Case with 4 Clowns

by Bruce, Leo

  “That’s the trouble,” he said suddenly aloud.

  “What’s the trouble?” asked Beef.

  “This face.”

  “Seems all right to me,” said Beef, inspecting it carefully.

  “That’s just what I mean. It is all right. And that’s the trouble.”

  “Sorry,” said Beef. “Would you mind telling us what you’re talking about?”

  “Well, it’s like this,” said Clem Gail, stripping off his clown’s costume as he talked. “Now, I’m a bit ambitious. I like people to think I’m a good clown, that I do my job well and all that. But how can I when they never know it’s me who does it?”

  “But your name’s on the bill,” said Beef.

  “No, it isn’t. ‘Archie’ is. You see, I’m two different people. There’s me now, with quite a good face, and there’s me in the ring, with a funny face. But people never connect the two. If the others walk down the street the people nudge one another and say, ‘Look, that’s the trapeze artists, isn’t it?’ or ‘Isn’t that the wire-walker?’ But they never say that about me because they wouldn’t recognize me.”

  “First we get two people who are so alike people think they are one,” I interrupted softly, “and now we’ve got one person who people think is two. Fine state of affairs. I suppose this chap will have to stab himself.” But Beef nudged me heavily to shut up.

  “What did you say?” asked Clem, who had not heard.

  “Nothing,” said Beef hurriedly. “He was just trying to be funny, that’s all. Go on.”

  “Well, that’s all, I suppose,” grinned Clem. He was dressed now, and flicked the comb through his hair. “The only other grouch I’ve got,” he went on, and I heard Sid Bolton groan behind me as if at a much-heard tale, “is that I have to change after pulling down, and by the time I get out on to the tober …”

  “The tent hands have bagged all the best girls,” finished Sid, with a chuckle.

  “So that’s what you’re hurrying for,” observed Beef. “I thought perhaps it was for our benefit.”

  Clem turned at the door to grin at us. “Not—likely,” he said, and ran quickly down the steps.

  “He’s a fine one,” said Sid as we got up to leave. “Always grumbling about never being able to pick up any girls. Seems to get one most nights, though.”

  “What’s his trouble then?” I asked.

  “Well, you see,” explained Sid, “he was saying to me just now as we were pulling down that he’d seen a nice girl over by the Zoo and he wanted to get out before one of the hands got hold of her. They usually pick out all the best ones, you see.”

  As we left the wagon I noticed that Beef seemed to be exceedingly pleased with himself. He was smiling broadly and every now and again a quiet chuckle would escape from him.

  “Well, what is it?” I asked. “What do you find so funny?”

  “I got a job for you,” he burst out. “A nice little bit of investigating that’s just about up your street.”

  “Yes?” I said doubtfully.

  “Yes. I want you to follow that young Clem Gail and see what he does.”

  “But suppose he picks up this girl?” I objected.

  “You just go on watching what he does,” said Beef. “Cor, I’ve had worse jobs than that in my time.”

  “But it’s spying on his private affairs,” I said. “I’m not going to do it. Where would it get us, anyway? That’s got nothing to do with the case.”

  “How do you know?” said Beef blandly. “You just do as I say, and then come back and tell me all that happened. That’s a real nice little job, and I think you ought to be pleased with it.”

  “Well, I’m not,” I said shortly. “And what’s more, if you want to know—and I can’t see what use it would be to you at your age—if you want to know how a young fellow picks up a girl, then you can do your own dirty work.”

  “Look here,” said Beef firmly. “Are you on this case with me, or aren’t you? Either one way or the other. I’m not asking much.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said, “if you swear it’s something to do with the case. But otherwise not.”

  “ ’Course it’s something to do with the case,” said Beef. “Anything to do with the circus people is something to do with the case at this stage. How shall we know where we are unless we know something about the people mixed up in it?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said reluctantly, “but …”

  “That’s right,” said Beef, with a grin. “I thought you’d see it that way. Now run along or it’ll be all over before you get there.”

  I “ran along,” as Beef so tactlessly put it. I could see Clem over by the gate talking to one of the hands, and looking often at the figure of a girl who was standing by herself outside the fortune-telling tent. As I approached he left his companion and approached the girl and began speaking to her. I walked quickly round behind the wagon nearest them and listened, hoping hard that no one would come along and notice I was eavesdropping.

  “Has he run away and left you?” Clem’s voice asked.

  “Who?” asked the girl.

  “Why, the boy friend, I suppose.”

  “I’m waiting,” said the girl, almost coldly, “for my mother.”

  “If she’s having her fortune told, she’ll be hours,” said Clem. “Old Margot always takes a wet week. Come and have a look at the animals while you’re waiting.”

  From where I stood I could see the girl’s face, and knew that she would eventually say yes to this proposal. She was a tall, good-looking girl, graceful in a way I suspected she had learned from an intensive study of Ginger Rogers. The way she swung her small blue hat carelessly by the brim must have made me think of this. And possibly the way she had her hair done. Now she turned to Clem and faced him for the first time.

  “Are you with the circus?” she asked at last.

  “That’s right,” said Clem. “Now what about those animals?”

