Revenge of the Adventurer! 8.

"I liked him," Scruff declared as we drove away from Barton's place.
"So did I, which is why I don't want him to be the killer."
"Where are we going?"

"Lanthorn Court, Surrey, home of Norman Walker. The next suspect on our list."
Lanthorn Court is less a mansion and more a castle. It was built in the 1860s by Lord Lanthorn, who is generally supposed to have been at least eccentric, and quite possibly insane. The building appears to have been built on an almost random plan, with bits and pieces all over the place, turrets, towers, pinnacles and so on.
We arrived about three in the afternoon, having stopped off to eat at a pub near Leatherhead. Scruff whistled as we passed under the gatehouse.
"Wow! Mr. Walker lives in style!"
"And total seclusion," I reminded her. "I don't even know if he'll see us."
"I'll do my fan-girl act for him too. It always works," Scruff offered - much to my amusement.
"Okay, Scruff. But first I'll approach him."
"And if he's the killer?"
"I doubt he'll give himself away. No, we'll have to keep our eyes on the possible victims."
"Who are?"
Galliard himself, Alice Slate, and Jackson Hughes. I'll watch Galliard, Emily will take Hughes, and you can take Slate."
"You mean I'll have to wear the Robin costume again?"
"Unless you've got a better idea?"
"I haven't," Scruff confessed.
Then we rounded a corner in the drive.

"Wow!" Scruff exclaimed. "That's where he lives?"
"An Englishman's home is his castle," I reminded her.
"Yes, but this is ridiculous!"
"That's what Pevsner said as well."
As I parked the Jag outside the strange mansion, I saw a British racing green sports car was parked outside. A car identical to the one Richard Coventry had used in 'The Adventurer'. I smiled, glad that they'd let Walker keep it.
"Okay, Scruff!" I jumped out of the car and Scruff followed. We crossed the gravel and I pushed the door bell.
I heard nothing, but trusted that a bell sounded in the depths of the mansion. At last the door opened.
"Hello, welcome to Lanthorn Court."
I looked into the face of Norman Walker.

Revenge of the Adventurer! 7.

We climbed the stairs. I hung back as Scruff reached the top floor. She smiled shyly at Mr. Barton, a tall, white-haired man.
"Hi."
Barton took the book from her hand and signed it.
"There you go, Scruff. I suppose you're called that because of your appearance?"
"Got it in one. I... Mr. Barton, I'm so sorry to hear Mr. Galliard's going to ruin your books..."
"Scruff!" Barton laughed. "You're the girl who posted that hatchet-job on Galliard's idiotic film on the internet! Where did you get all that information?"
"From me," I decided to make my presence known. "Scruff's my little sister. She's a good one too."
"You! Galliard's friend! You..."
"I'm not Galliard's friend. He wants me to back his film. I don't want to do that. I'd rather back you, Mr. Barton."
"My novels are mostly out of print, Miss Hill. No-one wants the Adventurer any more."
"I'm the girl with millions in the bank, Mr. Barton. The only problem is this film Galliard's making. He won't sell the character."
"I know! Galliard just wants to use the name of my character to sell his sordid little film! Well, I won't have it! I must have the Adventurer back!"
"Did you know Mr. Stock was dead?"
"Yes, of course I did. I'm sorry. He was working with what Galliard gave him, nothing more. It wasn't his fault. But morally Galliard has some responsibility. I still have readers, a few fans. Perhaps one of them read your post, Scruff, and decided to murder Stock. I just hope Galliard's next."
We both gasped in shock.
"Mr. Barton!"
"You don't know Galliard, I do. Thirty years ago he was a prospective novelist. He wrote what for want of a better phrase are called 'Sex and Sadism' novels. Sub-Bond, sub-Spillaine. Wretched, sordid books full of trash, derivative and sensationalised. He wanted me to help get him published, but when I read the first book he offered me it was so bad I refused. He tried to submit scripts to 'The Adventurer' TV show, but they were sordid little things that I wouldn't touch with a barge pole. Somehow he formed a grudge against me. My 'escapist' books sold like hot cakes and made me rich, he struggled to find a publisher for his books, and they sold poorly. Yes, there's a market for the sort of pervesion that went on in them, but they were badly written too. He was conviced that they were 'realistic'. Of course they weren't! Fiction can't be, it always distorts reality through the prism of the author's thoughts! But I never pretended to be realistic. Galliard did. And when I crashed he bought the rights to my character through a front company! This film is his revenge!"

"But why did you sell?" Scruff asked.
"I had to. I hadn't written a novel in years. I thought I'd lost the touch, so the Adventurer was just a property that wasn't bringing in money any more."
"You can't write?" Scruff was horrified.
"No, Scruff, I thought I couldn't. I started a brand-new 'Adventurer' novel a few weeks ago. It's going well apart from two characters who need to help Coventry."
"But you married him to Lana and they retired," Scruff protested.
"I know. I start the new book with Lana being murdered. Coventry's sixteen years older, in a world he doesn't understand any more. Computers, modern security systems..."
"You'll work something out," Scruff promised.
"Yes, but I can't publish the book until I buy the Adventurer back from Galliard!"
"Leave that to me," I promised. "I can be pretty persuasive."
And I was going to be. After all, this would be an excellent way to save several lives. Only one thing bothered me. Was Barton the killer?

Revenge of the Adventurer! 6.

