The Secret Order of Doom: Part Fifteen

Ms. Madison woke slowly and painfully, her every joint aching. She knew that she had been moved. But this didn't exactly surprise the blonde secretary. There hadn't been any reason other than kidnap for feeding the girls knock-out juice in their drinks. After all, it wasn't like they had been threatening anyone, nor had they been holding anyone up.

Neither was she surprised to note that someone had undressed her. Villains tend to do that, even monkish ones (but that was obvious, as was the nightgown the girl had been dressed in). Sitting up, Ms. Madison felt even more wretched than ever. The fact that she'd got wallopped the night before probably didn't help, either. After all, Andrea, was sitting up and taking notice. She wore her underclothes, rather than a filmy nightie, and Ms. Madison felt even harsher towards the Order of Cain.

"Hello there, sleepy-head," Andrea laughed happily. "And how are you?"

"Probably concussed," Ms. Madison scowled. "You?"

"Never better," the red-head laughed. "I see they bothered to get you ready of bed."

"I'm a blonde," the secretary sighed. "That tends to make the villains dress me in skimpy clothes and leer at me, if not actually threaten to make me their wife."

"That was Dale Arden in Flash Gordon," Andrea observed brightly. "I've never read about anyone wanting to marry you, except that boyfriend of yours."

"Okay, so I exaggerated," Ms. Madison shrugged. "Do I really look like I care?"

"No," Andrea confessed, getting to her feet. "Where do you think we are, Lynette?"

"In a cell," Ms. Madison smiled impishly. "But I think we're somewhere close to the centre of the Cainite complex (hidden, of course)." And, in so doing, Ms. Madison proved that it is possible to speak in brackets.


"Swell," Andrea crossed to a window, drawing aside a curtain. She saw a very long drop towards the ground, as the brick walls of the building with the cell sloped outwards.

"We're in a windmill!" Andrea announced.

"Great," Ms. Madison sighed. "I don't suppose we have sails to climb out onto?"

"Nope," the redhead confessed. "But..."

Before she could say anything further, the door of the cell opened, admitting seven men in monkish robes. The girls started, seeing that the men were armed.

"You have come far," one of the men spoke. "But you will go no further." He cocked the pistol. The girls drew back.

The explosion of the gun in the confined space was deafening.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Fourteen

Andrea and Ms. Madison looked up at the sign of the ancient, long and low-lying inn. It read 'The Gin Trap.'

"Looks like they've got an order out against tippler," Andrea laughed. "Or do you think they're really into debauching the morals of the locals and some artist-errant stepped in?"

"Artists," Ms. Madison frowned, "are never errant. Except that they err a lot, at least around pretty blondes." Dressed in a sweater and slacks, with a sweet yachting cap on her golden curls, Ms. Madison looked refreshingly informal.

"That's what you get for being blonde," Andrea laughed. "Most of the wolves are scared of redheads."

"So, you're American, are you?" Ms. Madison returned to the personal tack she'd been trying ever since the two girls had set off from Samuelson's house.

"Possibly," Andrea remained infuriating. "But perhaps not. I was travelled a lot when I was young."


"I only recently took up travelling," Ms. Madison confessed. "The Green Man's told me all about you, but I didn't think we'd ever actually meet. He likes to keep things seperate, after all."

"Things and people," Andrea nodded. "Now, shall we call in at this hotel and pretend to be two girl tourists?"

"So long as the Green Man's paying," Ms. Madison smiled. "See, I'm afraid I'm broke right now. Heavy month and all that."

"Meaning a trip to Paris," Andrea smiled. "You really must watch out, Ms. Madison."

"Lynette, please," the young woman protested. "We are colleagues, after all."

"Sure," Andrea nodded. "Now, let's get something to eat - I'm famished!"

The girls both checked hidden weapons, Ms. Madison the small automatic she had, Andrea her rather more powerful weapon. After all, Ringstead was where the enemy had once had their seat. Indeed, given the remoteness of the village, there was every possiblity of it still being their headquarters. But that, of course, was why the two girls were there.

The lack of armed monkish figures when they walked into the bar reassured the two girls enormously, as did the friendly expression on the face of the landlord. Here, at least, it seemed that there was no cold shoulder for outsiders.

The girls ordered a couple of drinks, then sat down by the window, glad of the safe surroundings, and considering their next move. They were still wondering whento start when Andrea began to fidget, playing with her collar. Ms. Madison could see beads of perspiration on the redhead's face. And no wonder, for the room was definitely heating up.

"What's up?" she asked. Her voice seemed very faint and far away.

She never even heard Andrea's reply, for darkness claimed her.

Really Delayed Sunday Supplement: DIY Church

Ms. L. Madison, our deputy correspondent writes: Having had a fight with Mr. Rake, I decided to visit a church other than the usual local one. This church was 'The Flock of Christ.com', a house church meeting in the living room of a suburban semi.

And I haven't been in a suburban semi for a very long time. My father no longer invites me to his house, mostly as he's a detective, and the Green Man is counted as a ciminal, albeit one no-one can catch.

The Pastor, a man in a crumpled gaudy shirt, welcomed us, while his wife made coffee in the kitchen. I felt most out-of-place in my Sunday best. I mean, what's a girl with a hat to do when she's sat on a sofa and it's interfering with the head of a man?

I know, 'take it off.' And that's what I did, although he still glared at me. I didn't glare back. I had to buy a lot of new frocks lately, and my bank balance is way down. The Green Man doesn't pay me lots, although the travel is free, and a girl has to have a certain aura of loadedness about her, you know...

Now, where was I?

Yes, the welcome. There was a guitar playing, although not very well. Everyone looked at me as though I was a visitor from another world. They may not have been all that wrong, as they were dressed informally, while I was dressed in my normal church clothes. And believe me, that's no good thing, folks. I felt very out of place.

Singing was done from a seated position, and I'm afraid I fell asleep during the longish singing of choruses. Someone jabbed me in the side, and I gave them a dirty look, despite them being the prosperous-looking young man (I like prosperous-looking young men. Hell, I'm so broke I'll even go for old and ugly men with some money).

There was no sermon, only an informal talk. Which I'm hardly surprised at, after all, it was a living room. The talk was on a theme, that of Jesus as our righteousness. Sadly, the Pastor was not a good speaker, and he mumbled. His wife corrected him several times, as did a younger man who looked like he thought he owned the place (I later discovered he did).

The Pastor got into a blazing row with the man in question, and the Pastor's wife got tea for everyone. Me, I decided to make myself scarce, while the gentleman who looked like he had some dough talked to me. I found out he's a stockbroker, and that he lives on a nice estate. Things went no further.

