Case with 4 Clowns (19 page)

From where we sat I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the fold of canvas which was the main entrance, and people leaving or entering the tent could not have done so without
being observed by me. I quickly directed Beef's attention to a couple who had just entered and slipped quickly out of sight under the carpet-covered seating. They were Christophe and Suzanne.

Beef pointed his finger downward in elaborate dumb-show to indicate that they were directly underneath him. I could hear their voices faintly through the thick carpet, although it was impossible to catch every word. We leaned forward in our seats, ostensibly to watch the performance in the ring, although I forget what was actually taking place just then, and in reality listening to the conversation beneath us.

“But you're wrong,” Suzanne's voice was saying. “Making eyes at Cora only arouses Paul's suspicions. At the moment he doesn't know anything at all about us, but if you start making him suspicious by getting off with that painter woman then he'll start suspecting you all the time. He might even find out about us. And besides, I don't like you making eyes at that terrible woman—even if it is only pretending.”

For a moment there was silence, and then Christophe's voice saying:

“Why can't we tell him, anyway? Why can't we tell everybody?”

“Chris darling, you know we can't. Paul would go crazy.”

“I'm not ashamed of being in love with you.”

“We've had all this out before.”

“I wish Paul would be sensible about things like this. Just because we've always been together he thinks it's always to be like that.”

“Chris, don't be stupid. You know you've got to stay with Paul. This can go on all the time, but we musn't let him know about it. We're quite happy as we are. Why start making trouble for ourselves?”

Again there was a silence, and then Christophe said almost sullenly: “All right. You always know best, Suzanne. I'd
better get back to the wagon before he starts wondering where I've got to.”

The canvas flap of the tent rustled, and the two of them had gone.

“Here,” said Beef, “let's get out of here. I've got some hard thinking to do, and you'd better come along and help me.”

“But we haven't seen the show through,” I protested.

“Fine time to think of that,” said Beef. “Come on.”

April 29th (continued).

“I
CAN'T
see any particular hurry,” I said as we left the tent. “What do you want to do at this time of the night?”

“There's two wagons,” said Beef, “what we haven't been into as yet.”

“Which are those?” I asked.

“Len Waterman's and Kurt's.”

“But neither of them will be in their wagons now,” I pointed out. “Waterman's busy with the lights and Kurt comes on with his lions act in a minute or two.”

“That's just what I was thinking,” said Beef. “I'd rather like to have a look at those two wagons without any interference from either of them.”

“But Beef,” I gasped dutifully, “you can't possibly do that. In the first place you've no authority, and in the second place we're guests here. What should we do if we were caught?”

“Who ever heard of a detective having authority?” snorted Beef. “A detective is above authority, you ought to know that. Why, if he had to wait for authority where would all these books be? There wouldn't be a single interesting detective story on the market. You don't want to quibble over little matters like that. Come on, we'd better get it done while the performance is still on.”

Rather half-heartedly I followed the Sergeant out of the wagon again. When he began activities of this kind I was always assailed by doubts. It had been pleasant living with the circus and just drifting along, but when it came to searching the private belongings of the members of the troupe I felt
that things were going a little too far. However, I knew it would be useless to protest.

“Which one are you going to search first?” I asked.

“Well,” said Beef thoughtfully, “I've got a feeling that we might come across something promising in Len Waterman's things. That chap puzzles me. Perhaps because he's so quiet. Doesn't keep thrusting himself to the front like some others I know.”

“Well, he'll be working on the lights until the show is finished,” I observed, “so we shan't be found out, anyway.”

“Ex-actly,” said Beef. “And that makes it a good place to start off with. Now then, here it is. You keep a watch out on the steps and I'll have a look round.”

On second thoughts, however, Beef called me into the wagon with him, since I might be seen standing by the steps and arouse suspicion that way. I could much better watch from the inside of the wagon, where I should not be seen by anybody casually walking by.

Beef shone his flash-lamp cautiously round the inside of the wagon, taking care that the beam did not cross any of the windows. The space was very limited and cramped, even though it was only for one man, and everything was piled up in an indescribable state of untidiness.

“One thing,” commented Beef. “He wouldn't know whether anybody had been here or not.”

The contents of the wagon seemed to be for the most part quite uninteresting, and Beef quickly abandoned the pile of things on the floor and turned his attention to the two cupboards. The first one turned out to be filled with odds and ends of wire and string, nuts and bolts, pliers, and all the other paraphernalia of an odd-job man. Beef was just closing the door, however, when the beam of his torch shone on a large photograph stuck on the inside.

“Seem to recognize that face,” he said, and turned the light full on it.

The photograph was of a very beautiful woman in scanty circus costume, posing in the traditional manner with one foot forward and both hands grasped behind her back.

“What does the writing say underneath?” I asked.

Beef read slowly. “With all my love, Suzanne.”

“Suzanne,” I said. “Of course it is. But it must have been taken some years ago. Why, she looks scarcely more than a girl.”

“No, it's not so very long,” said Beef. “Look, it's got the date underneath. Nineteen twenty-nine, it says.”

“There must be something in it if he keeps her photo there still,” I said.

“There you go,” said Beef sarcastically. “Romantic again.”

I was just about to answer him when he grasped my arm. “Shut up,” he whispered. “There's somebody outside.”

The faint sound of steps over the grass could be heard, and then the feet mounted the wooden steps outside the wagon. There was no room to hide inside and it seemed inevitable that we should be discovered. Beef quickly drew himself behind the door and pulled at me to do the same, even though there was hardly room for his own bulky form.

The feet stopped on the top step and there was a sharp rap on the panel of the door.