Although now a part of Greater London, Carshalton still has some character of its own, at least in places. It was quite nice to walk down the high street to the internet cafe.
It looked much like any other internet cafe in Greater London, ranks of computers, a CCTV camera in one corner surveying the room.
"Can I help you?" the girl behind the desk asked, looking up from a lurid horror novel.
"Yes, I left a pen here the other day. It was a gift - engraved, that sort of thing."
"It wasn't handed in."
"Then I guess someone must have walked off with it. Could the camera have captured that?"
"Only if it happened before yesterday. That camera developed a fault, and so there aren't any pictures."
Just my luck, I thought. That was, if the fault was really a fault, not sabotage. Unfortunately neither of us look like technicians, so we were unable to examine the camera.
Instead of going straight home, I decided to visit John Barton. I hoped he'd see me. After all, he might have noticed me at the studio the previous day.
I adopted a cunning disguise in an attempt to fool Mr. Barton. I left off my glasses. They're just props, anyhow, plain glass. My eyesight's great.

Mr. Barton's flat was a top-floor flat in a hideous building on Stanley Road, Carshalton. It was quite a come-down from the palatial mansion that had been his before a bad investment wiped out most of his fortune.
I rang the bell on the ground floor.
"Who's there?" Barton's voice shot back.
"Miss Jane Hill. I want to talk to you about the Adventurer."
"Go away!" he shot back.
"Mr. Barton! Galliard's trying to get me to finance the film..."
"No! No friend of Galliard's is welcome here!" Barton's voice cut off with a click.
Barton obviously didn't like Galliard.
"Let me try," Scruff offered.
"Scruff..."
"I look more of a fan, don't I?"
Scruffy teenager... yes, she did, I decided.
I stepped back and Scruff hit the buzzer.
"Mr. Barton?" she asked sweetly.
"Yes? What is it?"
"I'm called Scruff. I came to get an autograph..." she displayed a battered copy of one of the 'Adventurer' books to the small camera on the 'phone.
"Come on up!"
Scruff smiled.
"See," she pushed the door open. "Works every time!"
We were going to get our interview!

Revenge of the Adventurer! 5.

Galliard was the first to speak once the voice of the person calling himself 'The Adventurer' had faded.
"I... I... It's a sick prank! A joke!"
I didn't think so. As I suspected, someone was annoyed at Galliard's version of the character. And that person was willing to kill. Of course my mind first went to John Barton, creator of the character. But then there was Norman Walker. The Adventurer had been his most important role, a role that had been his life before he was horribly disfigured. Walker had made Barton's character live on the small screen and on the big screen. To see that character twisted by Galliard would have angered him, perhaps driven him to murder.
"You've got to take it seriously," Scruff warned.
"She's right," I backed up my sister. "If it's for real, someone else may die."
"I'm not going to abandon this film just because some lunatic threatens to kill people!" Galliard raged. He was stubborn, I thought, perhaps too stubborn for his own good -and for the good of others.
"Yes, but at least get police protection," I urged. "Tell the police. Send them the message. Perhaps they can do something with it."
"You're right," he agreed. Privately I knew the police had little chance of finding the killer. The voice had been heavily disguised, the file had probably been sent from an internet cafe.
"But if the killer's pretending to be the Adventurer," Scruff objected, "why's he killing people?"
"You're thinking of the character Norman Walker played," Galliard explained. "He had to be toned down quite a bit from Mr. Barton's original character. THAT Adventurer sometimes killed evil criminals. In the mind of whoever's behind this killing I'm an evil criminal, and so I'm worthy of death. The Adventurer used to warn ciminals of how he would destroy them, and then he got through all their defences anyway! In the books he used a telephone or a recorded message mailed to the criminal. But this 'Adventurer' is using modern technology."
It sounds bad," I agreed. "Look, I can't agree to fund a film when this sort of thing's going on around it..."
"Miss Hill.."
"When this business is sorted out, I might. I'm still interested."
"I'll keep you informed," Galliard promised me. "Thank you for not giving up on us completely."
This was turning into quite an adventure for ME, I thought as we left. Out in the car Scruff turned to me, concern in her blue eyes.
"Sis, do you think that threat was real?"
"Completely. Can you use the computer in the car to trace that e-mail back?"
"Of course I can! Why?"
"It might be interesting to find out where it was sent from."
"It'll come from an internet cafe."

"I KNOW. But where?"
Scruff began he work. Minutes later I heard her squeak in surprise.
"Sis!"
"Where was it?"
"Carshalton!"
Where Mr. Barton lived, I thought. He definitely deserved a visit!

Revenge of the Adventurer! 4.

I was glad of the good weather. Scruff was still in her spring-weight jumper, which looks quite funny if your sense of humour goes that way, but I thought it was a bit too warm for heavy clothes. I was in my smart suit and the glasses that make me look serious. In my opinion, anyhow. We arrived at the studio in plenty of time and I parked the Jag and strolled into reception followed by Scruff.
A security guard stopped Scruff at the door. Which had happened the last time as well. I suppose both men had thought she looked suspicious. Which is true, but still...
"No auditions..." he began.
"She's my secretary," I pointed out. "Miss Jane Hill, prospective backer for 'the Adventurer'."
"Ah." the security guard looked rather taken aback. "I'm sorry, Miss...?"
"Hill," Scruff replied brightly. "Scruff Hill."
"But she answers to Scruff. I have an appointment with Mr. Galliard. I saw the news..."
"It had nothing to do with this film," the receptionist insisted. "Mr Stock was in debt to a gangland loan shark and he foreclosed."
"Fatally, it seems," I observed. I wasn't buying their story. I know how these things are covered up. Backers get jittery when someone associated with a film is murdered, especially backers who don't moonlight as costumed crime-fighters the way I do. If the killing's related to the film you can more or less kiss the movie goodbye. But I was more interested in finding out who killed Stock than I was in a movie Scruff had already convinced me not to back. Still, that wouldn't keep me from pretending that I was still interested just so I could investigate the studio.
"It was a tragedy. But the film script is already written, and Mr. Galliard's quite a good writer himself. He had quite an input into this script too."
Figured, I thought.
"Can we see Mr. Galliard?" I asked.
"Of course." The secretary led us into his office. Galliard looked worried - and I'd be worried too if I was in his position."
"Miss Hill," he looked up and forced a smile. "How are you?"
"Worried after I heard about Stock," I replied. Scruff nodded.
"I know, it's tragic. But this film is still going ahead!" Galliard's voice was positive, hard and decided.
"I'm glad you don't scare easily. And after all, I'm sure Stock's death had nothing to do with the film..."
Suddenly Galliard's computer made a noise. Looking at it, he sighed.
"just another e-mail. Probably condolences."
Galliard clicked his mouse. Suddenly a voice came from the computer. It was a strange, hollow, sepulchural voice.
"This is the Adventurer, Mr. Galliard," it said. "Your film must cease. One man has already died. Unless the film stops production at once, he will be only the first of many."
We were all speechless as the voice faded away.

