Case with 4 Clowns (34 page)

“That all sounds most exciting and original,” said Cora, and I found it hard to believe that she had not her tongue in her cheek, “but you can't imagine what you're up against when you talk like that. I'm afraid it's something far bigger than you are.”

“And what's that?” asked Torrant.

“The circus,” said Cora. “Oh, I know you think that's so much tommy-rot, but I assure you there
is
something in it. I don't mean that the other people in the circus would try and stop you taking her away. Of course, they'd try, but if she wanted to go they wouldn't have a chance.”

“And she does want to go,” burst in Torrant. “She's told me so herself, over and over again.”

“She may think so now,” went on Cora Frances, “but actually, do you think she'd be happy herself away from all this? Of course, she wouldn't. She was born in the circus,
and has lived among its people all her life. She'd never be really happy away from it. You take my word for it …”

“I know I could make her forget the circus,” said Torrant confidently, and turned back to the ring as though there were no more to be said.

Corinne's act was just finishing, and it was clear from the applause that she had redeemed herself in their eyes from the stigma of the seal act. The three clowns rushed on almost before she was out of the ring.

Sid was riding a diminutive donkey, swaying drunkenly from side by side and being propped up by Clem and Eric every time he seemed in danger of falling right off. Only the head and tail of the animal seemed to emerge from under his large figure, and his feet trailed within a couple of inches of the ground on either side.

When it reached the center of the ring the donkey refused to move any farther, despite the ludicrous coaxing of Clem and Eric. Finally, they got behind and tried to push it forward, but the donkey immediately began to move backwards, pushing the two clowns out of the ring, to the huge laughter of the crowd. They abandoned the scheme, and after a short conference approached its head and began to push the animal backwards. As the crowd had anticipated, the donkey walked forward again into the center of the ring. But there once more it stopped.

Somehow, I felt a great sense of relief as I watched the act. Although the three clowns were behaving as drunks, it was quite easy to see how good humored and friendly they were among themselves. The tension seemed definitely to be lifted. With the show nearly over, it was possible to think that perhaps the whole thing had been a mistake on my part. Nothing would happen now. Beef had most probably been right after all. So far I had gone through the performance with taut nerves, expecting all the time some small detail here or there
which I must not miss, in case it gave a lead to the tragedy I had been expecting. Now I felt released from that, the whole atmosphere seemed friendlier and less oppressive.

Meanwhile, the act was continuing. Eric seemed to have decided that the donkey would be more likely to move if it were harnessed in a cart, and he had fetched one. It was a small paper and cardboard and plywood affair. But even in the shafts of this the animal refused to move, and the clowns, Sid by this time having dismounted, held another conference. This time they resolved that the only way left was to light a fire under the donkey, and Sid brought along a spirit-stove which, with much drunken gamboling, he managed to light and get into place. In a few seconds the donkey began to stir restlessly, and the clowns capered with glee. Then the donkey moved forward three or four steps, and stopped again, but this time with the flame burning up under the cart, which immediately caught fire. The climax of the act came when the three clowns arrived with huge tubs of water, which they contrived to throw over each other, while the cart burned uninterruptedly to the ground. When all the water was gone, and the cart a charred cinder in the ring, the donkey suddenly pricked up its ears and proceeded to walk sedately from the ring, to the immense mortification of the three clowns.

While the audience was still clapping this act, Cora turned to me and suggested that we should walk round to the artists' entrance and speak to the Dariennes.

“It's their turn next,” she said. “I really must go round and wish them luck. You know how the dears love that sort of thing. Won't you come too?”

I could not see any real point in this, but there might conceivably be something I ought not to miss. In any case we might run into Anita. So I agreed, and we dodged down under the long banks of seats and worked our way round to the end of the ring. The Dariennes and Suzanne were
standing just inside the curtain talking together when we reached them, and for the moment before they saw us I imagined that something of an argument was going on between them. Cora, however, walked straight over to them and placed one hand on each of the boys' shoulders.

