Ever-Increasing Darkness: Three

The sun beat down on the little island in the South Pacific. Waves lapped gently on the white shores, while seabirds wheeled lazily overhead. Most of the guests spent their time idly sunbathing, or drinking in the bars of the hotel that occupied much of the island. A few were more active, swimming, surfing or water-skiing. A few people were a little more adventurous, exploring the island. Close by the hotel terrace, a young brunette in a sarong was in the process of picking coconuts from a palm tree, while a tanned blonde in a skirt and brief top was waiting to catch them, keeping an eye out for hotel staff.

Sylvia Vaughan felt a little precarious, as she passed down another coconut to her friend. She hoped to be able to get down from the tree without any embarrassing exposure. A look from her friend told her that someone was on their way.

"Lady Sylvia Vaughan?" the liveried man asked, looking up into the palm tree.

"Yes?" the brunette looked down, blushing, long legs grasping the palm tree.

"'Phone call for you," the man spoke softly, looking a little red.

"Did you tell them I was busy?" Lady Sylvia asked, sounding a little put out.

"Several times," the man protested, "but the young lady insisted - more than once."

"Andrea?" Ms. Madison looked up.

"The name she gave was Jill D'Estrange, Madam," the man replied.

"Jill!" Lady Sylvia let go of the tree and dropped lightly onto the sand. "What did she say?"

"That you had to get over to her house at once," the man replied. "That it was a matter of life and death - for us all."

Ever-Increasing Darkness: Two

Jill D'Estrange drove for what seemed like an age, through and ever-darkening landscape, her mind awhirl. It had happened, the inevitable ruin of the family finances. Yet she would not - could not - bring herself to part with the castle and estate. At last, a plan began to form in her mind. It was insane, but it might just work. At Cheltenham, she had been part of the gymnastics team, as well as learning a few skills from one of the girls there. She had learned to pick locks and scale almost sheer surfaces, and that was more than enough. Just a few miles away was Tonn Hall. If she could break into the house and lift a few of the art treasures which the wealthy and vulgar owner had stockpiled there, it might produce just enough to see her through another winter.

She drove through the night, a grim expression on Shutting off the car engine, she left the vehicle and scaled the wall, listening out for dogs. Hearing no sound except the beating of her own heart, Jill pressed on through the estate. The rain soaked her to the skin, but she ignored it, thinking only of the dilapidated old manor house she would lose of this failed. Prison or some poky flat, each would be worse than death to her. Reaching the house, she saw a light on, and moved forward cautiously, sizing up the place.

Pausing in a flower-bed, and thus showing that she was no sort of thief, Jill sneaked a look into the house.

What she saw appalled her. A young woman was strapped to an altar, while oddly-robed figures chanted. A knife was lifted, and Jill tried to scream, only to find that power had deserted her. She could only watch helplessly, as the knife buried itself in the victim's chest. Only then did the power of action return to her.

And Jill knew exactly what to do with it, taking to her heels. As the sprinted through the woods, she heard an explosion behind her. Running as though all the fiends of hell were after her, Jill scrambled back over the wall, leaving a trainer behind her, before driving back to the house. She had one thing on her mind. She had to speak to her friend, the friend who had taught her so much - Sylvia Vaughan.

Ever-Increasing Darkness: One

The summer had been brief and none too glorious, despite the predictions of weather forecasters who would have been stoned to death if they'd practised their art in any other age. Rain pattered down outside the great grey manor house, lending a lush green aspect to the rolling lawn, of the type so beloved by the Victorians. It was October in July, holidaymakers were losing their tempers in poky caravans. But high in the hills, all was as it will ever be. Sheep sheltered under hedges, and men bent into the wind, seeking to keep as dry as possible as they hurried home, cowed by a glowering landscape.

By the fire of the great house, a young woman lay on the hearthrug, wearing comfortable jeans and a tee-shirt. Despite the fire, she was trembling, as she read and re-read a letter. It bore the crest of a bank, and the statement was quite clear:

"Dear Miss D'Estrange, further to our letter of the 23rd, inst. We regret to inform you that it will be impossible to extend your overdraft facility further. In addition, we are unable to defer repayment of your loan. We suggest that..."

Jill D'Estrange did not need to read any further. She knew the rest of it off by heart. Crumpling up the letter, she tossed it into the fire. She was ruined, and the house would soon have to go, she knew that only too well. Her father had worked himself into an early grave to keep the estate going, and her mother had not long outlived her. Now the only person left was her. Last of the D'Estranges. Logic dictated that she should give up, meekly surrender the house and grounds to the family's creditors.