  “But suppose Mother comes before I get back? She’ll think I’ve gone home.”

  “You can just pop your head in the tent and tell her you’re going off for a minute.”

  The girl paused for a moment, and then turned quickly and walked towards Margot’s booth. When she emerged again she was smiling. “Mother says she’ll go on home without me,” she said. “Now I’m ready.”

  Clem seemed to think for a while. “We could go and see the elephant-tent first,” he suggested. “Have you seen the elephant-tent?”

  “But it’s dark. There’ll be nothing to see!” the girl protested.

  “That’s why,” said Clem briskly, and grabbed her arm.

  For a moment she hung back, and I thought he had misjudged his tactics. But suddenly she laughed and moved away with him. “Really, you are a surprise,” were the last words I heard her say. “I like people to be straightforward.”

  Cursing myself for being so stupid as to take this job, and the couple because they couldn’t stand in one place, I slipped from behind the wagon to see where they were going. Sure enough they were walking slowly across the field towards the elephant-tent, and I had to get quickly around the edge of it in order to get there before them so that they would not see me.

  I paused for a moment behind one of the wagons which they would have to pass in order to hear, if possible, what they were saying. They were walking arm-in-arm and I could tell by the way their heads moved that they were speaking.

  “What do you do in the circus?” I heard the girl ask.

  Clem’s reply was indistinct, but the girl took him up and repeated it. “On the trapeze?” she said. “That’s funny, I don’t recognize you.”

  “We look different without the make-up on,” Clem mumbled.

  “Yes, I suppose you do. Anyway, you were moving so fast I couldn’t get a good look at your face. I think your turn is marvelous. I wish you wouldn’t have all those clowns, though. Some of them are clever, I suppose, but they make me yawn.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” sa
id Clem defensively. “It wouldn’t be much of a circus without the clowns. Why, they’re the oldest part of it. Anyway, they’re for the children, and I expect you laughed at them yourself, really.”

  “No, I didn’t. They just made me tired.”

  There was a slight pause. Clem was obviously finding this subject a little tiresome and was searching for something less controversial. “What’s your name?” he asked at last.

  “Alice.”

  “Mine’s Clem. My real name, of course. We all use other names in the ring; it sounds better.”

  The couple walked past me and on towards the elephant-tent, and this time I waited until they had disappeared inside before I moved. The last thing I wanted to happen was Clem or some of the other circus people to see what I was doing. Beef no doubt had a reason for this absurdly uncomfortable “job” he had given me. But, nevertheless, I found it in the worst of taste. I watched Clem hold the flap of the tent open for the girl, and then it dropped behind both of them, and I emerged from behind the wagon and walked as softly as I could across to it. I went round to the back, where I was out of the light from the tober, and here it was pitch black and impossible to see anything. So much so that I stumbled and fell over one of the tent-pegs.

  “What was that noise?” Alice’s voice asked urgently from inside the tent.

  Clem was calm and reassuring. “One of the elephants, I expect. Nobody will come around here, you needn’t worry. Why, you’re trembling.”

  The girl gave a short, nervous laugh. “That’s not because I’m frightened,” she said.

  “Why is it, then?”

  She gave no answer, and for quite a while neither of them said anything. When they began talking again it was in so quiet a voice that I was unable to catch more than a word here and there. What, I wondered, did Beef expect me to do now? Was I supposed to worm my way into the tent itself and see what was happening? I could not imagine Beef being so cruel or unthinking as that. I sat, shivering slightly, in the cold grass, cursing everything and the Sergeant in particular.

  “Oh, but it’s warm here,” said the girl’s voice suddenly. “I could stay here all night.”

  “You’d have to sleep with the elephant-man then,” said Clem.

  She laughed lightly. “I shall have to go in a minute, anyway,” she said. “Whatever will Mother think of me?”

  “No. Not yet,” said Clem, and for a little while again there was silence. “You look all misty, like a cloud,” said Clem’s voice after a while. “Your face is just a white patch floating about on the hay. And your hands seem to move about as if they had nothing to do with anything else.”

  The girl laughed softly and drowsily. “I must go now,” she said reluctantly. “Really I must.”

  In a moment I heard the tent-flap open and the long shadows of the pair stretched along the grass close beside me. I kept completely out of sight and hoped that Clem would not take it into his head to walk round the tent. They stood for some time in that position, and their shadows told me that they were kissing, although I didn’t dare to confirm this in case I was seen.

  “Come on, then,” said Clem abruptly. “Would you like me to see you home?”

  “No, it’s only just down the road. I’ll find my way. Good night, Clem.”

  They walked slowly together to the center of the tober, which was now clear and open, then the girl walked on by herself to the gate and Clem stood still there and watched her until she had disappeared and I could no longer hear even the hard sounds of her heels on the road. Then he turned and walked to his wagon.

  “Cushti palone, col?” shouted a voice, and the head of Peter Ansell stuck out of the window of his wagon.

  “What the hell’s that to you?” demanded Clem snappily, and slammed the door of his wagon behind him.

  Beef was sitting up in his bunk reading when I entered our trailer. “Well?” he asked cheerfully, laying the book face down on the covers.