At this point, the Green Man jumped someone outside the house, and we got the pastor to perform an impromptu funeral.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Thirteen

Ms. Madison and the Rev. Samuelson waited in the dark, scracely daring to breathe, as they listened for whoever had caused the lights to go out.

"Of course, it could just be a normal power outage," the venerable cleric began.

"But I won't believe that in a million years," Ms. Madison sighed. "We're bait in a trap, Reverend, "the Green Man's trap, I'll admit, but still a trap. The Order are supposed to find us and make an attempt to wipe us out."

"Just like the others..." the clergyman groaned. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Easy," Ms. Madison rose to her feet, "because you'd 've refused."

The aged clergyman's silence confirmed this point. And it was at this moment that Ms. Madison's acute hearing picked up a soft footfall outside the library door. She tensed, adopting a fighting stance. Whatever she might have on, even if it was only a nightie and dressing-gown, she was going to show them what it meant to tangle with the Green Man's people. She only wished she could see enough to be able to chance a shot or two with the tiny (and very illegal) pocket pistol the Green Man had given her.

As the door creaked open, Ms. Madison drew back, she head the heaver tread of the Reverend, as he, too, drew back. She just saw movement in the open door, as someone crept stealthily inside. She could not but think of a scene from a nightmare. Just a movement in the darkness...

Somewhere, out in the grounds, she heard the roar of a gun. The figure in the shadows started, giving away his position. Ms. Madison moved swiftly, her little fist making contact with the robed figure's stomach. A few more blows determined what was where. Taken by surprised, the man crumpled to the ground, very unconscious. Ms. Madison smiled, knowing that she'd scored a small victory. And that it wasn't bad for a secretary.


Then a heavy fist struck her in the mouth. Ms. Madison span around, her head swimming. A second blow left her gasping, the iron tang of blood in her mouth. She was able to dodge a third from that source, but into a blow from another man caught her on the jaw, and she went down, her head buzzing.

"You have tried to find the secrets of the Order of Cain," someone spoke, planting a foot on Ms. Madison's throat. "Like those others who came before you, you will die."

The lights came up suddenly, and three shots rang out. The man whose foot was on Ms. Madison's throat fell over. Ms. Madison just lay there, feeling wretched. Soon, she felt a shadow fall over her. She opened her eyes again, her head still buzzing. She saw a dark gown and high-heeled shoes. And a large and threatening automatic.

"Andrea..." the blonde groaned, looking up into the smiling face of the mysterious red-head.

"You're a mess," the redhead shook her head, still smiling. "Did you know you've got a load of blood all over your nightie?"

"I don't know much right now," Ms. Madison confessed. "Apart from the buzzing in my head.

"Reverend!" Andrea called out, "get a cushion! Ms. Madison's hurt!" There was real concern in her voice, and Ms. Madison appreciated that.

Then the redhead picked up the 'phone and called a number which changed on a regualr basis.

Moments later, the lights went down again, and the Green Man strode into the library.

"All done?" the Green Man asked.

"All done," Andrea confirmed. "There's enough in those documents to blow the Order of Cain wide open."

"Reverend Samuelson?" The Green Man spoke to the retired vicar.

"No," the reverend gentleman shook his head emphatically. "This mass of paper tells us nothing. If I were to judge by all this alone, I should say that there's no secret at all guarded by the Order of Cain.

"Fascinating," the Green Man observed. "Is there anything that you have learned?"

"We know where the old secret cell was," Ms. Madison spoke from her position on the floor. "It was located in Ringstead, just up the coast from here."

"Well done!" the Green Man spoke emphatically. "You can have a bonus for that. Andrea, Ms. Madison, tomorrow, you will leave for Ringstead."

"And right now," Ms. Madison sighed, "I'm going to lose consciousness...

Which she did.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Twelve

When the Green Man had suggested that her next move should be to stay with the Rev. Samuelson and work on the papers recovered from the various murder sites, Ms. Madison had imagined that she'd be staying in a cosy country cottage, maybe with a thatched roof, and vines growing up the walls. Imagine her surprise, therefore, when she discovered that the Samuelson's house was a rambling mock-tudor pile. It had three libraries, one of which was devoted to esoteric information, including all published works on the Order of Cain. Not that this was hard, as there were five of them, and one was a children's book (albeit one that hadn't sold). Andrea, the mysterious redhead who'd brought the papers, was elsewhere, presumably checking the grounds for mysterious monkish figures. While Ms. Madison had intended to have an early night, cries of excitement from the learned and Reverend gentleman had brought her out of bed into the library. Accordingly, she was sorting through large boxes of paper while wearing her night-things. While expensive, these were hardly the sort of things of which her mother would have approved.

"What confuses me," Samelson shook his head, "is why these people were killed. If they knew the secret of the Order of Cain, why would they have been killed?"

"What do you mean?" Ms. Madison shook her head. "The secret might have..."

"No, my dear child," Samuelson leaned forward, still holding a scrawled on letter. "The Cainites believed that people were saved by coming to know the secret and hidden knowledge they guarded. If anything, they should have welcomed these people into the Order, not killed them. After all, the Order of Cain is supposed to hold a secret that, if revealed, would destroy the Church."

"Supposed is the word,"Ms. Madison lay back on a convenient chaise-longe, an old diary of a nineteenth-century member of the Order f Cain in her left hand. "Besides, are you sure you haven't mixed them up with the Priory of Sion in Dan Brown's book?"

"Yes," Samuelson sounded annoyed. The way he spoke to the blonde secretary indicated that he did not take her seriously. Given that she was wearing her night-things, she wasn't surprised.


"In that case," Ms. Madison carried on, "I agree with you. If they've got this terrific secret that could change the world, why are they killing people to keep it a secret?"

"It's a good question," Samuelson put down his manuscript. "I'd have thought they'd welcome this sort of scrutiny. Maybe the secret is more dark than any of the historians believe."

"You know," Ms. Madison stretched lazily, "I think that if we find the secret, we'll know exactly what these murders were all about."

"Despite the floor-show," Samuelson coughed, "I agree with you."

Ms. Madison blused fiercely, but before she could make a reply, all the lights went out.

Sinks of Iniquity 1: The Cat Hotel, Bastwick

This being an occasional series dedicated to things that should not be allowed. The reporter is our self-appointed Sinks of Iniquity correspondent, Sir Richard Arcos:

The Norfolk village of Bastwick had a lovely medieval church once. Then it fell down (or was pulled down, I fail to remember which). Only the gaunt tower now remains. And believe me, without its battlements, the tower's jolly gaunt. At some point in recentish memory, the tower was converted to offices, with useful things like floors and a ceiling. My daughter tells me there were plans to do something with these, but they fell through.