“What, quarreling again?” she asked brightly. “My dear, what a frightful amount of energy you must waste. And just before you're going into the ring, too. That will never do, will it, Mr. Townsend?”

I made an indeterminate noise in my throat, which might be taken as a cough and smiled at Suzanne.

“Oh, it's nothing serious,” said Christophe quickly. “One of these little family affairs, you know.”

“That's just the point,” said Paul. “It is serious. I don't care if everybody does hear it. I don't feel like becoming polite and good mannered just because …”

“Paul!” said Suzanne reproachfully.

The elder Darienne seemed about to burst out again, when he suddenly closed his mouth and looked away. There was a short pause, in which we all stood rather uncomfortably avoiding each other's eyes.

“Well, really,” said Cora Frances. “You're just like a lot of children with your bickering. Yes, you are. Just like children. I suggest you kiss and make up before you go into the ring.”

Luckily, at that moment, the band changed into their music, which was their cue for entering the ring, and without another word either to us or to each other, they went through the curtain.

“How very peculiar,” commented Cora. “And I tried to be as cheerful as I could. These people are so unselfconscious that they simply give themselves away in front of everybody. That's what's so charming about them, I suppose. Oh well, let's get back to our seats.”

This time we walked slowly round outside the tent, in the
open air. It still rained slightly, and the sky was heavy and black. But there was a fresher feeling in the air, and a slight wind, which would eventually drive the storm away completely. By the front entrance of the big tent we found Ansell directing three or four of the hands who were bringing up the materials for building the lion-cage.

“But what's happened?” I asked. “Is there going to be a lion act after all?”

Ansell grinned. “That's right,” he said. “Last minute changes in the program.”

“But who's going to show them? You?”

“No. Kurt's crawled out of bed,” answered the feeder. “He says he's going into the ring after all.”

“That's madness,” I insisted. “Why, when I last saw the man he had a fever on him.”

“When Kurt makes up his mind,” said Ansell, moving away to help the hands, “he takes a bit of persuading.”

Bewildered, I followed Cora Frances back to our seats. The Dariennes and Suzanne were up on their trapeze and all the heads of the audience were turned upward, watching the swinging figures. Thank God the next act was the last one. I felt that I could not stand the strain for very much longer of watching and waiting. I turned to Cora Frances and tried to explain what I felt.

“But my dear,” she said in a surprised tone, “I thought you were dying for a murder. Really, I'm disappointed in you. Surely, if there's no murder, there's no book to write? And you can't let sentiment interfere with business, can you?”

“I'm afraid,” I said stiffly, “that my estimation of the value of human life is a little higher than you seem to suppose. Compared with a tragedy, I cannot see what importance such a minor matter as a book has.”

“Well, you
do
surprise me,” said Cora.

The Dariennes dipped from side to side of the ring, holding
the attention of the audience in the tent. But somehow I felt that I dared not watch that graceful display. Every face was turned upward, and for that very reason I only snatched occasional glances at them, watching for the rest of the time, the slight movement on the ground below. A motion of the tent-flap at the entrance quickly attracted my attention, and I glanced round to discover that Len Waterman had entered and was standing perfectly still with his eyes fixed on Suzanne. I had never seen the electrician in the tent during the performance before; it was something he never did. Why then should he choose to come in on this night? Could it simply be the Jubilee Performance, or was there something behind it more sinister? My mind flashed back to the day on which the lights had fused and Beef had seemed satisfied that Len had not been to blame. I had already foreseen the recurrence of that, but how did Len's present behavior fit in? Suddenly, I realized with a flash that there was a very clever explanation of Len's presence in the tent just now. Suppose the lights did fuse again, during this act. If Len were in the tent all the time, no suspicion could possibly be attached to him. In other words, could he be here now as a sort of alibi?