But Jill was not a logical girl when it came to the family home. She was a D'Estrange. Her family had wrested this land from its old lords by force of arms, and she was going to die before she let it go any other way. Slowly, the trembling subsided, as Jill rose to her feet. She strode from the room, passingMorgan, the old family Butler, a man who now had to keep his young mistress fed from his own savings.

"Miss Jill?" he asked anxiously. "You goin' somewhere?"

"Out," she told him. "I might be some time. Don't wait up - and don't let anybody in while I'm gone."

Revolution! Conclusion

Back at the Savoy, a rather battered, but recovering Ms. Madison spoke to a surprised Andrea. The Green Man had dropped her at the door, before leaving to wherever he was between visiting terror upon the wicked.

"So, who was he?" Andrea asked eagerly.


"Some deluded soul," the blonde replied, voice soft and compassionate. "He really did think he was Jack the Ripper back from the dead. My Dad's men couldn't really identify him. Apparently he'd had his face and body altered."

"How can you say that, after what I heard at the City Hall?" Andrea looked confused. "We spoke far too much about evil and Jack the Ripper for the guy to be just deluded."

"Really?" Ms. Madison shook her head. "Andrea, maybe the guys we fight with are flesh and blood, but the forces behind them are far, far more than that. The evil that inspired Jack the Ripper is still very much alive."

"Evil is the only thing?" Andrea's eyes widened.

"The only thing?" Ms. Madison shook her head. "Andrea, the Green Man's tangled with guys who thought the Ripper was controlling them in the past. Maybe the reason why the Police never caught the original Ripper was that he couldn't be caught."

"You don't mean...?" Andrea shook her head.

Ms. Madison nodded grimly, rising to look out at the shining city.

"I do." Ms. Madison sighed. "Andrea, I've been with the Green Man long enough to know that there is far more than this world. Perhaps the Ripper has always been directed from the pit of hell. Perhaps we've just played another part in the cosmic drama of good and evil. Maybe we all have a part to play."

"And what next?" Andrea asked eagerly.

"The next step," Ms. Madison laughed, "is a holiday. Sylv is going off to the tropics and she's invited me to come along."

Revolution! Part Twenty-Three

The Green Man laughed, as his opponent cringed back in terror. Ms. Madison watched from the floor, feeling a great deal better, despite her aching limbs. In the doorway, two men appeared. A few shots from the Green Man dispatched them.

"You have no chance," the Green Man told him. "Your plan will fail. Even now, Andrea and Superintendent Madison are arresting your agents of destruction."

"It can't be!" the man cried.

The Green man shook his head, before levelling his gun at the man in the tall hat.
"Justice will prevail," the Green Man told him. "You will shortly know the vengeance of the Green Man. There is no escape."

Ms. Madison tried to get up, but her strength failed her. She crumpled to to ground with a gasp of pain. The evil man looked to see the Green Man avoid this, but nothing happened. Ms. Madison joined the Green Man in laughing.

"No!" the man screamed, "No! I have to win!"

"The evil cannot win," the Green Man's finger tightened on the trigger. "Crime does not pay."

The gun spoke, and the evil man crumpled to the ground, quite dead.The Green Man stepped over his body, towards the trembling form of Ms. Madison. She held out her hand, smiling gratefully, as he helped her to her feet. Removing his coat, he draped the trembling blonde, helping her towards the door.

Revolution! Twenty-Two

The Green Man chuckled, as the man dressed as Jack the Ripper fell back, confusion writ large in his manner.

"You fool," he shook his head. "Did you really think that you could deceive the Green Man? I have fought evil these many years, and you will not disturb me any more than the other people of evil."

"How...?" the evil man breathed.

"Justice," the Green Man told him, "will find a way."
"If you go forward," the evil man laughed, "then the lovely, if battered blonde on the ground will die. Men!" The two men made to draw guns.

The gun of the Green Man spoke twice. Two bullets lodged in two hearts. The big men fell, lifeless to the ground, as the Green Man stepped in front of Ms. Madison.

"No, Jack," the Green Man shook his head. "You are up against the defenders of order. Your death is certain."

"Don't you want to know why?" the man chuckled.

"I already know," the Green Man told him. "And your doom is sealed."

The evil man froze, as the Green Man moved towards him.

Revolution! Part Twenty-One

Ms. Madison heard the laughter of the evil man begin to fill her ears. The men picked her up. One pinned her to the wall, while the other hit her a couple of times. She felt hot blood on her bare skin. Black spots began to spin in on her vision. She spluttered blood, still gazing at the evil man, as he laughed.