Anyway, the tower is now owned by the notorious Cat Hotel chain. This sounds like it's a boarding catttery of some sort. In fact, a perusal of the sign outside the mouldering tower reveals a very different story. Rooms in this place are let during the day only, and during working hours. I am reliably informed by some old and toothless gossip that cats can book in for a few hours for illicit trysts, and the management do not ask questions.

It's good to see that this particular sink of iniquity is closed on the Sabbath. So many sinks of iniquity violate this particular commandment as well. Take the still-notorious Adultery bureau, for example.

On second thoughts, perhaps not. They really were dubious. The blackmail as much as the hiring out of young women fresh out of Pudding Norton College.

Next time: The Cess-Pool Bandits.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Eleven

Inspector Bullock laughed wickedly, levelling his gun at the Green Man. He let his finger close slowly on the trigger, taking his time in a sadistic manner.

"Brother Lemuel." The Green Man spoke, but it was not the Green Man's voice that came from behind the mask. Rather, it was the voice of Inspector Bullock.

The Police Officer cringed back for a moment, before the explosive device concealed on his person exploded, killing him. For the second time that day, Ms. Madison's clothes were stained with blood. She groaned.

The six other robed figures were disorientated by their leader's sudden exit from this mortal life. The Green Man took the three who had stood on the Inspector's right, while Ms. Madison took those on the left, showing a surprising grasp of unarmed combat technique, given her looks and fashionable dress. All of which goes to show that one should never judge by appearances. Soon all six monkish figures were strewn about the nave of the chapel, quite senseless.

"And that never happened to the monkish types in the Da Vinci Code," Ms. Madison observed, smiling, as she smooted down her blonde hair. Her face was flushed, and her breathing faster than usual. "How was I?"

"You're a good learner," the Green Man told her admiringly. "Now, let's get the secret and get out of here."

A swift search of the tomb showed no sign of any clue at all. Ms. Madison shook her head.

"I think it was just a trap," she told the Green Man, as they walked across a playground to the rear of a large Methodist chapel. "Like the false clue in the Da Vinci Code, only deadlier. Which means that we've run up against another blank, especially with Inspector Bullock definitely off the case."

"Not a blank." The Green Man shook his head. "Remember the dead men? They all left notes. All of them must have found out the secret of the Order of Cain, and even if the papers dealing with that were destroyed, if all those papers were to be put together..."

"We'd know," Ms. Madison nodded. "But we need an expert, like the dead men."

"You've met him." The Green Man spoke briefly, and to the point.

"Samuelson?" Ms. Madison smiled. "And I suppose you've managed to get the papers somehow?"


"You could say that," the Green Man produced a mobile 'phone from under his trenchcoat. "Your red-headed colleague on my staff has been collecting them. And she'll be acting as bodyguard at Samelson's house, while you two work on the papers." He pressed a button on the 'phone, before raising it to his face.

The instrument on the other end rang a few times, before it was picked up, a little unsteadily.

"Andrea Salle," a sleepy voice on the other end declared. "Who's calling, please?"

"This is the Green Man," the avenger of evil spoke softly. "Do you have the papers?"

"I got in from burgling Nottingham Police Station two hours ago," Andrea Salle yawned. "So don't expect me to be in Norfolk until teatime. Where do I go?"

"Samuelson." The Green man spoke the name before ending the call.

"And I," Ms. Madison announced, "will be getting new kit before having a nice lunch. If I'm going to become bait for evil monks, I might as well have a good meal first."

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Ten

The Green Man and Ms. Madison slipped, unnoticed into the Chapel of St. Nicholas, King's Lynn. With its mighty West Window and stubby tower, it looks rather strange. But then, as the largest private chapel in England, it is rather strange, so we must not blame it. The spire is a Victorian addition, so it must have looked still stranger before. This is because the tower belonged to an older, smaller chapel and no-one bothered to rebuild it when they did the rest of the chapel.

The Green Man drew his revolver as he opened the door, and Ms. Madison did the same with her handbag automatic (and that's the most technical we get here). But this was unnecessary, for the great building was quite empty.

Light from the great Perpendicular (I meant technical when it comes to weapons) windows flooded the space. With great windows at East and West ends, unrestricted by the needs of a tower, and no division between nave and chancel, the awesomeness of the space was almost overwhelming. Leaving the aisles, Ms. Madison stood by the font, looking down to the East window. She sighed, amazed by the power and beauty of the view.


"This is really grand." She observed. "I mean, this chapel is bigger than lots of churches."

"Probably bigger than most churches, given the size of country churches," the Green Man added. "But we're not here to admire the view, I'm afraid, my dear Ms. Madison. "We need to find the tomb Inspector Bullock was so interested in."

"Of course," Ms. Madison nodded, smiling. "Do you think it's a false trail?"

"Perhaps," the Green Man chuckled. "But whatever these men were killed for, it could be discovered by looking for it. Besides, if we follow this false trail, it's sure to lead somewhere. Remember, in the Da Vinci Code, the false trail had a message in it."

"And we can track people from that." Ms. Madison laughed. "After all, we're not after their secret."

"Only justice." The Green Man began to look around the building.

Then he saw it, high on a wall. A man and his wife, in the dress of the seventeenth century, kneeling. And, beneath them, nine little children sat either side of a skull. He pointed it out to Ms. Madison.

"The most people in the church." The lovely blonde nodded, smiling. What do you think we do next."

"Next," a voice rang out from the rear of the church, "you die!"

The crime-fighters turned, and found themselves facing Inspector Bullock. He wore an unpleasant smile on his face, and was flanked by six armed men in robes. He, too, wore a robe, albeit with the hood down.

"Inspector Bullock," the Green Man laughed. "You seem to be getting into bad habits."

The Inspector raised his gun, finger tightening on the trigger.

The secret Order of Doom: Part Nine

The Inspector's eyes widened, as the Green Man stepped out of the shadows of the church quire. He did not have his gun drawn, but the air of menace was nevertheless unmistakable. Inspector Bullock looked back for a moment, only to be brought back by the sound of the Green Man's laughter.

"You won't have any help from your sergeant," the Green Man declared. "One of my agents has his covered. Call him, and he will suffer for your crimes."

"My... crimes...?" the Inspector shook with fear.

"Yes, your crimes." The Greem Man moved nearer, the light from the great east window spotting his mantle with colour. "You attempted to cover up the murder of a harmless museum curator, suggesting that it was suicide."

