"Saturday it is, then. I'll have Cynthia run off handbills on the hectograph. She can take them round the shops tomorrow ... slap a few up in strategic places. Cynthia's such a good sport about these things."

Of the many phrases that came to mind to describe Cynthia Richardson, "good sport" was not among them; "ogress," however, was.

It was after all Cynthia, with her rodent features, who had once caught me teetering tiptoe on the altar of St. Tancred's, using one of Father's straight razors to scrape a sample of blue zafre from a medieval stained-glass window. Zafre was an impure basic arsenate of cobalt, prepared by roasting, which the craftsmen of the Middle Ages had used for painting on glass, and I was simply dying to analyze the stuff in my laboratory to determine how successful its makers had been in the essential step of freeing it of iron.

Cynthia had seized me, upended me, and spanked me on the spot, making what I thought to be unfair use of a nearby copy of Hymns Ancient and Modern (Standard Edition).

"What you have done, Flavia, is not worthy of congratulation," Father said when I reported this outrage to him. "You have ruined a perfectly good Thiers-Issard hollow-ground blade."

I have to admit, though, that Cynthia was a great organizer, but then, so were the men with whips who got the pyramids built. Certainly, if anyone could manage to paper Bishop's Lacey from end to end in three days with handbills, it was Cynthia Richardson.

"Hold on!" the vicar exclaimed. "I've just had the most splendid idea! Tell me what you think. Why not present two shows rather than one? I don't claim to be an expert in the art of the puppet theater, by any means--knowing what is possible and what is not, and so forth--but why not put on a show Saturday afternoon for the children, and another Saturday evening, when more of the grownups would be free to attend?"

Rupert did not reply at once, but stood rubbing his chin. Even I could see instantly that two performances would double the take at the box office.