"You were wrong!" he mocked her, "I will get away with this! I will have my will, Ms. Madison. I will be the greatest criminal in all of history."

"Never..." Ms. Madison sighed through the pain. "You've...."

Another blow silenced her, driving the breath from her body. She gasped in pain, falling back to the floor, grazing one knee.

"The world will be consumed in fire!" the man continued to rant, looking down at Ms. Madison's helpless form. "You are the first to suffer, but all will suffer before I am done, I, the greatest criminal of all time, Jack the Ripper! You think I am weak, that I will not do as I have sworn! You stupid little blonde, I have no conscience, no reason to hold back from my evil! You will see that before you die - just before you die!"

Ms. Madison tried to get up, but found her strength had deserted her. Someone kicked her, and she fell back on the ground. The evil man's laughter became more strident.

"What she was trying to say," a new voice broke in on the scene, "was that you wouldn't leave when you could watch a helpless girl being tortured. You were always a sucker for that, weren't you, Jack?"

The evil man stopped laughing. There, in the corner of the cell, deep in the shadows, stood the Green Man.

Revolution! Part Twenty

Ms. Madison lay on the rough bed in her cell wishing someone had left her something to wear. It was not a warm cell. Nor was it particularly well-kept, with peeling plaster and a dusty floor. She was a little worried. The man had called himself the devil, and she knew most people who call themselves that are less than shining examples of moral virtue. She dropped off after a while, only to wake up suddenly, as someone opened the door. There, outlined in the doorway, was her captor.

"Lynette Madison," the man chuckled. "I have told my people that you are an enemy of the workers."

"That shouldn't worry them," the blonde cracked. "Last time I looked, most of them don't work. Sort of like Karl Marx, don't you know?"

"I'm sorry you're going to have to die," the man laughed wickedly.

"You're not," Ms. Madison shook her head.

"Okay," the man confessed, "I'm only sorry I won't be here to see you die, pleading for mercy. But I've got a city to destroy. At last, my desire will be accomplished - London destroyed!"

"Why?" Ms. Madison started forward, looking for the man's face.

A blow from the man's fist sent her reeling back.

"You don't get to know that." The draped man drew back, allowing two large and vicious-looking thugs to enter the cell. You just get to be tortured to death here, while London burns and I see the destruction of the greatest city in Britain. Then I shall make my demands!"

A large man grabbed Ms. Madison's arm, pulling the blonde towards him. He drove his other fist into her stomach. She doubled up, retching.

"And don't ask any more," the man chuckled. "Just let the nice men beat you into a cute little pulp."

"You...you won't..." Ms. Madison gasped.

"Get away with it?" the man shook his head. "Oh, I've been dead a very long time, Lynette. Poor little Lynette...." He continued to watch, as the men continued to batter Ms. Madison's helpless form.

Ms. Madison tasted blood and bile in her mouth. He legs ave way under her, and the men closed in. She heard the evil man laugh.

The Return of the Sunday Supplement: Anti-Social Gospel

Sir Richard Arcos writes: After the sort of long holiday that only I can take, Lady Arcos and I returned to these shores some time last week. I don't know exactly when, as I was asleep at the time. Fortunately, my daughters can handle a 'plane, even when the pilot's asleep.

Last Sunday, I decided to attend the little tin chapel in West Sundae, a village to the East of Little Pudding. The chapel belongs to the Elusive Brethren, but fortunately I have a membership card for them somewhere. In fact, they didn't ask for it.

The Elusive Brethren have strict rules about contact with the outside world, and believe that no-one but members of their church should have anything to do with the church. Since the membership is somewhat devoid of builders, their chapel is slowly sliding into dereliction. As I entered, I ducked a piece of chicken wire.

The current congregation consists of three old women, two old men and a circus freak who goes by the name of 'the Lion Man.' The sermon was on the duty of separation, which the preacher, Mr. Laidup has been preaching for the last thirty years, as I was told by one of the congregation. Not a series on the need for this, but the same sermon.

Every Sunday.

Some of the congregation took notes. Two of them went to sleep. The Lion Man started growling at something. One of the men went outside in the middle of the sermon holding his head, muttering, 'I can't take it any more.' He came back after the sermon, just in time to see the preacher go off to another way station of the Brethren, wishing the man a safe journey.

Afterwards I learned that the man had siphoned off most of the preacher's petrol and was hoping that he'd be stuck somewhere.