"I believed that!" the Inspector's face flushed.

"You lie." The Green Man was unconvinced. "No man, however talented he may be, can kill himself by cutting himself into seven parts and impaling his head on the bannisters. And that raises the question of why you suggested that. I believe you are connected with the Order of Cain."

"Of course," the Inspector nodded, "I can even tell you all about the leadership, like Bro-."

"You won't." The Green Man struck him on the mouth. "I know all about the self-destruct code." The long-barreled gun appeared in the hand of the ruthless crime-fighter. "Why was that man killed?"

"He got too close to the secret of the Order." Bullock smiled. "And if you get too close, you and your pretty secretary are going to die as well."

"Really?" the Green Man shook his head. "Where will I find this secret? Oh, and don't talk about any brother. I can shoot you before you finish speaking. You will live if I decide you are to live."

"The largest chapel!" the Inspector cried. "The tomb of many people!"

The Green Man nodded and walked back to where Ms. Madison stood. As the sergeant turned, his jaw dropping, as he saw the Green Man. Ms. Madison slugged him, before the pair made their escape.

"I heard the Inspector," Ms. Madison smiled. "What does he mean?"

"King's Lynn," the Green Man explained, "contains the largest chapel in Britain, just off the Tuesday Market square. Something's in there."

"Or perhaps there's a pretend code, like that silly pretension in the Da Vinci Code," Ms. Madison speculated. "You know, in case someone goes after this secret, like that monk chap in the film."

"You saw the film?" the Green Man led Ms. Madison out of the great church."


"Mike - Mr. Rake - took me," Ms. Madison explained helpfully. "He thought it might relax me."

"And did it?" the Green Man chuckled.

"I solved the whole thing in the first twenty minutes," the blonde confessed happily. "It had to be some sort of inside job. But I know Opus Dei, and they don't have monks or assassins. I mean, would the Vatican have asked us to..."

"That's a story for another time," the Green Man cut her off, "like the tale of the Giant Rat of Sumatra, the world is not yet ready for it."

"Which is a pity," Ms. Madison noted. "A giant fire-breathing badger's far more fun than a rat - and cleaner."

When the duo came to the square, the Chapel was easily recognised. A large church with a spire, only in a town where St. Margaret's was the main church would it have been called a chapel. The church was unlocked, and they stepped inside, not knowing what they might find.

Sunday Supplement: Rock the Church

Sir Richard Arcos, religion correspondent for this site, writes: Hello, me again. Yesterday it was Sunday, and so it was time for me to sally forth into the wilderness that is rural Norfolk, to sample the delights of another church, and perhaps another style of worship. This time, it was the delightfully ancient church of St. Andrew & St. Silas, Much Dithering in-the-Mire (which, as any fool knows, is a good way to end up well and truly sunk. The Church is fourteenth century, albeit much restored.

Recently the old vicar here died, at the venerable age of a hundred and two. He went to sleep during a hymn and woke up dead. His replacement, the Rev. Bryan Braynded is a member of the newer school of vicars (this isn't hard, I must admit), and has made a name for himself is the field of contemporaryChristian music. His chorus I Love Him made him famous in contemporary Christian Music circles (it consists of those three words repeated 1200 times). And so, with repidation, I approached St. Andrew & St. Silas for the 11am service.

I was greeted by a young man with something purporting to be a beard. He handed me a booklet with a sticky plastic cover, which I promptly gave back, telling him it needed to be washed before anyone handled it again. He looked at me strangely, at which point I looked back even more strangely. He turned to talk to someone else, so I waited quietly until the conversation was well under way, at which point I shouted 'boo!' so loudly that both jumped. I got a clean book.

At the comencement of the service, the 'worship band' under the chancel arch started playing some sort of soft folk music. Some people got up and started singing. At which point the Rev. Braynded entered. His right hand is held up, having got stuck there after a nine hour 'worship' session some years ago.

The bidding prayer was short, while the general confession was so short as to be laughable. After this the 'worship leader', a man in a tee-shirt with another semi-beard, announced that we were to sing, Jesus Lover of my Soul. I cheered up a bit here until I discovered that what he had in mind was not the wonderful hymn by Charles Wesley, but an appalling piece of doggerel which consists of the words:

Jesus, lover of my soul,

Nothing from you I withhold

Repeated until narcolepsy sets in.

After another prayer, this time rather longer, the responses in the prayer-book were set to a loud electric guitar. Some young lady did a solo, which would have been good in night-club, but I felt somewhat inappropriate in a church. After this, we were invited to join in an extended time of 'worship,' which consisted in singing inane songs for twenty minutes. The most notable was, Lord I love you, which, the hymnbook announced as:

Lord I Love you (repeat 10,000 times)

I Love you Lord (repeat 10,000 times)

You I Love Lord (repeat 10,000 times)

Apparently the rev. Braynded was not too embarrassed to attach his name to such drivel. At the end of this we were asked if we'd like to sit down. At which point the following exchange took place:

'Worship Leader': And now, if you'd like to sit down...

Sir Richard Arcos: I'd love to, but my joints have locked.

WL: If you'd like to sit down, sir...

I: Richard Arcos. As I said, I'd love to sit down. As a matter of fact, I wanted to sit down quarter of an hour ago. But I can't any more.

After some difficulties, I was allowed to apply heat to my knees until I could sit down. Sadly, the sermon lasted only fifteen minutes, less time than the singing of inane songs. It never really got going, but I reproduced the end of it:

Rev: 'Let us follow the example of Jesus, of St. Francis of Assisi, of Thomas Merton...'

I (rising): 'Merton was a heretic.'

Rev: 'Thomas Merton was one of the great spiritual visionaries of the last century.'

I: 'Merton was a trappist monk who should have vowed to write nothing as well as say nothing.'

Rev: 'I'm in charge.'

I: 'Unfortunately.'

At which point the Rev. Braynded gestured to his musicians to play the closing refrain. This was hard rock number which included the female singers chanting 'Hail, Hail Lion of Judah!' The band got into the groove, and started to go to town. Rev. Braynded raised his other hand in the air, closed his eyes and began to holler, while the female soloist started to clap her hands in a way I haven't seen since I stopped following the dance bands. At which point I left the building, while the band played louder and louder until the church roof caved in.

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (Which, being translated means 'Gloria was passing sick on Monday', as any fool knows).

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Eight

Inspector Bradfield Bullock was, as well as being cursed with a silly name, known to his colleagues as 'the Ock', on the basis that there was no way he could be called 'the Bull' as Dan Brown got there first. Inspector with the King's Lynn Police, he was considered a high-flyer by many in the force, excepting the man who had heard his opinion on the murder in Litcham. He knew the chief superintendent, and was stepping out with the man's daughter. In fact, everything said he was facing a great future.

