Comstock waited.
The lightnings, if they were coming, seemed long delayed.
But surely The Grandfather who was everywhere and knew all things must have overheard these infidels.
Why then did He not strike them down, limb and body?
It was only then, that in the very back of Comstock's mind a nervous little finger of doubt began to twist and turn, and finally asked a question.
"Suppose," the little finger scratched on the blackboard of his cortex, "suppose they're right ... suppose The Grandfather is not all powerful and all knowing?"
Then he waited for the lightnings to strike him too.
And all the while he wrestled with himself his two friends sat in strained silence, waiting ... waiting....
No lightning.
Some of the tension began to drain out of Comstock, and as it did, Grundy and Bowdler exchanged knowing looks. Bowdler said at last. "Welcome."