"The overture died away amid cheers, and, I must admit, occasional cat-calls from the more boisterous members of the audience. Perhaps I do them an injustice: they may have been the more musical ones.
"Then the curtain went up. The scene was the village square at Doddering Sloughleigh, circa 1860. Enter the heroine, reading the postcards in the morning's mail. She comes across a letter addressed to the young squire and promptly bursts into song.
"Sarah's opening aria wasn't quite as bad as the overture, but it was grim enough. Luckily, we were to hear only the first few bars…
"Precisely. We need not worry about such details as how Kendall had talked the ingenuous Fenton into it-if, indeed, the inventor realized the use to which his device was being applied. All I need say is that it was a most convincing demonstration. There was a sudden, deadening blanket of silence, and Sarah Stampe just faded out like a TV program when the sound is turned off. Everyone was frozen in their seats, while the singer's lips went on moving silently. Then she too realized what had happened. Her mouth opened in what would have been a piercing scream in any other circumstances, and she fled into the wings amid a shower of postcards.
"Thereafter, the chaos was unbelievable. For a few minutes everyone must have thought they had lost the sense of hearing, but soon they were able to tell from the behavior of their companions that they were not alone in their deprivation. Someone in the Physics
Department must have realized the truth fairly promptly, for soon little slips of paper were circulating among the V.I.P.'s in the front row. The Vice-Chancellor was rash enough to try and restore order by sign-language, waving frantically to the audience from the stage. By this time I was too sick with laughter to appreciate such fine details.
"There was nothing for it but to get out of the hall, which we all did as quickly as we could. I think Kendall had fled-he was so overcome by the effect of the gadget that he didn't stop to switch it off. He was afraid of staying around in case he was caught and lynched. As for Fenton-alas, we shall never know his side of the story. We can only reconstruct the subsequent events from the evidence that was left.
"As I picture it, he must have waited until the hall was empty, and then crept in to disconnect his apparatus. We heard the explosion all over the college."
"The explosion?" someone gasped.
"Of course. I shudder to think what a narrow escape we all had. Another dozen decibels, a few more phones-and it might have happened while the theatre was still packed. Regard it, if you like, as an example of the inscrutable workings of providence that only the inventor was caught in the explosion. Perhaps it was as went: at least he perished in the moment of achievement, and before the Dean could get at him."
"Stop moralizing, man. What happened?"
"Well, I told you that Fenton was very weak on theory. If he'd gone into the mathematics of the Silencer he'd have found his mistake. The trouble is, you see, that one can't destroy energy. Not even when you cancel out one train of waves by another. All that happens then is that the energy you've neutralized accumulates somewhere else. It's rather Re sweeping up all the dirt in a room –at the cost of an unsightly pile under the carpet.
"When you look into the theory of the thing, you'll find that Fenton's gadget wasn't a silencer so much as a collector of sound ' All the time it was switched on, it was really absorbing sound energy. And at that concert, it was certainly going flat out. You'll understand what I mean if you've ever looked at one of Edward England's scores. On top of that, of course, there was all the noise the audience was making-or I should say was trying to make-during the resultant panic. The total amount of energy must have been terrific, and the poor Silencer had to keep on sucking it up. Where did it go? Well, I don't know the circuit details-probably into the condensers of the power pack. By the time Fenton started to tinker with it again, it was like a loaded bomb. The sound of his approaching footsteps was the last straw, and the overloaded apparatus could stand no more. It blew up."
For a moment no-one said a word, perhaps as a token of respect for the late Mr. Fenton. Then Eric Maine, who for the last ten minutes had been muttering in the corner over his calculations, pushed his way through the ring of listeners. He held a sheet of paper thrust aggressively in front of him.
"Hey!" he said. "I was right all the time. The thing couldn't work. The phase and amplitude relations.
Purvis waved him away.
"That's just what I've explained," he said patiently. "You should have been listening. Too bad that Fenton found out the hard way."
He glanced at his watch. For some reason, he now seemed in a hurry to leave.
"My goodness! Time's getting on. One of these days, remind me to tell you about the extraordinary thing we saw through the new proton microscope. That's an even more remarkable story."
He was half way through the door before anyone else could challenge him. Then George Whitley recovered his breath.
"Look here," he said in a perplexed voice. "How is it that we never heard about this business?"
Purvis paused on the threshold, his pipe now burbling briskly as it got into its stride once more. He glanced back over his shoulder.
"There was only one thing to do," he replied. "We didn't want a scandal-de mortuis nil nisi bonum, you know. Besides, in the circumstances, don't you think it was highly appropriate to-a hush the whole business up? And a very good night to you all."
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Silence Please Page 2