So, when one of his sources called his private 'phone and arranged a meeting at the great town church of St. Margaret's regarding a massive drugs shipment, he mentally carved another notch on his chart. Taking a sergeant with him, the inspector hurried to the great twin-towered church (there was a tall tower of the crossing, but that fell down a long time ago), anxious to know the information that might project him to the post of chief inspector.

The unmarked car pulled up outside St. Margaret's with a speed and recklessness that indicated the driver had watched too many American cop dramas. The stallholders in the market close by shook their heads and murmured dark things about the Police that need not be repeated here, as they are not relevant.

Inspector Bullock hurried in through the West doors, into an almost cathedral-like space (indeed, a space that is far more cathedral-like than the same space at Llandaff cathedral). he almost ran down the great nave. This being England, there were neither priests nor monks to tell him this was impolite, although some old ladies did disapprove loudly enough to be heard. Not that Bullock noticed, for he was not that sort of man.


He told the Sergeant to watch the doors, and hurried on alone, anxious to keep his appointment. Passing the nave altar, and thus allowing the author to demonstrate his knowledge of church architecture, the inspector made his way into the towering and mighty quire, where medieval stalls remained in place. His colleague lurked in an aise, looking around him like a tourist. Indeed, he even went to the quite unnatural length of picking up a guideook, when he realised the comparative absence of interesting memorials in the aisle in which he had chosen to lurk. After reading some of the guidebook, he looked up at the wooden roof and pretended to find that too fascinating for words.

"The architecture's wonderful, isn't it?"

A female voice shocked him out of his pretended tourism. When the sergeant looked at its source, he saw a pretty blonde in a green suit that fitted her trim curves like a glove. She was smiling, and also carried a guidebook.

"Yes," the Sergeant smiled, while admiring her architecture.

"I think the arches are Norman," Ms. Madison (for it was she) smiled sweetly. "You can tell by the curves on them." She was deliberately tacky in her approach, believing the man to be the sort who dream about being the sort of policemen in films, who have beautiful girls throwing themselves at them all the time. "Do you admire their lines?" (After all, she reckoned, he could hardly admire her lines - the spoken ones at least.)

"G...gug," the man said, as Ms. Madison moved towards him, smiling seductively. He had meant to say something smart and James Bond-esque, but his tongue had developed a temporary paralysis.

"Quite," Ms. Madison chuckled.

Meanwhile, the Inspector had entered the quire, and was looking for his source. But he saw no-one, not even a tourist. Only a piece of paper, stuck on one of the choir stalls. Hurring over, he reached for it.

Then he saw it. Carved on the choir stall. A face looking out at him from between luxuriant foliage. Foliage that was proceeding from its mouth. Although not a native of Norfolk, he knew exactly what that was a carving of.

Suddenly, the great church seemed very cold and empty. The Inspector was aware of a presence, very close at hand.

"Hello, Inspector Bullock," said the Green Man.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Seven

Ms. Madison was not impressed by what she'd seen of the 'Order of Cain' so far. Their Monkish assassin had been reduced to a gibbering wreck by the mere metion of the Green Man's identity and a thinly veiled threat of torture. To be honest, there were probably mightier men in a cookery class, or a Haberdasher's. Still, she didn't let it show, but kept up the act of being an ice-cold bad girl.
"I'll talk!" the robed figure shouted, weeping. "When they said..."

"Who are they?" The Green Man took a step towards his captive, still menacing, his feet ringing on the stone flags of the undercroft.

"I don't know!" the robed figure protested.

"You wear a robe and you carried a gun." The Green Man shook his head. "You are not a hired assassin. For one thing, you are not good enough."

"That's right," Ms. Madison spoke up, "You're so bad that if someone has hired you, you need to refund them. That was a sub-standard service - and I ought to know, like the Green Man, I've had my share of contract killers after me."

"Probably more." The Green Man agreed. "And you are a rank amateur."

"Totally," Ms. Madison agreed, striking a pose, tone becoming more chatty. She decided that 'psychopathic PA' was the right character for this role.

"Tell me about the Order of Cain." The Green Man took another step back. "Who gave your orders?"

"Brother Lem..."

The man began to speak, but the fizz that came form under his shirt stopped him dead. Ms. Madison ran, as the man exploded into a thousand bloody fragments. The blonde sighed, wishing she hadn't worn a white dress.

"All of which," the Green Man told a rug-wrapped Ms. Madison outside the pub down the road from the priory, "we should have expected. The man was a brother of the Order of Cain, and probably wired so that he'd die if he revealed any secrets. Clever really, it means that the secret isn't dependent on the strength of its bearer."

"Which we should have guessed." Ms. Madison sighed. "Instead of which, I get a brand-new dress ruined. How far is it to King's Lynn?"

"Not far," the Green Man nodded sagely. "Once you've finished your drink, we can get down to the serious business of getting you new kit. And tracking down a certain Police Inspector."

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Six

The Green Man was able to drag Ms. Madison into the cellar of the old Prior's lodgings before the hidden gunman got their range. She tripped on the sill, and had to be carried inside and sat on a ledge.

"What was that?" she asked, incredulous.

"That was the robed gunman who followed you," the Green Man chuckled, and Ms. Madison suddenly felt a lot better. "I think it was you who noted that the problem with getting any information on a secret quasi-monastic order was that they were secret."

"So this was a trap?" Ms. Madison frowned.

"No," the Green Man sounded reassuring. "This was a calculated risk. Up to now, it's paid off. Did you take a gun?"

"You bet," Ms. Madison pulled a little pearl-handled automatic from her handbag. "Can you get him inside of four bulletts?"

"We can," the Green Man slipped out through another door. The long silver revolver was no-where to be seen, and Ms. Madison got the distinct impression that her boss was about to tackle a hidden gunman with his bare hands.

That being so, she hurried back to the door, leaning out tentatively, then pulling back as someone shot at her. She returned fire as quickly as she could, aiming more-or-less in the same direction that the shot had come from. The next time he fired, she fell back with a squeak of surprise, hoping to draw him out that way.

"You can't fool me that way!" a bold voice called out over the lawn.

"I know, brother of the Order of Cain!" Ms. Madison's heart leapt at the loud voice that replied. "The Green Man knows the hearts of the wicked more than you can know!"

