A bang—in that silence as loud as a cannon shot—a rending burst of light, waked him. He leaped to his feet his senses scattered, not knowing where he was or what had happened. Then from every side of the house noise broke, groans, screams, slamming of doors, thudding footfalls. It was terrifying in the darkness, like a company of ghosts wailing and running about in some black inferno. Williams’ voice shouted the first intelligible words:
“You got them—good work! Where the hell are the lights?”
That shook Shine into consciousness, and he called to the gallery whence a patter of bare feet and shrill female cries rose:
“It’s all right. Don’t be scared. It’s only a flashlight.”
Male voices followed, harsh and loud as the men came rushing in:
Rawson’s from the left with the crash of the door flung back against the wall.
“What are you doing in here? What was that?”
Bassett’s from the entrance, his body colliding with furniture as he ran blindly forward. Somewhere in the darkness behind, Stokes’ high and choked, breaking into curses. And over all Miss Pinkney’s riding the tumult like the war cry of the Valkyries:
“Why don’t some of you fools turn on the electricity? The button’s on the right side of the door.”
Bassett’s hand found it and the room was flooded with light.