Ms. Madison was awoken by a maid bearing a tray full of breakfast. Lying amid tangled sheets, it was quite obvious that the young woman had not slept well. The maid smiled cheerfully down at Ms. Madison, who returned her smile.
"What was the matter, Miss?" she asked, in a broad Welsh accent.
"I was woken up by a sound from outside," she explained earnestly. "A sort of screaming..."
The maid trembled, clearly worried.
"You heard it too," she shuddered. "I ... I expect you'll be wanting to leave as soon as you can, then?"
"Not at all!" Ms. Madison was dismissive. "I'm curious to know what it was, that's all. The terror of mystery normally vanishes when its explained."
"This one can't be explained," the maid told her. "And whenever its heard, someone dies."
"I hadn't heard about a killer on the loose," the young blonde looked concerned. "Where are we? I arrived late and was invited at the last minute."
"Llanthorn Place, Miss," the Maid gestered about her. "It's owned by Mr. Price Lemon, the industrialist. And you're here from the Green Man in place of the nightclub singer who was supposed to be here." She presented the blonde with a printed card, bearing an engraving of a foliate head, the Green Man of the medieval masons.
"Get me a 'phone," Ms. Madison rose from her bed.
She was part-way through dressing when the 'phone was brought. At once, she called the number that called the ever-changing number that contacted the Green Man.
"Ms. Madison," the voice of the Green Man came down the line. "Did you have a pleasant trip?"
"A pleasant trip," Ms. Madison confirmed. "But not a pleasant night. Green Man," the blonde's voice became anxious, "there's something out on the moor - something that kills!"
"I know." The Green Man's voice was grim. "Yet the press has said nothing about it. Ten men and women slain brutally, yet not a word about it in the papers.... Your task, Ms. Madison, is to find out what is going on - and quickly, before there are more deaths."
"We may be too late," Ms. Madison replied anxiously.