Revenge of the Adventurer! 3.

Jason Stock the script-writer for 'The Adventurer' had been murdered! Found at his home, dead by some unknown means. I thought at once of the scene I'd witnessed at the studio. Barton had clearly been very angry about what Stock had done. But murder? I didn't know whether Barton was CAPABLE of murder. Then again, I didn't know that he wasn't. As a writer he'd often written murders. But he was a law-abiding citizen, he even paid the Congestion Charge when he came into London! He paid his taxes, his bills, he'd even given extensively to charity when he'd been rich.
Yet he had a very protective attitude towards his characters. I didn't blame him. He'd never married, so in a sense his characters were the nearest things to children he'd ever had. At the same time, Stock had been a very real flesh-and-blood person. Yet I knew fans often reacted angrily to writers' treatment of fictional characters, to the extent of sending death-threats. And Barton might have gone further. After all, those characters were HIS creations!

"Scruff, do we have a file on Barton?" I asked. My sister nodded.
"Sure we do, Sis. I'll pull it up. You think he did it?"
"I think he might have done it. Do we know his address?"
"Of course. Between us we've got most addresses in London and the Home Counties. Until a few months ago Barton lived in Hadcombe Court, Surrey. Now he lives in a flat in Carshalton."
Carshalton is officially Surrey, but really it's a part of Greater London.
"Then the Girl in Grey's going visiting tonight. Emily, do you feel up to paying Mr. Barton a visit?"
"Great!" Emily exclaimed. "I love the idea!"
"Then we'll do it, tonight." Owing to some disagreements with the Mayor of London, I can't operate during the day as the Girl in Grey and have to do that sort of thing under cover of darkness.
"What about Mr. Galliard?" Scruff asked. I'd forgotten about him. And he was the man who'd bought the rights to the characters which he'd abused. Of course, Mr. Stock's death might have nothing to do with 'The Adventurer', but like I was going to take that chance. I had to solve a murder, and probably prevent one too, because I knew EXACTLY what would happen to Galliard if I was right. And it was more or less what had happened to Stock, but probably nastier.
And I don't mean maybe.
But first Scruff and I had to visit Mr. Galliard at the studios. We left Emily at home looking after important things like lunch and headed off in my grey Jag. I drove, and Scruff sat besie me tapping away on the computer that lives in the glove compartment. I had no idea what she was doing, but I hoped it would be something useful. I like having a teenage computer whizz around the place, but it can still get a little wearing at times.
And she doesn't look like a secretary. Not even in her Robin costume (having said that, how many secretaries wear Robin costumes? none I know So no, Scruff wasn't wearing it). I mean, how many secretaries do you know who don't brush their hair more often than once a month? But family can get away with most things, at least with a nice girl like me.
I wondered what we would find at the studio. Even my imagination could not have predicted what we DID find.

Revenge of the Adventurer! 2.

Since Galliard was busy for the rest of the day, I arranged to visit the next day. Once we were out in the car Scruff turned to me and grinned.
"Well, do I make a good secretary?"
"Oh, you're great. I loved the way the receptionist told you to stop bothering me!"
"Yeah, well, no-one's perfect! Sis, it looks like there's going to be trouble over this film."
"I wouldn't be at all surprised," I started my grey Jaguar. "Galliard seems a rotten sort of a man. Fancy buying that poor man's character and then totally changing it!"
"The film's going to bomb," Scruff already had the laptop out of the glove compartment and was on line.
"Why?"
"Oh, no reason. Except the information I'm just putting on a film site I subscribe to."
"So I shouldn't invest in it?"
"No. Definitely not."
I agreed. After all, if the film was a sure-fire success, why buy the rights to an existing character? Those who remembered the 1960s Adventurer would be turned off by the film, and those who didn't wouldn't really care. I had to see a script, of course, but already I was worried.
We got home to find Emily in the kitchen looking bored. True, her black smoky face doesn't give much away, but her body language did, and when I see a girl sitting slumped in a chair drumming her fingers on a worktop, I know she's bored. Especially when she'd been using my pin-board for target practice.
"Emily, what's up?"
"No criminals to scare witless?" Scruff added. Sometimes I wish she'd be quiet.
"No... only it's wonderful weather and here I am stuck inside all day because I'm black and smoky."
"You could go out invisible."
"I can't cross roads when I'm invisible!" she protested. "And people walk into me."
"That explains that unexplained stabbing on Waterloo Bridge last night," Scruff cracked. "A man was stabbed in the leg when he walked into something he couldn't see."
"Yeah, that was me," Emily confessed. "He was the eighth person walked into me, and I snapped."
"Well, Sis is going into the movie business," Scruff announced. "A bloke called Galliard's trying to get her interested in backing a turkey he's making."
"So what's in it for me?" Emily asked suspiciously.
"You can spy on filming. Hey, who's in the pic?"
Galliard HAD told me that. He had enough backing to start filming, and it was cast.
"Jackson Hughes is playing Richard Coventry, the Adventurer, Alice Slate is going to be Lana Coll."
"Who?" Scruff asked.
"I know. We'll meet them to-morrow, I guess. The script writer's Jason Stock, who used to write for some soap."
We had a quiet night in. I was woken in the morning by Emily jumping on me.
"Emily!" I protested.
"But the news!"
I jumped out of bed and ran to the living-room. The item was still on.
Jason Stock had been murdered!