Revolution! Part Nineteen

Superintendent Madison sighed deeply, looking down the stacks of the archives. He shook his head.

"In each of these crimes where the criminal left behind clues that a despised and distrusted group were in some way responsible. Even the recent case where a man committed some evil crimes while allegedly told to by Jack the Ripper was also allegedly paid by a Jewish financier. And one set of attacks on property in East London in the late 1950s carried all the signs of being a campaign by immigrants to drive out established local residents. In that case all the notes were destroyed. A predecessor of mine in the 1930s had to destroy evidence that would have helped the British Union of Fascists."

Andrea laughed charmingly.

"And I was worried that you were a square," she grinned. "I guess the Green Man's right that the police can be more flexible. But what would the public say?"

"They'll never know," Mr. Madison told her. "Now, what we have to to is find my daughter. Miss Van, what was she up to when she vanished?"

"Trying to stop the mad commies from blowing up the Bank of England," she told him. The Green Man saw the man who looks like Jack the Ripper kidnap her."

"And he let it happen?" Mr. Madison glared.

"That's what I said," Andrea confessed. "But the Green Man trusts Lynette to do her stuff and foil the bad guys."

"Maybe he does," Mr. Madison growled. "But she's my daughter, and I wouldn't trust her as far as I can throw her. What are you doing right now, Miss Van?"

"Standin' in a vault under City Hall," Andrea shot back.

"Well," he told her sternly, "not for much longer. "You're coming with me. To Scotland Yard."

Revolution! Part Eighteen

Muchto Andrea's surprise, the man who spoke was not the Green Man. Instead, it was a somewhat sleepy-looking man in a battered felt hat. He looked cynically at the redheaded girl and shook his head.

"Andrea Van," he sighed, "gun-girl, associate of the Green Man. I should have known he was in this somewhere."

"And you are?" the redhead enquired.

"Superintendent Madison, Scotland Yard," the man replied. "I think you know my daughter."

"Well, sure," she laughed with relief, "Lynette's a swell pal. And she's sort of..."

"Don't say anything more," the detective told her. "I don't want to have to arrest my own girl. I'm here for one reason. She's fallen into the hands of a man who thinks he's Jack the Ripper."

"And this 'revolution?'" Andrea's eyes widened.

"As Mr. Popple was about to say," Inspector Madison told her, "he's behind this too. You see, there was more to Jack the Ripper than just a number of shockingly bloody murders."

"More?" Andrea took a step back.

"Oh, indeed," Mr. Popple nodded eagerly. "One of the features of the last Ripper crime was an inscription that seemed to suggest the Jews were involved somehow."

"An inscription that the Police destroyed," Mr. Madison told her. "As the Islamic inscriptions in Cardiff ten years later. Someone - or some group - has been spending over a century trying to destroy society."

Revolution! Part Seventeen

In the archives, Mr. Popple, a man who was as Dickensian as his name might have suggested to someone who had never read those sort of books by Dickens, unfolded the story to an eager Andrea.

"What do you know about Jack the Ripper?" he asked her curiously.


"The most famous serial killer in the world," Andrea shook her head. "Never caught, he used to kill Prostitutes and leave taunting letters for the Police. The murders gave a boost to the modernisation of detection."


"Jack the Ripper is officially credited - if that's the right word - with five murders," Mr. Popple told her. "All of the victims were prostitutes, and all were killed in the Whitechapel district of London. Some people have suggested as many as eight victims, some as few as four. The killings followed the same pattern, and the corpses were mutilated. Most experts now think that the letters which identified the man as 'Jack the Ripper' were written by someone else as part of a sick hoax."

"Boo!" Andrea pouted, "that's the best bit!"


"And it might be genuine," the archivist confessed, "but that seems to be doubtful. Anyway, that's no why you're here, is it?"


"No," Andrea smiled, "tell me about your research."


"It's only partly mine," the fat man told her. "In fact, the instigator was an ... er... associate of yours. He wanted a definitive answer about the number of Ripper murders, and I put together a database of all serial killings in London and it surrounding area over a twenty-year period. I was shocked by what I found!"


"How so?" came the obvious question.

"I thought I might find few similar crimes in the immediate area," Popple told her. "Instead of which I found several in Cardiff and Glasgow, also unsolved. Widening the search, I found that these crimes were all connected with areas possessing a high Jewish, or other ethnic minority population."

"What then?" Andrea pressed further.

"Then," a new voice broke in, "I became involved."