The robed gunman flew out of his cover, as a blow from the Green Man sent him spinning away. The Green Man stepped forward swiftly, reducing the robed man to a state of semi-consciousness, before dragging him into the undercroft of the prior's lodgings. He was chained to a staple in the wall, before Ms. Madison was deputed to bring him around. She slapped him a few times, before kicking his shins with her high heels. At last, he came round with a yell.

"Good..." the Green Man laughed, remaining in the shadows. "Now we can talk. Tell me all you know about the Order of Cain."

"Why should I?" the robed figure demanded beligerently.

"Because, brother, I am the Green Man." The mysterious figure in Green spoke with measured tones. "I can show you the truth of a thousand sorts of pain - and you will not die - not until I decide it. So speak!" The Green Man's voice rose, without being hysterical, or even angry.

"He can, you know," Ms. Madison smiled threateningly. "And I can help."

That had the desired effect. The man broke down very noisily, screaming and begging for mercy. Which rather relieved Ms. Madison, who had not been keen on the idea of getting acquainted with torture.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Five

Ms. Madison rose earlier than she'd have liked, put on a smart white dress of the 'wholesome country girl' variety. She reckoned that it was at least worth a try. After all, she had spent her school holidays on a farm in Sussex (that being cheaper than any other sort). Thus attired, she descended and had the early breakfast she had ordered. It was heavy, but Ms. Madison had been too long with the Green Man to trust in being able to eat later in the day.

Fortunately for the story, Ms. Madison had not only sent her report via runner to the Green Man the night before, but she drove quickly to the ancient and historic village of Castle Acre, past the massive church and down the little lane to the ruins of the Cluniac Priory. Parking outside the gates, as the site was not yet open, Ms. Madison climbed over the wooden gate that now blocked the massive gate of the gatehouse, towards the impressive ruins of the Priory.

She had to pause to admire the architecture of the great West Front of the priory church. In the middle of the countryside, the dissolution of the monasteries had rendered the massive monastery surplus to requirements. While some of the monasteries in the towns had survived, these remote sanctuaries were doomed. She noticed a carving of a Green Man, sprouting foliage from his mouth, in one of the arches, and had to smile.

"So, you noticed my cousin then?" The stern voice of the Green Man caused Ms. Madison to start.

"Oh, yes!" Ms. Madison clasped a hand to her breast. "How are things?"

"The wicked are for it," the Green Man spoke with assurance. "I read your report last night, and I agree with the retired vicar. As of now, we are working on the assumption that this is tied to this 'order of Cain' in some way."

"And the other deaths?" Ms. Madison enquired.

"One in Cambridge, the others in Norwich and Lincolnshire," the Green Man informed his secretary. "All the men were amateur historians working on local history in East Anglia, with special emphasis on religion. They could all have stumbled on this secret."

"So, what's our first move?" the blonde leaned against the golden stone of the Church facade. "I mean, this order is secret, so what do we do?"

"We get inside as soon as possible," the Green Man spoke hurriedly. "Someone's about to shoot at us."

As he ducked, a rifle-shot sounded close by.

The Secret Order of Doom, Part Four

"And who," Ms. Madison asked politely, "would the order of Cain be, when they're at home?"

"Ah..." the retired cleric cleared his throat. "You probably heard about the so-called 'Gospel of Judas' around about Easter time."

"Along with most of the world, yes," Ms. Madison nodded. "Wasn't it a really old religious text that said Judas was just misunderstood?"

"More than that," Samuelson smiled. "The Gospel of Judas tried to present Judas as a hero, as the only man who truly understood the message of Jesus Christ, the other eleven having got it completely wrong. All bunk, of course." He shook his head with a sigh. "Some people made a great deal of fuss about it, but most scholars were just very bored. See, we actually knew this 'Gospel'", he made a face, "existed. Some of the Church Fathers attacked the 'Gospel, and the group that produced it, the Cainites."

"Who are related in some way to the Order of Cain, right?" Ms. Madison smiled.

"You have it," the retired vicar grinned. "The Cainites presented a very esoteric religion, based on the idea that salvation was through some hidden knowledge, rather than the blood of Jesus Christ. More, the salvation they presented involved actions that seemed horrendous to the uninitiated.

"In most of the world this presentation of an alleged Christianity had no impact. They died out, except for a small number in Syria. With the crusades, their ideas returned to Europe, appealing to a few strange people. There were rumours that, like the Cathars, they had European cells, secret 'priories' sworn to protect their strange secrets."

"And you think that your friend was killed because he found out some of this?" Ms. Madison looked curious.

"Exactly," the old cleric nodded. "But I don't know where to start, and I certainly want to go on living. The Green Man has the ability to find this out and stay alive."

"While I," Ms. Madison sighed, "am just stuck in the middle. "I'll get my handbag gun and try not to get stopped by the police. Well, I'll be seeing you, Reverend."

"I'm preaching in a private chapel Sunday," the cleric replied. "And I look forward to it, believe me."

"I don't," Ms. Madison turned to go, "because I don't know if I should yet."

And, with that, she left the church, walking back to the pub. She ordered food and put her feet up. With the food came a slip of paper, printed in the Green Man's hand:

Castle Acre Priory: Tomorrow, six o'clock.

At least the surroundings would be nice, she thought to herself, as she filled in a report for the benefit of the Green Man.

Delayed Sunday Supplement: The Last of the Authentic Church

Breaking the habit of the best part of a lifetime (or an amusing similitude of one), I left Lady Arcos in charge of the family Pew at Little Pudding Church, and returned to the cess-pool Church, Norwich. Sunday morning service was at thirty-seven minutes past nine in the morning, as this was apparently the practice in some early church somewhere (I think it was in Antalya, in modern-day Turkey).

The service began with the lighting of twenty-nine candles. I commented that it should have been seventeen. When some gentleman asked me what deep theological reason there was for this, I replied that there wasn't, but that 'Seventeen Candles' was the title of a rather catchy ballad of yesteryear. He looked at me like I was something the cat dragged in.

We were then invited to join in a 'prayer of welcome' which mentioned everything except sin. The confession sounded like the announcer at Thorpe Station, Norwich, apologising for the fact that the last train to Attleborough has been cancelled and 'alternative road transport' (in other words a bus so old that its father must have been Boudicca's Chariot) has been provided.

We sang a 'chant' of some sort, which made very little sense. Then the lights were dimmed and two people recited some sort of what-not. Someone rang a little bell during it as well. Half way through, someone dropped the bell and it broke. The person made up for this by shouting 'dong!' every so often.