Revenge of the Adventurer! 1.

The British movie industry is doing pretty well for itself these days, especially after I got evidence on Mr. Carl Quarling, executive of three movie companies that never made a movie but ate up a lot of grants in pre-production. Well, I'm kind of rich, so I get approached by people looking for financial backing from my company. Yes, my company. I inherited it from Dad.
That was why I was at Galliard Studios, East London, with my secretary - who also happens to be my dear little sister, Scruff. I was looking into Galliard Studio's latest picture, which I'd been asked to invest in. Galliard had checked out as an honest operation, they'd made several pictures which had made decent box-officer returns, so we were there as Jane Hill and secretary to see for ourselves.

"Mr. Galliard," the smartly-dressed young man said. Galliard, a man in his fifties, strode into the room. He was no-one's idea of a film-maker. He didn't look arty or greasy. He was tall, fairly good-looking (not a patch on the Green Man), and well dressed. He gave every apparance of being an efficient, capable, experienced man.
"Miss Hill!" he gave me his hand and I shook it.
"Hello. This is Scruff, my secretary."
"Hi," Scruff said.
"Pleased to meet you."
"I haven't said if I'll invest in your film yet. I understand it's a remake of the 1960s action-adventure series 'the Adventurer'?"
"Yes! That old show has quite a following, you know..."
"I also know remakes of 'The Saint' and 'The Avengers' performed badly at the box-office in the late 1990s. You need to build on that audience."
"You're quite a businesswoman, Miss Hill."
"Flattery will get you no-where. I need to read the script, I need to know wsho your stars are, and I need to see the figures. Scruff here knows a thing or two, and she can spot bad projections a mile off."
"I can smell a flop a mile off, too," Scruff added.
"I think teenagers are one of the demographics your picture has to appeal to," I added. I can talk really technical when I want to. It scares some people.
"Well! You know what you want..."
We were suddenly interrupted when a young man who looked like he'd just been beaten up ran into the room. He was followed by an enraged older, balder man in tweeds.
"Idiot! Despoiler! Vandal! Ape!" the older man cried.
"Mr. Barton..."
"I created the Adventurer, Mr. Galliard! Your studio is paying to use the name. But this is a travesty, sir, a travesty!" Barton brandished the what I took to be a draft script.
"This is the twenty-first century..."
"Richard Coventry is a carefree, globe-trotting man of leisure! Your rotten script has transformed him into a tortured assassin! It's intolerable, sir! I've a mind to withdraw my permission!"
"You can't. Not after you sold the rights to the character to my company."
"Because I was desperate! I had to have the money. You assured me..."
"Not in writing, Mr. Barton. Legally I can do what I like with the character."
"You fiend! You'll regret this!!!" the writer cried, livid with anger.
"I think not."
Barton left in a gigantic rage.
"You've got trouble," I told Galliard. I was right - and they'd have murder before everything was sorted out.

Revenge of the Adventurer! Prologue

Isn't it funny how a lot of old 1960s TV shows are getting re-made either as new shows or as movies? And isn't it funny too how some 'remakes' are really nothing like the original? Well, one of those old shows was called 'The Adventurer'. It starred one of the men who almost played James Bond (but was passed over for Roger Moore), Norman Walker. Walker was one of the lesser action-hero actors. He played 'The Adventurer' for three years in the 1960s, and in two feature-films. Then he was badly injured in a car accident. Since then he'd lived as a recluse in his home in Surrey.

'The Adventurer' was based on a series of books by John Barton, published in the 1950s and '60s (in fact through to the 1980s) starring Richard Coventry, international adventurer. Coventry and his lovely assistant and secretary, Miss Lana Coll, had travelled the world having adventures in short stories and novels. The TV show had followed the same format. Barton retired in luxury on the proceeds. He also lived in a mansion in Surrey, until recent losses on the stockmarket had forced him to sell up.
In the show Lana Coll had been played by a lovely redhead called Molly Farrow. She was quite a star in her day, but now she's relegated to playing bit-parts in poor sitcoms. She was on 'The Bill' recently, Scruff tells me.

And 'The Adventurer'? Apart from a few repeats on BBC 2 a few years back, the show was remembered fondly by those who saw it in the '60s. It has a mild cult following, and Molly Farrow's retirement plan was built on her engagements at cult TV conventions - since Walker hasn't appeared in public since 1978.

Why am I telling you this? Because there was an attempt to do a 'remake' film of the show. It ended a couple of weeks back in failure. It would have ended in a terrible tragedy if I hadn't happened to be involved. This is the story of how it happened, the story of...

THE REVENGE OF THE ADVENTURER!!!

Double Trouble! Epilogue.