Revolution! Part Sixteen

Andrea was a little late arriving at City Hall, having taken time out to visit Covent Garden. Still, she was used to keeping people waiting, and in her experience no-one ever really minded it.

City Hall, a large modern building that somewhat resembles a head, sits on the banks of the Thames, close to Tower Bridge. It was designed by an award winning architect, and thus is an eyesore.

She walked up to the entrance and leaned on the recption desk, a smile on her face. The receptionist, a young woman of Asian extraction, looked up at the redhead, returning her smile.

"Hi," she nodded, "I'm Felicity, can I help?"

"Andrea Van," the redhead hoped this girl hadn't got any contacts at Scotland Yard. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone here - a guy from the achives."

"Yes," the girl checked the appointments file on her computer. "Mr. Popple. He should be waiting for you over there." She indicated a fat man who was snoring gently on an easy chair.

Andrea walked over to the man who had to be Mr. Popple, and prodded his stomach. He woke, flapping and looking affronted.

"Young lady!" he looked up at the smiling redhead, "I'll have you know that that just isn't done! What do you want, anyway?"

"I'm Andrea Van," she told him, smiling, "and I am sorry for that."

"If you atre anything like you were described," he told her sternly, "I very much doubt that. You want to look at the archives, do you?"

"My associate told you what I wanted," Andrea declared, hoping he had, since the Green Man had not told her.

"Well yes, of course," he snorted. "Appearances of Jack the Ripper or Ripper-like crimes in London outside the official tally. Am I right?"

"Guess so," Andrea sighed. "Fire away."

Revolution! Part Fifteen

Andrea was woken up by the insistent ringing of the 'phone by her bed. She reached for it sleepily and groaned incoherently into it. She resented being woken up so early in the day. The first rays of dawn were breaking over the city, reflecting in the water of the dock it was next to.

"This is the Green Man," came the familiar voice. "Andrea, Ms. Madison has been gassed by a mysterious figure by the Bank of England."

"An' you did nothing to help her?" the redhead shook her head. "What exactly's going on?"

"Something terrible," the Green Man told her. "I did not intervene when I saw the man who gassed Ms. Madison."

"You mean this 'Jack the Ripper' character," Andrea declared, "who is he?"

"I don't quite know," the Green Man told her. "But I have my suspicions. You see, I've met the man before. Long before any of you were involved with me."

"You mean an unsolved case?" Andrea's eyes widened.

"I don't," the Green Man told her. "The case was solved, and the man whose suicide marked that didn't kill himself. He was a serial killer, but he said that the spirit of the Jack the Ripper made him do it. And the figure he described was the man I saw gas Ms. Madison."

"Real live ghost, huh?" Andrea laughed. "Do you really mean it?"

"Perhaps," the Green Man replied. "Do you believe in evil, Andrea - real evil?"

"well, sure," the red head shot back. "I see enough of it, don't I?"

"What about the devil?" he asked again.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"City Hall," the Green Man told her. "Two hours. Ask for John Popple, the archivist. He knows what he must do."

Revolution! Part Fourteen

Ms. Madison came to slowly. Her head ached, and her mouth was dry. She felt as if she'd been on the bender to end all benders. And she hadn't even touched a drop. What upset her a little was that someone had undressed her to her underclothes - and she'd even thought that she'd avoided that bit, and that was annoying.

"So," she heard a low voice, "you are awake at last."

"No," Ms. Madison groaned. "I'm still fast asleep. You must be hallucinating."

"You have spirit," the voice, that of the cloaked figure, declared admiringly. "That I shall grant you."

"Good." Ms. Madison shot back. "I like to think I can still crack the occasional joke. "Is the Bank of England blowing up?"

"I allowed you to succeed," the man replied. "But you may not be so lucky later, my dear."

The blonde shook her head, smiling wryly. This was all too priceless, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth. This man was giving her enough rope to make a good try and tangle him up.

"In other words," she noted, "you had a reason to keep the bank from blowing up. Maybe you don't actually want a revolution."

"oh, no..." the man chuckled softly. "There you are wrong, my little detective. "I want a revolution, London in flames. And before you ask me who I am, permit me to tell you. I am the Devil."

At which point the man began to laugh wickedly.

Accused by a Dead Man's Head

Gabris Rabinski looked across the courtroom to the judge and jury. He stifled a smug smile. He was about to get away with murder. A labourer on a farm in upstate New York, he had been in love with a girl on the farm. A fellow labourer, Thomas Maika, had also been sweet on her, and when Rabinski had seen her kissing Maika, he had waited until Maika was alone, then beaten his colleague's head in. He had been caught, but only hearsay could connect him with the killing. Whenever the witnesses against him spoke, Rabinski, a Hungarian, accused them of being devils and liars.

