Crooks' Tours: Part Six

Lady Sylvia was somewhat pleased when she came to. She was very glad that the gas had been knock-out gas, not poison. Stretching, she examined the ceiling of the room she was in. It was the heavy mock-tudor favoured by the Victorians. It had to be the Castle, she thought.

Rising from the soft bed she had been laid in, Lady Sylvia crossed to the door. She was not surprised to find it locked. She scolded herself for ignoring the Green Man's warnings. She ought to have expected an alarm or booby-trap of some kind.

"Awake, my dear?" someone knocked on the door. Lady Sylvia stepped back from the door, readying herself for an escape attempt.

The portly figure of Mr. Coote stepped through the door, a gun in his hand. Raising her hands, the young aristocrat stepped away from the door.

"You're a sensible girl, Lady Sylvia," Coote laughed. "You don't have a chance."

Lady Sylvia moved swiftly, catching the portly Coote off-guard. She was able to knock him backwards. A high-kick sent him falling across the bed. Not waiting to follow up her advantge, Lady Sylvia bolted.

A cry from the end of the corridor sent Lady Sylvia running through the nearest door, into an airy study with a great bay window in it, a massive desk dominating the room. She drew back with a gasp at the sight of the figure at the desk.

"Good evening, my dear," said the Grey Tabby.