I took Laura back to her place. She recovered a little in the car. She'd never been that close to her Dad, and the fact that he was a criminal helped too. Emily was rather quiet, as if she'd done something terribly wrong. I suppose she had, really. After all, she'd killed the father of a girl she was starting to regard as a friend.
Scruff patched up my shoulder, and I was feeling a lot better by the time we arrived at Laura's place. My costume was torn away from my shoulder, but it was a mild night, and it's a whole lot better than going around with a knife stuck in there.
It meant we had to use the stairs. No-one was home - the ape-like manservant had either gone to bed or gone on the run, take your pick.
Up in her room, Laura pulled back her cowl. Under it her face was pretty bruised and battered. She'd heal, though. It could have been so much worse.
"How do you feel?" I asked her.
"Relieved I'm alive," she answered. "You're right, I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I first put this costume on. I guess I thought it was all a game, and it isn't."
"No," I affirmed. That's important. "People die. Us, we've chosen this life. Emily can't really do much else, and me, I'm used to it and in love with a man who does pretty much the same sort of thing. But you can go back."
"I can. Now Dad's dead I'll inherit his money. I have to do something with it - and it won't be bankrolling the Black Kitten!" she laughed. "First I have to go back to school!"
Scruff laughed. I wondered if she really ought to go to school?

We talked for several hours. I wanted to make sure that she wasn't on her own. Then both of us dropped off, and when I woke I was lying on Laura's bed, next to her, and it was morning.
I don't operate in bright daylight, and since Laura was asleep, I slipped out of the house, taking Scruff and Emily with me. Part of me felt bad at leaving Laura, but what else could we do?

She got over her Dad's death pretty well and returned to her expensive school. London was back to having only one cat-themed crime-fighter. As for the Black Kitten's costume, it's hanging in my secret base as a reminder of an adventure in which, for a brief time, I had a double.
Emily's still Emily. The little black smoky crossbow-wielder doesn't change that much. But now she writes to Laura at school every so often. And Laura, bless her heart, writes back.
Scruff's just glad I'm not being so catty any more!

THE END
of 'Double Trouble'

The Girl in Grey will be back in

'REVENGE OF THE ADVENTURER'

Double Trouble! 24.

A black crossbow-bolt knocked the knife out of the air.

"You're finished, Moriarty!" Scruff announced in best movie style, striding into the room with her cape flowing behind her.
"Who the bloody hell do you think you are?" Moriarty asked.
"Me? I'm the girl who's stopping you," Scruff replied happily.
"Do you know who the Black Kitten is?" I asked him, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder where his knife was still sticking in me.
"What, you think I don't know my own daughter? Of course I know it's Laura. She's just like her mother, selling out everything."
"Dad!" Laura gasped. "You knew it was me and you still did that to me?"
"Yeah. Like I did it to your mother! She was screaming for pity, but I killed her."
Emily struck the shackles off Laura's wrists, releasing the Black Kitten. Laura stumbled forwards.
"Oh! Oh, thanks!"
"What do we do with your Dad?" Scruff asked. It was an important question. After all, there he was, being covered by Emily's crossbow.

"Call the police," Laura replied. "Tie him up and leave him for them to find. There's illegal drugs in this warehouse..."
"You little..." Moriarty pulled a knife from under his coat and leaped forward. But Emily's reflexes are excellent. Unfortunately they're also an assassin's reflexes. She loosed off a bolt without even having to think about it.

Laura screamed as the crossbow-bolt buried itself in her Dad's stomach and he fell to his knees on the floor.
"No! I can't lose!" he cried. But the crossbow-bolt said otherwise. What was worse, there was no hope. Emily automatically shoots to kill.
"I... I'm dying!" he gasped. "And I was going to kill you. All of you..."
He pitched forward onto his face. I checked his pulse, but there was nothing. He was dead.
"No!" Laura cried, kneeling down beside the fallen body. "No! You killed him!"
"I'm sorry," Emily said awkwardly, red glowing eyes cast down. "I... it was a reflex. It was automatic..."

"You're a little killer! Laura sobbed. "Oh, I hate you! Dad! Dad!"
"Laura," I knelt down beside her. "I know how you feel. My Dad was murdered when I was nineteen. It's tough. But you have to go on."
"She killed him..."
"I know. You've killed pople as well, haven't you?"
She nodded tearfully.
"It's not a game, is it? It's nasty sometimes, dirty and unpleasant. And it breaks your heart. Come on. Before the police arrive."
With my arm injured, Scruff had to help Laura up. I called the police from my car just before we left. Once again they were going to pick up the pieces.

Double Trouble! 23.

"Hi," I greeted the men with a disarming smile. They remained resolutely armed.
"Yer ain't gonna rescue nobody," the leader, who looked and sounded like he'd lost boxing matches with every heavyweight in the world, told me.
"Grammar! Two negatives..."
"We don't CARE about no-one's grammar," another of the men declared. "We just care about takin' you to pieces. So the boss is havin' his fun downstairs..."
"No-one tortures my sister!"

I looked up. So did the thugs. We saw Scruff, in her Robin outfit, leaping down from above, cape billowing.
"Wot the..."
Emily opened fire.
If I ever doubt that Emily Fairbairn was trained as an assassin, I just have to watch her at times like these. Her crossbow's just the normal one-shot kind, nothing fancy, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, her rate of fire's amazing. She got off all six shots while Scruff was still in the air. Six pistols dropped from injured hands, and then we were in our element. Emily leaped down to join us.
Scruff doesn't fight fair. She just doesn't, it's how she is. But then the odds were two to one, and we were all a lot smaller than our opponents.

