The lighting manager showed a dozen big drawings of the various sets with the startling changes brought about by his craft. One of these was quite lovely: an opulent evening in front of the castle with the setting sun bathing everything in splendor. One felt the air to be calm, gentle, and full of the sound of wings. A heavenly evening. And then, next to it, the same scene with the enormous doors opened, a dark interior, torches, a piper, and the Lady in scarlet coming to welcome the fated visitor.

“Jeremy,” Peregrine said, “you’ve done us proud.”

“Okay?”

“It’s so right! It’s so bloody right. Here! Let’s up with the curtain. Jeremy?”

The designer went offstage and pressed a button. With a long-drawn-out sigh the curtain rose. The shrouded house waited.

“Light them, Jeremy! Blackout and lights on them. Can you?”

“It won’t be perfect but I’ll try.”

“Just for the hell of it, Jeremy.”

Jeremy laughed, moved the racks, and went to the lights console.

Peregrine walked through a pass-door to the front-of-house. Presently there was a total blackout, and then, after a pause, the drawings were suddenly there, alive in the midst of nothing and looking splendid.

“Only approximate, of course,” Jeremy said in the dark.

“Let’s keep this for the cast to see. They’re due now.”

“You don’t want to start them off with broken legs, do you?” asked the lighting manager.

There was an awkward pause.

“Well — no. Put on the light in the passage,” said Peregrine in a voice that was a shade too offhand. “No,” he shouted. “Bring down the curtain again, Jeremy. We’ll do it properly.”

The stage door was opened and more voices were heard, two women’s and a man’s. They came in exclaiming at the dark.