And then the lights went out.
* THIRTEEN *
PLUNGED SUDDENLY INTO DARKNESS, the audience sucked in a collective breath and released a collective gasp.
In the kitchen, someone had the presence of mind to switch on a flashlight, and after a moment brought it out, like a darting will-o'-the-wisp, into the main part of the parish hall.
How quick-witted it was of the vicar to think of closing the curtains! At least, that was what he was trying to do when he was stopped in his tracks by a loud, commanding voice: 'No! No! Stand back. Don't touch anything.'
It was Dogger. He had risen to his feet and was blocking the vicar's way, his arms fully extended, and seeming to be as surprised as the rest of us at his own boldness. Nialla, who had jumped up and taken a single step towards the proscenium, froze abruptly in her tracks.
All of this took place in the moving beam of the flashlight, making the scene seem like some ghastly drama played out during an air raid, illuminated by a raking searchlight.
A second voice came out of the darkness at the back of the hall: the voice of Inspector Hewitt.
'Stand still, everyone--please stay where you are. Don't move until I tell you to move.'
He walked quickly to the front of the auditorium and vanished backstage as someone near the door vainly flicked a few switches, but the incandescent bulbs in their frosted glass wall sconces remained dark.
There were a few grumbles of protest until Constable Linnet--out of uniform for the evening--came to the front row of chairs, holding a hand high in the air for attention. He had brought a second flashlight, which he shone upwards upon his own face, giving him an appalling and cadaverous look.
'Please do as the Inspector says,' he told the audience. 'He's in charge here now.'
Dr. Darby, I noticed, was already shoving his way up the crowded side aisle towards the stage.
Nialla, when I caught a glimpse of her, seemed rooted to the spot; she had not moved a muscle. Her tall Mother Goose hat was askew and, had the situation not been what it was, I might have laughed out loud at the sight of her.
My first reaction, of course, was to go to her, but I found I was being restrained by one of Father's hands, heavy on my arm.
As Rupert's body crashed to the stage, both Daffy and Feely had leapt to their feet. Father was still motioning them to sit down, but they were too excited to pay him any attention.
The Inspector reappeared in the doorway at the left of the stage. There were two of these hallways--one on either side--each leading to an exit and a short set of steps up to the stage. It was in these pens that choirs of giggling angels were usually marshaled for St. Tancred's annual Christmas Pageant.
'Constable Linnet, may I have your flashlight, please?'
PC Linnet handed over his five-cell Ever Ready, which looked like one of the sort that you see being used to search the foggy moors in the cinema. He had probably brought it along to illuminate his way home through the lanes after the show, never thinking it would come in so handy.
'May I have your attention, please,' Inspector Hewitt said. 'We are making every attempt to restore the lights, but it may be some time before we're able to turn them back on permanently. It may be necessary, for safety's sake, to switch the current on and off several times. I would ask you to resume your seats, and to remain there until such time as I am able to give you further instructions. There is absolutely no cause for alarm, so please remain calm.'
I heard him say quietly to Constable Linnet, 'Cover the stage. That banner on the balcony will do.' He pointed to a wide swath of canvas that stretched across the front of the balcony, above the main door:
'And when you've done that,' the Inspector added, 'ring up Graves and Woolmer. Give them my compliments, and ask them to come as quickly as possible.'
'It's their evening for cricket, sir,' said PC Linnet.
'So it is. In that case, give them my compliments
'Dear me!' said the vicar, looking round the hall in puzzlement. 'We do have one, of course ... for the use of the Ladies' Auxiliary and the Women's Institute, you know ... but I fear we've been forced to keep it in a locked cupboard in the kitchen ... so many people making long-distance calls to their friends in Devon--or even Scotland, in one instance.'
'And the key?' asked Inspector Hewitt.
'I handed it to a gentleman from London, just before the performance--from the BBC, he said he was--needed to make an urgent call ... said he'd reimburse me from his own pocket as soon as the central operator rang back with the charges. How odd, I don't see him here now.
'Still, there's always the vicarage telephone,' he added.
My first impulse was to offer to pick the lock, but before I could say a word, Inspector Hewitt shook his head.
'I'm sure we can have the hinges off with no damage.'
He crooked a finger at George Carew, the village carpenter, who was out of his chair like a shot.
Aside from the occasional dull glow from the backstage flashlight, we sat in darkness for what seemed like an