It wasn't a fair fight. For one thing, Emily has superhuman strength. For another, I had my whip and I'm not afraid to use it. And for the third thing, the men were all wounded.
We left the six former heavyweight boxers reflecting unconsciously on how it feels to be beaten by girls and ran for the cellars.
There was a heavy iron door there, and it was locked. But the key was in the lock, so Emily could get through the little grille in the door and unlock it for us.
We faced three more crooks. But they faced the Outsider's crossbow with nothing more than knives. They hung back. I heard Laura scream again.
"Are you scared of three girls?" I asked mockingly. "come on then! I'll show you how to fight!"
My whip disarmed two of them, and Scruff's right boot did the job on the third. We wiped the floor with them. And the floor was pretty dirty too.
Three more men rushed in. I left them for Scruff and Emily. I had more important things to do.
I burst through into the torture chamber. Laura was in a sorry state, I thought as I looked at her. The eyepieces of her cowl were shattered, the portion that covered her mouth was torn away. There were a few cuts to her upper arms and her thighs. Nothing serious. But she was shackled to a wall, and Moriarty -her own father- was standing in front of her with a wicked little knife.
Moriarty whirled, and as he whirled he threw the knife in his hand. I tried to dodge, but I was too late. The blade embedded itself in my right shoulder. Moriarty drew another knife from his jacket.
"No!" Laura screamed. She strained forwards, but she could not break her bonds of steel.
Great, I was facing a knife-throwing villain, and I was hurt.
"Goodbye!" Moriarty threw the knife.

Double Trouble! 22.

Leaving the grey car concealed and secure (not to mention ready to ruin any would-be car thief's evening, should he try to steal it), we moved stealthily to the front of the building. There Emily met us.
"There's two guards on each door," she said.
"Then let's use a different door," I uncoiled my whip from my belt and looked up. Above the alley where I'd left the car were a number of doors for loading goods into the upper floors of the warehouse. Above those rotten wooden doors were cast-iron cranes that had been used to lift goods from the alley where we were to the warehouse's upper floors.
My way in! I caught one of the beams with my whip and climbed the strong leather thong. Hanging there, I was able to quickly get into the building. Scruff and Emily climbed up after me. We stood together in the room that was filled with the smell of decay. I drew a small torch from my belt and handed it over to Scruff. I took another torch for myself.
"I'm going to have to get a few belt-pouches in this costume," Scruff joked.

"We have to be careful," I warned her. "You might be infringing someone's copyright."
"Like you care."
"Like I care," I admitted.
Emily led the way. Being able to become invisible's a pretty handy power. Mind you, being black and smoky's rather a drawback in everyday life. Or that's how I see it. It's how Emily sees it as well.
The upper floors of the building seemed to be deserted. I wasn't very surprised. After all, the floors felt unsafe under my feather-like weight. I dread to think how they'd feel under the feet of one of those former heavyweights London gangsters seem to favour as minders/enforcers. One of them would be liable to end up in the cellar - always assuming the cellar wasn't vaulted, of course.
Emily hissed, a signal for us to stop. We were near the main stairs, and I think that's what she'd found.
Then I heard something else hiss. A couple of seconds later there was another hiss and the sound of two bodies hitting the floor.

Emily's way. I'd hoped we could be a little more subtle than shooting guards. But there we go, Emily's a violent little Outsider, that's all there is to it.
"Come on!"
Whip held ready, I hurried forwards. There I saw Emily standing on the galleried landing and two bodies on the floor below.
"They were expecting attack from the front."
"I know. But..."
I didn't get to finish. I was interrupted by another piercing scream.
Laura! I ran down the stairs, ready to face anything.
Anything but the six huge men with guns who faced me. None of them looked at all friendly. And I don't mean maybe!!!

Double Trouble! 21.

The tracker on the car gave me time to get back down to my car, where Scruff was waiting. She looks rather good in her Robin outfit, I think. Not that I'd force her to wear it when she didn't want to, but our opponents had already seen her dressed like that, so they wouldn't know her appearance any better than they already did.
"Sis! What's up?"
"The Black Kitten's been captured! We need to get after her!" I jumped behind the wheel and started the car as Emily jumped in Scruff's side. The high-tech displays lit up, automatically locating the tracker.
"Hang on!" I called, "They're going fast!"
Why was I going fast too, if I had a tracker on the car? Simple, I didn't know where they were taking Laura, and I wanted to be close enough to see if she was transferred to another vehicle. my car's distinctive, but not a lot of crooks know what it looks like, so I had a chance of not being noticed.
"We have to find where she's being taken," I said.
"And then what?" Emily asked, checking her crossbow. "We rescue her?"
"In short order, yes. She's not one of us, but she's on our side. I can't let her die."
"DIE?" Scruff was horrified. "But it's her Dad..."
"Do you know what he did to her mother? He slit her throat when he found her having an affair with another man. Moriarty may look like a cultured, witty, urbane gentleman, but he's really a ruthless killer."
"That's what I told her," Emily agreed. " So it's vital we rescue her."
"How do we get in?" Scruff asked. "Emily's way?"
"You mean shoot everyone who tries to pull a gun? It has a certain appeal, but no, I don't think so. Of course it depends where she's being taken."
We were speeding through the Capital's streets now. I don't care which speed cameras pick me up - my car's numberplate's a fake. The real one belongs to Ken Livingstone, Mayor of London. I wonder what he does with the penalty notices he recieves?

I tracked the car to Battersea. There it turned off the main road, and I turned too. We were in a warren of old streets, amidst rotting warehouses that had not yet been transformed into luxury residences. Development property belonging to none other than Moriarty himself! I was willing to bet he had a nasty little torture-chamber in one of the buildings. He's that sort of nasty man.
The car signal stopped. I slowed and carried on right by as Scruff used my night-vision goggles from the glove compartment to see what the thugs were doing.
"They're getting her out of the car and carrying her into the building," she reported. I turned the next corner and there I brought the car to a standstill. Emily slipped out and turned invisible. She ran to make sure Laura wasn't just being transferred.
"Okay," Scruff," I turned to my sister. "This is it. Ready?"
"Ready," she smiled.
I heard a piercing scream and I hoped Laura wouldn't be too badly hurt by the time we got to her.