There was no pulpit, only a low platform, and three men stepped up onto it. They invited a man from the back to join them. The platform broke, and a rabbit ran out from under it. After order was restored, this quartet began to discuss the idea that Jesus Christ died to make atonement for sin. This got no-where fast, as two of the men were extremely deaf. The others retailed what sounded like old liberal theology after a lobotomy. An attempt to lower the lights again fused the lights and the serivice ended in darkness. The couple behind me seemed to think they were at the pictures, because that was when they started necking like there was no tomorrow.

I would have complained, but I couldn't see, and one of them had a torch.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Three

The interior of Litcham Church smelt slightly of damp, and Ms. Madison's heels rang on the bricks of the floor. The Churchwas tradionally furnished with box pews and a gallery at the West tower. The air of the building brought to mind another world, the light gently sloping down on the font in front of the blonde secretary.
"And you must be Ms. Madison!" the voice caused Ms. Madison to start. It was earnest, perhaps a little reedy with age.

The speaker was an Anglican clergyman, with dog collar and black shirt, a tweed jacket with leather elbow-patches worn over it. He had white hair and looked rather worried. Ms. Madison was just glad to see he wasn't supposed to be the corpse she found in the church. She hated finding corpses.

"Of course," the secretary turned to face the enthusiastic cleric. "And you are?"

"The Reverend Hubert Samuelson (retired)," he replied. "I live in a cottage outside the village and Roger - the curator chap - was working with me on research into the religious history of this part of Norfolk. I was supposed to meet him on the day of the murder, but by the time I arrived at his house he'd already been murdered."

"And what did the police say?" Ms. Madison raised one elegant eyebrow, more because it looked good than for any other reason.

"The investigating officer, Inspector Bullock tried to make out it was suicide," the cleric remarked.

"But you don't believe that, I take it?" Ms. Madison pressed the issue further.

"My dear child," the retired vicar sighed deeply, "men do not commit suicide by cutting themsleves into seven equal parts and impaling their heads on the bannisters. For one thing, it's impossible."

"No," Ms. Madison agreed. Despite the gravity of the matter, she could not help smiling. "What do you think happened?"

"Oh, that's easy," Samuelson declared. "Someone cut him into seven equal pieces and impaled his head on the bannisters. But that inspector even suggested that might have been done after he killed himself - which I find most unlikely."

"Inspector to get a visit from the Green Man..." Ms. Madison noted in her diary. "But what I meant was, who do you think killed him, and why?"

"That much at least is easy," Samuelson nodded. "That morning poor Roger called to say he'd found evidence that the Order of Cain had not only possessed a secret priory in Norfolk, but that he believed it was still in operation!"

The Secret Order of Doom: Part Two

Ms. Madison packed hurriedly, changing into an elegant suit and packing for a trip to the country. She took a cab to King's Cross, where she picked up her tickets. After a brief wait and a chance to look through the bookstall, Ms. Madison boarded her train , stepping into the never overcrowded First Class section. Stretching out her legs, not caring that a couple of men were interested in them, Ms. Madison settled back in her seat to enjoy the ride.

Soon, the suburbs of London had given way to countryside. After watching a few towns and villages flash by, the blonde secretary drifted off to sleep, only waking up when the train was pulling into King's Lynn station. Outside, suitably labelled, was a red Daimler, a duplicate set of keys for which Ms. Madison had picked up at King's Cross. Glad of satelite navigation, Ms. Madison headed out of the ancient seaport, towards the village of Litcham.

She was booked into the Bull Inn, Litcham, following the Green Man's normal practice of putting her into fairly public hotels, so that anyone who wanted to make a confession could approach her.

Litcham is an ancient village, gathered around a green, still far enough out of Norwich to retain the air of a real village. It has most shops, as well as a its own museum, while the Church is monumental in scale. Unusually for a Norfolk village, it even posseses its own High School. Passing elegant Litcham Hall, still a power in the village's politics, Ms. Madison turned right, pulling up outside the Bull. She checked in as elegantly as only she knew how. The man on reception looked at her with some suspicion, as she signed the register.

"I take it I'm allowed to drink somewhere in here?" she spoke calmly.

"Of course, Ms. Madison," the innkeeper nodded. "We serve dinner from six-thirty."

"I'll eat at eight," Ms. Madison raised her chin slightly.

"Here's a message," the innkeeper handed her a folded piece of paper. "There was a clerical gentleman 'ere earlier - a bloke with a dog-collar. He left this for you."

Ms. Madison opened the letter up. It was short and to the point. Apparently, she was to go to the Church at once to learn something important. At the bottom of the page were a few words in bold capitals:

URGENT. COME AT ONCE

Even if it was a trap, Ms. Madison decided, she had no choice. She had to go to the Church. This was a clue, and she had to follow it. Asking the innkeeper to take her bags upstairs, the elegant blonde hurried out of the Inn and down the sloping street that led down to the Church, her heels tapping an urgent tattoo on the pavement, her heart in her mouth.

She only hoped this trail would be cold. And that it hadn't been cooled off.

The Secret Order of Doom: Part One

Ms. Madison knew who her caller was before she even picked up the receiver. She smiled at the anticipation.

"Hullo, Ms. Madison here." She sounded peppy and lively.

"Enjoyed your holiday?" the Green Man spoke, humour in his voice.

"A bit, thank you," she laughed, "but I'm glad to be back. Even lying on a beach soaking up the sun can get to be a drag. I hear you and the Girl in Grey took out a major blackmailer."

"That's right," the Green Man confirmed. "How is Mr. Rake, by the way?"

"He got food poisoning," the blonde secretary declared. "What's the drill this time?"

"Five dead men." The Green Man's voice became grim. "All involved in medieval history in some way. All doing research on the origins of Christianity in Western Europe. And all killed in bizarre ways."

"So next stop some swanky museum, then?" Ms. Madison laughed. "I hope it's the Louvre - I could do with a new frock or two."

"Then you'll be disappointed, I'm afraid," the Green Man let a little humour back into his voice. "Each of the dead men had something else in common - they were enthusiasts, amateurs. The last victim was the curator of Litcham museum in Norfolk, so you'll be taking a train to King's Lynn in two hours time. Pack sensibly, Litcham is in the middle of no-where."

And, with that, the Green Man hang up. Ms. Madison scowled, then smiled. She was in the dark, about to head off to a strange new place.

Her holiday was well and truly over.

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When Green Meets Grey: Part Sixteen

The Girl in Grey came to slowly and painfully, the room taking a couple of turns as she opened her eyes. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. The room just took another few sickening turns, until the Girl in Grey closed her eyes again.

"You are awake..." a deep and booming voice addressed her. "Why are you here?"