  “Is that all you’ve been doing all the time I’ve been crawling around in the wet grass spying for you?” I counterattacked.

  “Never you mind what I’ve been doing,” said Beef severely. “What I want to know is how you got on.”

  “I think the whole idea of yours was thoroughly ungentlemanly, and in extremely bad taste,” I protested.

  “You are a one,” said Beef, grinning. “I bet you enjoyed it, listening in, and that.”

  “I did not,” I replied sharply. “I found it most degrading and uncomfortable. Suppose someone had seen me?”

  “But they didn’t,” commented Beef. “Well, tell us what you saw.”

  “I’m very much afraid,” I said, “that Clem Gail is something of a Don Juan.” And I went on to relate all that I had heard and seen that evening.

  CHAPTER X

  April 28th.

  IT MUST have been very early when I awoke, for I lay in bed for some considerable time before I heard any noise of stirring from the tober. I stretched pleasantly. As always waking early seems to give one longer in bed, and one can take advantage of this by thinking unhurriedly over the small things one seldom has time to consider more than once in a while.

  Beef had truly surprised me over this case so far. It was not only that I had discovered something new in him, but that I had begun to realize that it had always been there and I probably too blind to notice it before. It had been so easy to pick out his fooling, his ludicrous behavior under some circumstances. But in the last few days I had been forced to see an efficiency and a control over other people which had possibly put all his past behavior in a different light.

  In any case, it was pleasant being here and watching him. Pleasant to see how well he got on with these circus people. He seemed to make no effort, but was just the same old friendly, boyish, natural Beef. The circus people themselves were something so unexpectedly new. Their code of morals, their behavior, their attitude, were somehow subtly different from the rest of society. It was strange country, though not strange enough to make one feel uncomfortable. In these few days’ experience of them I began to look at them in a new light. What Jackson had said on that first day about the possibility of a murder in the circus, now assumed a new importance.

  I felt now that almost any member of the circus we had so far met would be capable of committing a murder under certain circumstances. Perhaps that is true of everybody, but with the circus folk one felt there would be nothing particularly outrageous in that occurrence. It would be in a different category to the numerous other trials for murder reported weekly in the papers.

  Normally one feels that the people one knows best are those least likely to commit a murder. It is because one knows them that one feels this. But in this case it was the reverse. Knowing the circus people a little, I felt that there was scarcely one of them who would surprise me by killing one of their fellow-artists. And Lord knows there were plenty of motives scattered through their lives. Beef and I had already come across enough motives to settle any ordinary case. They seemed to thrive on jealousy, enmities.

  And it was not to condemn them that one said any one of them might commit a murder. It was rather a recognition of their peculiar vitality, their quickness, the life in which they lived continually so much closer to violence, accidental or purposeful, than the normal Englishman.

  While I had been lying dreamily thinking of these things the sky outside the window had begun to grow and recede with faint streaks of light. The sun had not yet risen, but already the air was warmer and more alive. I decided to get up straight away and drive on before the circus this morning instead of arriving, as usual, after most of the work had been done and the big top pitched.

  It was colder than I had expected, and it was difficult to restrain the first impulse to get back under the covers, but after a minute or so, as I moved around the wagon dressing, the blood began to circulate and I felt healthy and cheerful and had begun to whistle to myself until I realized that Beef still slept.

  The dew was still on the grass ou
tside, so that the whole tober shone grayly. Long black smears here and there, crossing and re-crossing the center, showed where the horses had wandered grazing, and around the door of many of the wagons the trampled grass proved that I had been wrong in thinking that no one was stirring because I had heard no noise of it.

  “Cup of tea, Mr. Townsend?” called a voice across the field, and I noticed the head of Sid Bolton sticking out of the window of the clowns’ wagon beckoning to me. Many of the hands were crowded into the hot, stuffy interior of the wagon drinking the early morning tea, which was all the food any of them had until the tent was pitched at the next tober. They were cheery and talkative and I felt vaguely pleased that I had stolen a march on Beef by leaving him sleeping.

  As the lorries were being started and run a little while in order to warm the engines, I asked Sid Bolton for details of the next tober. My idea was to run on ahead and attempt to get some idea of what the circus looked like to the people in the village where it was arriving. I wanted to see the whole thing from the beginning, as it were.

  My cheerful mood persisted as I drove along the main road towards Hull. The sun was just above the horizon and threw an elongated shadow of the car along the road in front of me. There was still a faint ground mist, which, I had been told, meant that the day “would be a real stinker,” filling some of the small hollows so that only the tops of the trees showed above it. It might have been ladled out in great spoonfuls here and there in an attempt to level the country as a road-worker levels a road with tarred stones in the summer. It was scarcely half an hour’s journey to the next village where we were to pitch for the day, but then my car was not loaded and made far better speed than the huge circus lorries. I passed the elephants, which must have started more than two hours before the dawn, within three miles of the village, and the man who rode beside them on horseback gave a careless wave when he saw who I was. It was Tug Wilson, and his face, in the short glimpse I caught of it, looked sour and disgruntled. I gathered that getting up early for the elephants was not calculated to improve the temper—unless, of course, in a process of wearing it down.