Double Trouble! 20.

"You're surrounded, Black Kitten!" Moriarty crowed in triumph. Laura stood there, in the middle of the auditorium, looking about herself as if searching for a way out. I wished I could help, but I knew that if I came down from my perch I'd just get roughed up with her. She was in serious trouble, and she knew it.
"Surrender and I'll kill you quickly!" the gang boss added. "If you try to fight I'll kill you very, very slowly. You'll be quite a mess when I've finished wih you!"

Terrible choice, I thought.
"I won't surrender!" she cried back, her defiant voice echoing through the building. I amired her then. Maybe she'd kicked me in the jaw, but she had what it took. She was going to face dozens of enemies and almost certain defeat followed by an agonising death. She had no back-up, no possibility of escape or rescue.
"Get her!" Moriarty cried. The minders and hired muscle all rushed the small feminine figure who stood alone in the middle of the building. It was painful to watch.
She was a brave girl, I'll give her that, but she was massively outnumbered. Laura fought as if her life depended on it - which it did. She moved like a dream, hands and feet dealing out blows, sending less skilled fighters flying. For a while it looked like she might at least be able to get away, but every door was guarded and there were no windows. What was worse, the Three Jade Tigers Moriarty had brought in were better than she was. At last they reached her.
"Black Kitten," the leader hissed, her eyes looking into the Kitten's green eyepieces. "Let us teach you a lesson, little girl!"
The minders backed off, and the Jade Tigers circled the Kitten. They struck viciously, making her look clumsy and inexperienced.
It was painful to watch. She was good, but the Three Jade Tigers are legendary. There was no way one sixteen year-old girl was ever going to beat them. She tried to block their blows, even tried to fight back, but nothing worked. The Tigers were experts. she was still learning.
Not that I could take on the Three Jade Tigers. I think Emily could, but she prefers to use her crossbow.
The gangsters cheered on the Tigers and mocked the girl in black as she staggered back from the Tigers' relentless attack. I hate hired martial arts experts, and if I had my way I'd ban them. Us girl crime-fighters need some advantages, after all!
I saw her fall once, twice. Blackie was socked in the mouth and she staggered back. A blow to the back of the head completed the process, and the Black Kitten fell, unconscious, on the floor of the old music hall. She was beaten!

"Take her away and work her over," Moriarty ordered his thugs.
"You don't want to see her face?" one of the women asked. Moriarty shook his head.
"When I'm ready. Your part's done. The accountant will pay you."
Just like that. I'd seen enough. I hurried back to the roof and watched the huge thugs carry the Black Kitten's senseless form out of the music hall. She was bundled into a car.
I quickly threw a magnetic radio-tracker onto the car, then I hurried back to my car.
I was determined to save Laura from her Dad!

Double Trouble! 19.

That night I waited on the roof of the old Music Hall. Scruff was waiting nearby, and Emily was on a nearby roof with her crossbow. Not that that's surprising. She can hardly be separated from her crossbow.
Cars were arriving outside. Men in smart suits with huge minders stepped from the vehicles. There would be a LOT of minders around, I thought, and the Black Kitten was only one girl, albeit a lot more agile than most East End minders. If I hadn't cared about her, I'd have let her get beaten to a pulp - but I'm nice. That's my great failing, I think.
There wan't much I could do on the roof, so I looked around for a way in. There was an old skylight that yielded easily to the persuasion of one of my burglary tools (they're so handy) and so I slipped in that way. From the top of the building I made my way down to a catwalk above the stage whch I figured fitted my costume pretty well. There was no sign of any Kitten there yet.

The building was set out as if for a conference, but the only conferring going on was between Moriarty and a number of sharp-suited men in the middle of the floor.
"You know the drill. When she comes in you can get her. No guns. Just fists and feet. Where are they?"
"Here!"
I saw three oriental women in long coats enter. Even from where I was hiding I could see these were no ordinary criminals. They were the legendary Three Jade Tigers, martial arts experts.
It made sense from Moriarty's standpoint. Your business if being disturbed by a teenager who does martial arts, you hire the three best martial arts professionals in London to take her down.
Moriarty laughed wickedly.

This wasn't a business meeting, I realised with a shock. This was a trap, pure and simple! Moriarty must have figured out there was a leak in his organisation and staged this whole thing just to get the Kitten. If I'd been worried before, I was even more worried now.
"Where is the target?" the lead Jade Tiger asked.
"On her way. My men have instructions to let her in here then seal the doors. It'll be a cage match."
"The three of us against one girl? Hardly honourable."
"True. But I'm a London gangster, not some oriental with silly ideas about honour."
"And you pay very well, Mr. Moriarty."
"Moriarty!"
Every eye went to the rear gallery, mine included. There, at the front, stood the Black Kitten. The girl certainly knew how to make an entrance. There was no way I could warn her without sealing my own fate. I was helpless, a mere onlooker.
"The Black Kitten!" Moriarty exclaimed.
"The very same!" With a graceful leap she jumped from the gallery to the centre of the hall. Moriarty laughed.
"Utterly predictable! The trap is sprung!"
The doors all slammed, and the Black kitten looked around, trapped!

Double Trouble! 18.

I was sorry to hear Laura wasn't listening. That meant she was going to get hurt, I thought. I don't like the dea of anyone who isn't a crook getting hurt, and the idea of Laura getting hurt by her own Dad was even worse.
I turned on the car's secure radio link to home.
"Scruff?"
"Loud and clear," she replied. "What's up?"
"Laura won't listen. What's she putting on her blog?"
Take a look!"
"Not while driving!"
I pulled over and pulled up 'The Black Kitten Strikes' on the web. There in front of me was a worrying sight.

