordained..."
There was my motive. Of course no-one had any reason to kill James Hamilton, because there was no such person! But a lot of people would want to kill a former gangland informer, a 'grass'.
"Is it enough?" The Outsider asked me anxiously. I nodded.
"It's enough for me. Scruff, cross-reference our fellow guests with Glasgow gangland."
"Will do, chief," she grinned. "And you?"
"I'm going to bed."
And I went too.

Priory of Death: 18

"Outsider!" I called. "I'm trapped in one of those descending ceiling traps!"
"Okay!"
A cloud of black smoke shot through the grille in the door, resolved itself into Emily, and jumped down to join me. Meanwhile I was using my lock-picking equipment to try to unlock the lower door.
"It's no good," I sighed. The door was locked by bolts, bolts probably shot by the mechanism.
"We'll smash it down," Emily told me.
"It's solid oak..."
"Watch me!"
The Outside ran at the door and bouced off, landing in a rather undignified position on the floor.
"Plan B!" she called. She dissolved into a gas again and drifted up to the ceiling, passing through the small round hole in it.
I could do nothing, just lue on my back and watch the huge stone slab slowly descend. It was at the level of the first door now, at the top of it. Ten more feet to a very nasty death, I thought as the stone slab got closer and closer. Half-way down the first door. At the bottom of it... At the top of the second door...
I'm not claustrophobic, but this was making me feel that way. I was very glad I'd brought the Outsider with me. How she does her dissolving business, I don't know, and how she makes her weapons dissolve too is a mystery. I suppose it's Indian magic, and WAY outside my Western categories. Or something. Still, there I was, lying at the bottom of a dry well-shaft watching a huge slab of stone slowly descending on me. I'm small and slim - and quite slim enough already, thank you very much.
The stone was three feet from my face, two feet, one foot, six inches... I felt its pressure on my chest...
Then it stopped.
"You okay?" Emily's voice called.
"I'm still alive!" I called back. "But I'm wedged! What did you do?"
"Shoved a crossbow-bolt in the mechanism."
"You dear, sweet Outsider! Can you bring it up again?"
"I'll try!"
It seemed like I was waiting for ever, feeling every jolt as the Outsider shinned up the rope (or chain) to switch the mechanism to bring the ceiling up again. At last, however, I felt the great weight lifted off me, and I breathed in a great lungfull of air as the huge stone slab began to ascend once more.
Emily landed beside me, black and smoky as ever, her red eyes shining like two live coals.
"I did it!"
"You did it, kid." the door unlocked, and we both rushed out into the stone tunnel. I've never felt so glad to be in a damp, dark stone tunnel before in my life. I didn't even mind the water in the bottom of it.

"Wow!" Emily said with feeling. "You're alive!"
"Thanks to you, Black-and-Smoky. And no thanks to whichever of the people at the Priory turned on that machine! It's kind of... it's kind of over the top, even for pressing cider."
Emily laughed.
"Your sense of humour!"
"What else can you do when someone just tried to crush you under several tons of stone?"
"Imperial or metric?"
"Whichever's larger," I replied. "Emily! you saw the mechanism..."
"I did. It could be quite old."
"It could be, but it was in perfect working order, wasn't it?"
"Yes, oiled, greased... I see what you mean, Grey!"
"Yes, things like that only stay working for centuries in the movies. In reality they break down, they corrode, they decay."
"This one looked like it was serviced last week."
"I know who the killer is," I declared.
"Who?"
"I'll tell you later. You see, right now I need a motive for killing Hamilton." I laughed. "The killer made two mistakes, and because of those - I win!"