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As she said this the streetlight outside her window flickered and then died, leaving them with only the candle as light. She rose and went to her desk to switch on her desk lamp, except—"It must need a new lightbulb; nothing happens," she told them.

  Faber-Jones had gone to the window and opened it to look both to the left and to the right. "Not your lightbulb," he told her. "The entire street's gone dark. Spooky," he added. "Not even a light seen in a window, either."

  "Strange," said Pruden, frowning.

  "The electric company ought to be told about this," said Faber-Jones indignantly. "If I can use your phone?" He dialed its number and after a minute or two replaced the receiver. In the dim light of the candle he looked puzzled. "I'm not getting through to the electric company. Nothing rings; there's not even one of those obnoxious voices to tell me all the lines are busy."

  Pruden said to Madame Karitska, "You mentioned you have a pocket radio. It runs on batteries?"

  She nodded and brought it to him from her desk. Pruden, turning it on, was met with only a few crackling sounds and then silence. He said, "I left my cell phone in my car; that should work. Satellites and all that."

  Jan said suddenly, "I'm getting goose bumps."

  Faber-Jones gave her a sympathetic glance. "You really mustn't be nervous. You can't be thinking . . . Almost every winter this happens."

  "But it's not winter," pointed out Jan. "There's no storm. There's no wind, either."

  "Overload," Faber-Jones said firmly.

  Madame Karitska said nothing. They sat and waited, silent and uneasy until Pruden returned from his car. "I got through to police headquarters—partially at least," he told them. "The lights are out all over Trafton, I learned that much before Margolies's voice faded into silence."

  Madame Karitska said, "If the lights are out all over the city .. ." She couldn't finish, it would have to mean that Roger Gillespie had failed.

  "I'll have to go," said Pruden. "The traffic lights, the phones, the airport ..." His voice turned harsh. "Got to go before . . , before ..." And he was gone.

  Jan said in an unsteady voice, "He means before the robberies start, and—oh, think of the people trapped in elevators! Is it possible—can it be possible—do you remember what Roger Gillespie said?"

  So they are all remembering him, thought Madame Karitska, and so am ¡, except that I know more than they do, and this surely has something to do with him.

  "Someone ought to call New York—or Trenton," pleaded Jan. "To see if their lights are still on." But no one bothered to remind her the phones weren't working.

  As lightly as possible, Madame Karitska said, "We still have candlelight, and I've a pack of playing cards somewhere."

  But no one responded, and then, abruptly, the street lamp outside her window flickered and burst into light that again streamed through her window, and Madame Karitska closed her eyes and said, "Thank you, God."

  With a sigh of relief Faber-Jones said shakily, "It was just a coincidence, had to be. A coincidence, surely."

  Jan said with a nervous laugh, "And to think we were all trying not to believe—no, to remember, to think of... But you see? It couldn't have had anything to do with what Roger Gillespie talked about."

  "No," agreed Faber-Jones, "but I have to admit it gave me a very strange feeling, an entire city blacked out. Your radio should be operative again, Marina. Turn it on and see if the local station explains the blackout."

  She reached for her pocket radio and obligingly turned to the local news station in time to hear, ". . , no explanation as yet for the city and suburbs of Trafton losing their power but—" He was cut off as a new voice came on to say, "We interrupt this program to report a mysterious explosion in the town of Denby, Maine within the last half hour, an explosion that rocked that town of fifteen thousand and was felt as far south as Bar Harbor. Denby police report that it has been traced to the old Thomas Jefferson High School abandoned in 1990 and sold four years ago to an electronic company. It is not known if it was occupied at the time of the explosion, or what caused it. ... We return you now to your regular station."

  Jan said with a sigh, "That's all very well, but it doesn't explain Trafton s blackout."

  Madame Karitska wanted to say Oh, yes, it does, it means they reached the building just in time, and you don't realize how lucky we are.

  Because Roger Gillespie had just proved the impossible had become the possible. And it was not a pleasant thought.

  Yet tomorrow life would go on, electric stoves would be lighted, refrigerator doors opened, computers and televisions turned on, planes would land and cars would fill their gas tanks, the radio and CNN would give more details of the powerful and mysterious explosion in Denby, Maine—if anyone was interested. In the morning she would deposit Max Saberhagen's check in the bank and there would be two clients in the afternoon, Pruden would be compiling a list of Jake Bodley's crimes, Jan would spend half of the day at the Settlement House, and Faber-Jones would visit his daughter at Daniel's Help Save Tomorrow.

  It was ironic, she thought, that because of Roger Gillespie there was—still—a tomorrow.

  Until the next time.