"I came to stop you," the Girl in Grey sighed, feeling dreadfully weak. She could sense that she was hanging by her hands from the ceiling. And that was not good.

"And now you are my prisoner..." the voice chuckled. "And your friend is dead."

That hit her hard. Somehow she'd assumed the Green Man couldn't possibly be dead, despite that hand grenade. Maybe she'd just bought the old story that the Green Man could not be killed. But now he was no more. And she'd never really known who he was. Never known anything about him, except that she loved him (and that he was a good kisser, too, but that didn't really count now). She felt a lump rise in her throat.

"Blown to pieces," another voice replied, laughing. "Only a few scarps of green cloth and bits of bone."

"Stop it!" the Girl in Grey opened her eyes, anger blazing in her heart. "You killed a hero, and if I get free..."

"You'll make me pay?" the deep voice was that of the man who had been on the throne. Now dressed in less formal, but still grand robes, this man was clearly Pharaoh, the master-mind of the operation. "I know, little girl. And that's why I'm going to kill you." An unpleasant smile spread over his face.

"Without telling me your evil plan for world domination?" the Girl in Grey sighed. "You know, the super-villain's union 'll be mad."

"Which is why I'll have to tell you," the Egyptian-themed super-villian shook his head. "But I shall break the by-law relating to my locking you in a cell which you can escape from, or at least trying to put you to death in a needlessly complicated way from which you can escape. I'll just have you shot."

"Nice," the Girl in Grey smiled. "So, what do the deranged dishwashers and violent vacums have to do with your plan?"

"Everything!" the Villian laughed, "tell me, wench, what does every home possess?"

"A door," she smiled sweetly.

"A vacum cleaner!" the villain snarled.

"Mine might," the Girl in Grey replied, "but I can't find it right now. I think my sister's buried it under a pile of rubbish. But I get your point. These things are going to kill lots of people."

"Unless the Governments of the world pay me a great deal of money, " the Villain chuckled.

"So extortion is your game," the Girl in Grey shook her head.

"You might almost say my business," Pharaoh grinned.

"I can't," the Girl in Grey pointed out. "That's a line from a James Bond film. It's probably copyright or something."

"Anyhow," the villain motioned to his goons, "now you know. Goons, kill her."

Two shots were fired, and the Girl in Grey closed her eyes, wincing in expectation of the pain. When she didn't die, the opened her eyes again. The two men who had meant to slay her lay dead at Pharaoh's feet, neat holes in the middle of their foreheads.

"You miscalculated, Pharaoh," a familiar voice came from behind the Girl in Grey.

"Green Man!" the two figures spoke at once, as the Green Man stepped into the room, still holding his guns. His coat was perfectly neat, leading the Girl in Grey to conclude that he'd changed at some point.

"I saw you die!" Pharaoh shouted, starting forward. "You can't be!"

A shot from the Green Man's revolver shattered the villain's wrist.

"Believe it." The Green Man's voice was brutal, as his next shot severed the cords that bound the Girl in Grey to the ceiling. "Your base's reactor is timed to blow in ten minutes, and my friend and I are getting out of here. You can come too if you want to face justice."

The way that the villain muched on his cyanide capsule suggested that he didn't fancy that option. The alarm sounded, and soon the two crimefighters were battling their way past legions of guards. Once it became obvious that the pyramid was doomed, however, the guards turned and fled. Outside, as the night fell, the Bedouin were waiting outside to take the remaining bad guys into custody, as the Pyramid dissolved into a pillar of fire.


The Girl in Gry followed the Green Man back to the hypersonic jet, full of unanswered questions.

"Say," she asked him, as they took off, "what exactly did happen when that Grenade fell?"

"I jumped clear," the Green Man explained, "onto a convenient ledge. The remains they found were a length of coat fabric I keep for such occasions, and parts of one of their own men. Any other questions?"

"Just one," the Girl in Grey chuckled.

"Yes, my dear?" the Green Man set a course for London.

"Could you kiss me again?"

Next Time: The Secret Order of Doom!

When Green Meets Grey: Part Fifteen

The Girl in Grey drew back, further into the shadows. But it was not because of fear. From the looks the two goons were giving her, it was clear that they hadn't yet seen the Green Man. And if that could be maintained.... The men moved further forward.

"I said stop!" one of the bed guys coked his gun. "Understand, little lady?"

"Naturally," the Girl in Grey laughed, stopping dead, a dangerous smile on her face. While it might give the game away, such action might even bring them closer. When they stepped towards her, she feigned a shudder of fear.

The man started laughing, his fellow joining in. This was cut off when the Green Man brought their heads together with devastating force. They crumpled to the ground in a very satisfying manner. The Girl in Grey smiled, placing a foot on one man's head.

"Well done, my dear Girl in Grey." The Green Man stepped out of the shadows, drawing his pistol. The lights gleamed on its polished metal.

"Where are they?" the figure on the throne called up to the gallery.

"Up here, Pharaoh!" the Green Man called back. "Remember us from that chapel in Wales?"

"The Green Man!" the figure on the throne shot to his feet. "Kill them, my creatures!"

At once, the household appliances, together with the villain's mercenaries rushed the gallery, firing shots up at the two crime fighters. The Girl in Grey leapt back, but the Green Man stayed there, firing his pistol down at the furious mass.

It was a magnificent sight, one man in green trenchcoat and broad brimmed hat, a scarf wound over the lower part of his face, dealing out death-instant justice- to the wicked, blazing away with a gleaming silver pistol. Men fell as they tried to get to the gallery steps. That was when the vacum cleaners piled in. The Green Man drew a second gun - the microwave gun - from under his coat to deal with them.

"You cannot evade justice, Pharaoh!" the Green Man called above the noise. "Crime does not pay!"

And the Girl in Grey dealt with the men trying to get to them the back way, swinging into action with great gusto. She was good, and the Green Man was even better. Perhaps, she thought to herself, they might be able to actually stop this whole affair without having the bad guy take one of the good guys prisoner and explain his evil plan in excruciating detail. After all, how necessary was it - really? Perhaps it helped if someone tried to do it again, but if the bad guy really died, then who needed to know?

Then she saw it, out of the corner of her eye. A hand grenade clattered along the metal of the gallery floor, rolling towards the implacable form of the Green Man. She turned to warn him, but it was too late.

The heat of the blast scorched her costume, sending her flying back against the wall of the chamber. She didn't even see the effect of the explosion on the Green Man.

"No!" she screamed in horror.

Then someone slugged her on the jaw and her whole world exploded into stars.

Don't miss the thrilling conclusion of: When Green Meets Grey - in this theatre soon!