I 'm going to teach Mr. Moriarty a lesson tonight. He doesn't know where, but I do. I wonder if he likes the theatre? I'm sort of old-fashioned. I think I would have liked the old music hall.

I was annoyed. It was a clue, and I couldn't figure out what she meant by it!
That's incredibly annoying. Especially when you're a detective.
"Emily?"
"Sounds random," she replied.
"I know it does. But it can't be... oh! the little fool!"
"What's up?"
"She's bragging! That's just the easiest way to get caught and probably to get badly hurt as well! She's posted a clue telling everyone where she'll be tonight!"
"Which is?"
"Emily! it's staring you in the face! She's going to be at the old music hall! I bet she thinks she's clever too."
"What do you mean?"
"Once there were dozens of music halls in London. There's now only one that survives. It takes private bookings, and Moriarty, like most mobsters, has a legitimate 'front' as a respectable businessman. He must have hired the hall for tonight, and Laura thinks she can break up his meeting. But he's bound to have the place well guarded!"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we're going to have to be in the area, Outsider. Scruff, fancy a fight?"
"Go on then. But I'll have to wear my Robin costume."
"You look great in it," Emily taunted her.
"Come back here and say that, black-and-smoky!"
But really it was very, very serious.

Double Trouble! 17.

"Hey!" I protested as the huge ape of a manservant manhandled me. "I'm a charity collector! What on earth...?"
"Simple, my dear Miss Hall," Moriarty, who was wearing a smoking-jacket, drawled urbanely. "I'm a regular subscriber to the Dogs' Home."
"Which is why I came to your front door! I'm a good girl, Mr. Moriarty, and your behaviour is completely unacceptable!"
I wasn't acting either. Men who treat women like that are beyond the pale!
"Where's your identification?"
Like I'm that stupid! I innocently produced it, and Moriarty let me go. Scruff's really good at forging identification as well. I cook breakfast, she forges my Dog's Home ID.
I went back to the car, set the security system, and waited. Part of me wanted the thug to come out and touch the car - I felt he deserved a nice big electric shock.

[Outsider here]
I think Jane's able to look after herself (well, she looks after us quite well anyhow), so I just followed orders and hurried up the stairs. I know Jane prefers it if we follow orders, and she's pretty good at talking her way out of difficult situations.
On the landing I faced a number of doors. The sound of Laura's voice rather revealed her location to me, and I entered her room thorough the keyhole. It's kind of uncomfortable, but it's more discreet than opening the door. Also I wasn't completely sure who Laura would be speaking to.
"... I'll be fine, Molly!" she was saying into a pink telephone handset. Making sure she was alone in the room, I made myself visible.
"Oh! Gotta go!" Laura exclaimed. She put the 'phone down and faced me.
"You!" she said.
"Li'l ol' black-and-smoky me," I affirmed.
"Wht are you doing here?"
"The Girl in Grey figured out who you are. If she did it... your Dad can."
"I can handle Dad."
"You don't know what a ruthless killer he is, Laura!"
"And you do?"
"Well, I kill people ruthlessly too. But only criminals. Laura, I'm worried. If your Dad catches you..."
"SHE sent you! Well, tell her I can handle things. I'm not a child any more. I'm sixteen!"
"I'm twelve."
"TWELVE!" Laura was incredulous. Most people are when they find out.
"Twelve. I'll be thirteen in May."
"Then you know..."
"I know how dangerous this life is." I sat down on her bed. "And you've chosen to go up against your Dad, Laura. Be careful."
I left her there and returned to the car.
"She won't listen," I told Jane. Jane nodded sadly.
"I'm sorry," was all she said before we drove off.

Double Trouble! 16.

Once I had dressed after my shower, I had to make breakfast for Scruff and Emily. Scruff's only good at burning food, and I like my bacon a lot less charred than she does.
"You're a great cook, Sis," Scruff told me through a mouth full of food. I shook my head and sighed.
"Scruff! Mouth CLOSED!"
"Sorry." she answered, her mouth still full of food. She's impossible sometimes!
It was a little after ten when my grey Jaguar left its garage behind the block where we live. I was driving and Emily was being invisible in the back.
"What's the plan?" she asked me.
"My plan is to ring the bell. When the door's opened, you slip in and find Laura. Tell her that she's in terrible danger."
"Great plan. She'll just laugh at you. She doesn't know you like we do, so she does't respect you."
I love that about Emily, she's so considerate.
We arrived at Moriarty's residence in Clapham in wonderful sunshine. The house is incredibly smart, and it took someone as brave as myself to walk boldly up to the door and push the bell.

The door was opened by an old retainer who looked like he'd been a heavyweight boxer once. Now he was in his second career - that of a thug.
"Wot d'yer want?" he demanded menacingly. I fluttered my eyelashes at him.
"My name's Jane Hall," I adopted my most transparent alias. "I'm collecting for the Battersea Dogs' Home, and..."
"Buster, what is it?" I heard Moriarty's voice. He sounded worryingly calm.
"A Miss 'All 'oo's collectin' fer the Battersea Dogs' 'Ome," Buster replied in broad Cockney.
"Ah! Show her in."
He wasn't supposed to do that. He was meant to turn me away. I was actually worried.
I was even more worried when the huge manservant grabbed me by the front of my blouse and dragged me inside. I lost two buttons in the process. There HAS to be an easier way to drag a girl inside!
Not that I had the time to say that sort of thing then. I just thought that I was in serious trouble!
And I don't mean maybe!