This court had to prove him guilty 'beyond all reasonable doubt,' and Rabinski knew there would always be doubt.

One of the main exhibits in the case was Maika's skull, so shattered that it had to be wired together. Rabinski despised it, as he had despised the man whose flesh had clothed it.

During the case, however, the table was jogged, the skull rolled off the attorney's desk and went rollong across the floor. Rabinski could only watch with horror, as the ghastly object rolled towards him.

The skull stopped next to Rabinski's chair, its empty eye-sockets looking up at Rabinski. The killer remembered the last time he had seen life in those lifeless eyes, when the thing was clothed with flesh.

The murder shrank back, shuddering, fighting to shut out the horrible head from his view. But to no avail, in his mind, he saw the skull, head Maika's voice accusing him. With a wild scream, the prisoner buried his head in his hands and admitted his guilt.

Your Sins will find you out

Crime Does Not Pay

Revolution! Part Thirteen

Breaking into a building in order to prevent a crime was something Ms. Madison had not considered possible until meeting the Green Man. Since then, she had broken into country houses and hotel rooms in order to save lives in danger, or retrieve wills. But this was somewhat different. She had, with the aid of the Green Man, broken into the Bank of England, and was now waiting there, dressed in a beautiful strapless ballgown, with a late date at the Savoy waiting for her. She checked her gun, and waited for the Communists. Let 'em try to liquidate her. They would have a lot more to lose than their chains.

A sound above her sent the blonde tip-toeing to the stair. She heard whispered voices, equipment being checked. As she crept closely, she could make out words.

"Get the bombs ready," the men whispered, "when the people of London see the Bank of England in ruins, they will know that the revolution is ready and waiting. They will join with us."

Ms. Madison shook her head. The people of London were hardly oppressed masses. Nor were they likely to think much about the destruction of a building, however big and classical. It would be rebuilt, and even if the bank's staff died, they could be re-appointed in a few days. They were deluded.

But the man she had seen the night before was no deluded Marxist. There was quite another agenda present there. What was he up to, she asked herself?

The Communists finished setting the bombs and left. Ms. Madison spent a moment or two disarming them, before stepping out into the night, setting off a couple of alarms as she did so. The Police would see only a student prank, as she removed the bombs from the building.

"Good evening..." the voice caused the blonde to start. There, not ten feet from her, was the figure in top hat and cape. Ms. Madison tried to see his face, but it seemed there was nothing there. A wind whipped through her hair.

A suuden spray of gas caused the blonde to pass out.

Revolution! Part Twelve

The meeting was, as might be assumed, on a university campus, in a shared kitchen of a student hall of residence. Ms. Madison wore a fluffy sweater and jeans, and looked rather like the campus sweetheart from an old film. She was smiling and looked young and healthy. Accordingly, the persons with untidy clothes and dubious personal grooming regarded her with some suspicion. She just made a few remarks about smartness not being a capitalist trait. She pointed out that her parents actually were working class, making a few people look annoyed.
At last, someone got up to speak, making Ms. Madison rather relieved. He was an unshaven young men who had probably not brushed his hair in a few months. If not years. Ms. Madison fought the desire to tremble at his scruffiness.

"Last night," he declared, "our second strike against the heart of Capitalism was foiled by an agent of capitalism. One our our agents was shot, and we were forced to escape."

Various people booed, and a few people tried clenched-fist salutes. Ms. Madison shook her head. Why, she asked herself, was this sort of thing still going on, why was it accepted on a university campus? If these people had been displaying Nazi insignia and making the Nazi salute, they would have been banned right away. But Communisim, a political force that had killed its hundreds of millions to Nazism's tens of millions was seem as being somehow acceptable.

The blonde's political musings completed, she listened to the speech. It was not a good one, consisting mostly of Marxist clichés. But when he got to substance, Ms. Madison's ears pricked up.

"We shall strike again tonight!" he announced, "our leader has picked a new target - the very heart of Capitalism! The Bank of England! Tonight we shall blow it up!"

Ms. Madison was only just able to suppress a gasp of horror. Suffice it to say, however, that she was able to do so. Accordingly, no-one noticed her, as she managed to appear as intense as anyone else there. Thus Ms. Madison was able to get away without being captured, breaking a rather unfortunate precedent.

She had to be there.