Touch Not The Cat by Mary Stewart Page B

suppose. I came in the south door and went up to the vestry to put on the altar lights. The main switch was off, and there was someone just leaving. I didn't see who it was, but I thought it must be you."
    He was looking puzzled. "No. It might have been one of the churchwardens, I suppose, but why should he turn the mains off? How very extraordinary. I suppose you're quite sure the main was off?"
    "Certain. And there's another thing I'm sure of: if it wasn't you in the vestry, then whoever was there didn't want to be seen. I've a feeling he threw the switch when he heard me at the door, to give himself time to get out and away without being recognized. I thought it was you because you're the most likely person, and besides, I think he was wearing something long, like a cassock. You haven't suddenly acquired a curate, have you?"
    "No, alas. I suppose it might have been one of the choir men, coming back to pick up something he'd forgotten after service yesterday. . . . But why should he be wearing his cassock, and why turn out the light? It would hardly have mattered if either you or I had seen him."
    "I may have been wrong about the robe. It really was only an impression; it was pretty dark.
    Perhaps it was just one of the churchwardens. He was carrying something—I'm quite sure of that."
    "What sort of thing?"
    "It's hard to say. A box, perhaps, or it could have been a book, about the size of those registers on the table."
    "I can't see any reason why one of the wardens should come for them. They're not the Ashley registers. I only brought them over from One Ash after Evensong yesterday. I promised to do a search for a Canadian who wrote to me about his forebears, but I have not had time to look at them yet. . . . And there again, the main switch, I really cannot see why . . . Dear me, it's beginning to look like a real mystery, isn't it?"
    He was looking so worried that I tried quickly to reassure him. "I don't suppose it's anything at all, really. I may easily have been mistaken."
    "Let us hope so, my dear, let us hope so. All the same"— turning decisively back to the vestry—"I'd better take a look to see if anything has been touched. The church safe perhaps it could be a temptation. But surely, no one at Ashley . . ."

    He paused in the doorway of the vestry and looked carefully about him.
    "I had a look round when I put the light on." I spoke from behind him, looking over his shoulder. "It all looked tidy except for those papers, and some of them were on the floor. But that was the draft from the door. I put them back, but you'll probably find them out of order."
    "No matter, no matter." He went to the table and glanced through them. "All here. And the registers, too . . . eleven, was it, or twelve? There were some from Hangman's End, as well. I shall have to check them. But really, there is nothing there of interest to anyone. And nothing else even disturbed.
    The cupboard . . . yes, that's all right. And there was nothing in this drawer but pencils and so on, and there is my spare cassock still hanging by the door, so that was not what you saw. . . ."
    He turned finally, with reluctance, to look at the safe. "Well, let us hope not. . . ."
    But when he stooped over the big clumsy metal cupboard the look of anxiety deepened. I saw him fingering some scratches near the lock. "These, would you say they look new? It's so hard to tell.
    Unless something happens like this to make you look closely, you don't notice the marks that your own keys make every day. I'm afraid we had better look inside." He reached into his cassock pocket and pulled out a ring of keys.
    "I suppose you keep the Communion plate in the safe," I said. "Anything else?"
    "Nothing that anyone might want to steal. Only our own registers. And the Communion plate itself is of very little value—though value, as always, is relative. The plate we use now is quite modern, as you probably know; it was your father who suggested that we lodge the old plate in a