“Are you there, Len?” asked a voice, a woman's voice. And then, as there was no answer from inside the wagon, she knocked again. After a slight pause the door began to open slowly. The light which shone faintly into the wagon showed the outlined shadow of a figure. But at that moment there was a shout from somewhere in the field. The door was shut hastily and the feet retreated quickly the way they had come.

“That was a close one,” said Beef. “Come on, let's get back before anybody else comes around.”

“But wasn't that Suzanne's voice?” I asked, as we walked back to our own wagon.

“Well, you couldn't be too sure,” said Beef in his cautious way. “But that's what I thought. Now I wonder what she wanted in that wagon.”

“The photograph?” I hazarded.

“Hardly,” said the Sergeant. “Or she would have taken it before. I'd like to know what's going on around that woman Suzanne. First Christophe, and then Len Waterman. I wonder what it's all about?”

“Best thing to do would be to ask her,” I said sourly. “She's bound to tell you all about it.”

“Wouldn't be a bad idea,” said Beef in his innocent way. And then after a moment's thought: “Bit blunt, I suppose. People don't like being questioned on personal subjects like that. But there ought to be somebody who could tell us.”

Beef pulled slowly at the ends of his mustache and walked slowly away from Waterman's wagon. From the tent came the heavily emphasized music which I knew was played for the elephant act. It is a tune which I shall never be able to dissociate from elephants, no matter in what other context I may happen to hear it. The ponderously rhythmic way in which the band was playing the tune now will always seem, I think, the correct and only way to play it. I don't know the name of it, but should it occur—unlikely enough—in a promenade concert, I shall probably feel like leaping to my feet and offering the conductor some immediate vocal advice.

As we walked slowly towards the big tent a figure emerged from it and began to walk briskly across our path.

“There's the man who might be able to tell us something useful about Suzanne,” I said, pointing to the figure.

“Who is it?”

“Jackson,” I answered, “and in a hurry about something by the look of it.”

“Oh, he's always in a hurry,” said Beef. “Come on. Let's ask him.”

Jackson did not seem too pleased to see us, but he stopped when Beef called out to him.

“Well, Sergeant,” he said briskly, “what's worrying you now? I haven't been seeing very much of you since you first arrived. I'd like to know how your little investigation has been going on. Have you found anything suspicious?”

“It's easy to find suspicious things,” said Beef quietly, “because people nearly always have something to hide.” It seemed to me that Jackson looked up suddenly as Beef said this, but I could not be sure of it.

“Yes, I suppose they have,” he said in a casual voice. “But then, of course, that's not what you're looking for, Sergeant, is it? I mean, dirty washing and family skeletons and all that are of little interest in this particular case?”

“Well, you can get too much of them,” said Beef, “but a little scandal, as you might say, is sometimes a great help to an investigator.”

“Is that what you've come to me for?” asked Jackson sharply. “Because if so, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed.”

“Oh no,” said Beef. “Nothing like that. I was only speaking generally. I just wanted a little bit of information about the circus, and I thought you would be the right person to come to, that's all.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you came into the wagon,” said Jackson, and led us up the steps. After offering us cigarettes he lit one himself, and then, carefully seating himself in an arm-chair, he looked expectantly at Beef.

“All right. Fire away, Sergeant,” he said.

“How long has the circus been going?” asked Beef.

“Well, actually my father started Jacobi's Circus in nineteen, nine, but we reckon that the circus is twenty-five years old this season.”

“How's that?” asked Beef after a pause, during which he had been doing rather obvious mental arithmetic.

“We had to stop for four years during the war. Transport was very difficult, and often it was next to impossible to get food for the animals. And, of course, many of the men went to fight. Almost all the traveling circuses shut down during that time, you know.”

“So that makes you twenty-five this year. Jubilee year, eh?” said Beef with a grin.

“Yes,” answered Jackson. “We have a special show every year on the birthday of the circus, but this one is the twenty-fifth, and a special Jubilee performance. I hope you'll be here to see it.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Beef, remembering. “Anita told us something about that. It should be good, eh?”

“It should be the best show we've given,” said Jackson.

“Have all the artists been with you since the war?” I asked, in order to give Beef time to think out his next question.

“Apart from one or two, yes,” replied Jackson. “Of course, some of them were only children, and didn't start showing until later—like my daughter and Eric, and the Concinis. The only ones who have joined the show since are, let me see, the two Darienne brothers, Clem Gail, and Peter Ansell. I think that's all.”

“What about Suzanne?” Beef asked.

“Suzanne joined just after we'd started—in the second season to be precise. We wanted a trapeze act, and Len Waterman said he thought he knew someone he could get, and recommended Suzanne.”

“I see,” said Beef. “So he must have known Suzanne before she came here?”

“Unless he saw her picture in the papers,” said Jackson sarcastically.

“Anything between them?” continued Beef, unperturbed.

Jackson looked sharply at the Sergeant. “Don't ask me to tell you the private affairs of my company,” he said at last. “That is something which is completely their own affair.”

“All right,” said Beef, “I know how you feel. Well, what about the Darienne brothers? When did they join the show?”

“About nineteen-thirty, I think it was.”

Beef laboriously wrote these facts down in his notebook, and then turned to the proprietor again. But this time it was Jackson who asked the question.

“You know, Sergeant,” he said, “ever since you told me about this murder business I've been wondering on one or two points. Now you remember you said this story first came from Gypsy Margot? Well, do you think it possible that the whole thing is a little scheme of hers?”

“Scheme?” asked Beef, puzzled. “How do you mean?”

“Suppose she wanted to do harm to the circus in some way. Suppose, in fact, that she wanted to do harm to me. This story might be her best way of doing it.”

“I won't say as it hadn't struck me as a possibility,” said Beef cautiously. “But how exactly could it harm you? You said yourself that you were not worried unless someone started trying to murder you?”