Jackson, too, was watching the trapeze artists with complete concentration from his position at the end of the ring. I noticed that he still had his hand in his left-hand coat-pocket, where I suspected my revolver lay. But it was absurd to suppose that he would attempt to use it here in the ring. Anything he did had five hundred witnesses. He would not be such a fool to run that risk, even if he wanted any harm to come to the Dariennes or to Suzanne. But then, again, I realized a curious thing. The attention of the audience was only on the artists in the air. There were, in fact, not five hundred witnesses. There was only one witness of whatever Jackson might do, and that witness was myself. This thought seemed to burden me with an almost unbearable responsibility. How
could I be sure of watching everything in the ring, of letting nothing escape me?

“How I would like to know what Bogli's Circus are thinking of this act,” Cora's voice suddenly whispered.

“Why especially Bogli's?” I asked without daring to look round.

“Oh, but my dear,” went on Cora, “didn't you know? Suzanne used to be with them before she joined up with Jackson. Nobody ever found out quite what happened when she left, but I'm sure there was something behind it. Of course, she hardly ever mentions them—but I think that's suspicious to begin with. I mean, why shouldn't she talk about them? I'm sure if I knew them—just look at them now—I should never be able to keep quiet.”

That, I felt, went without saying, but I did not comment on it. I was too relieved, watching the last part of the act and the successful, unharmed descent of the artists to the ground. The applause from the audience seemed, in my distorted state, to be more an appreciation of the safety of the performers than of their performance.

Just near us, as the trapeze act ended, the lion tunnel was being pushed in through the entrance and maneuvered against the cage. The last bolt and nut had been fixed in the cage and Peter Ansell was standing by wiping his hands slowly on a piece of rag, his eyes wandering over the apparatus, as if to make sure nothing had been forgotten. He caught my eye and gave a quick grin, and then turned and began to clamber on top of the tunnel, ready to raise the trap for the lions to run into the cage. But Kurt had not yet appeared in the ring, so Ansell squatted there, his hands on his knees, waiting. I could hear the soft thumping of the three lions walking up and down in the restricted space, and every now and again caught sight of a gleam, as one of them paused to glare out of the barred end of the tunnel. Then, quite unexpectedly, there was
the sound of snarling and heavy banging inside the tunnel. The people nearest looked round nervously, and seemed to edge over in their seats, as if to be as far away as possible from the animals. The snarling was quickly developing into a fight, when Ansell leaped off the top of the tunnel and began rattling an iron rod back and forth across the bars. In a few minutes the noise ceased, and he stood looking into the tunnel, holding the bar ready, as if he expected it to commence again.

At that moment the lights changed and Kurt entered the ring. He walked slowly, although perfectly upright, into the center, and then stopped to bow to the audience. His face was white and shadowed, but he seemed to have himself completely under control, holding the coiled whip closely to his side, while he raised the other hand in a sort of salute. Ansell held the gate-top of the tunnel, waiting for him to enter the cage. There was the clang of iron as Kurt entered the cage and slammed the door behind him. He bowed once again to the silent audience, and then turned to Ansell and gave a brief nod. The feeder stood upright on the top of the tunnel, opening the trap-door, and at the same time stamping with his feet on the wood, as I had seen him so often do, to persuade the lions out into the cage.

The two lionesses came out first, and stood for a moment swinging their heads round as if to take in the crowd. Kurt cracked his whip and one of them slunk slowly towards the pedestal at the far side of the cage. The other animal moved slightly, and then turned its head back to the tunnel, as though contemplating a return. Kurt cracked his whip again sharply and advanced towards the lioness, which immediately walked over towards the corner. At that moment the third lion came to the mouth of the tunnel and without pausing leaped straight at the lion-trainer. His head was turned slightly to one side, watching the second beast, and he did not seem to see the danger coming. There was a sudden shout from Ansell, and
the two figures fell to the ground together. I was on my feet without realizing the action, and only vaguely conscious of the cries around me from the rest of the audience.