by Bruce, Leo
“He’s crushing me,” he shouted. “I can’t breathe.”
Jackson leaped forward and began to shout at the elephant, striking at it with the iron hook he was holding, but the animal refused to release the man, lifting him instead high into the air above the wire-walker’s head and trumpeting shrilly. The man’s screams ceased suddenly and he seemed to go limp. Half of the audience were already on their feet and utterly silent. As if in slow motion, the elephant rolled slowly from side to side. It seemed about to toss the man, like a bit of rubbish, into the audience. A woman screamed. Daroga stood underneath the massive bulk of the animal. Uncannily, the thunder had rolled back almost immediately over the tent, and drowned the sound of elephant and people. Then, slowly, as if ashamed, the elephant gently lowered the new hand to the ground. The girls scrambled down from their positions as quickly as they could, and helped to pull the unconscious man away. Without waiting for an order from Daroga, the two beasts immediately turned and walked quietly, but steadily, from the ring.
As the tension was relieved the audience began to talk rapidly among themselves, although most of them still remained standing, staring at the prostrate man. Jackson came forward and bent over him for a few seconds, and then, when he straightened up, he was holding the man’s arm and helping him to rise. Something of a cheer broke from the crowd as the man lifted his pale face, and then, with the almost instinctive action of show-people, he shook his arm loose from the proprietor’s and waved it at the audience. When he had walked shakily, but unaided, from the ring, Jackson turned once more to the waiting people.
“It’s quite all right, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “no harm has been done. The man only fainted. You have just witnessed an example of the amazing gentleness of these massive brutes in captivity. At the last moment, the elephant would not repay with violence, the kindness of his trainers, but placed the man unharmed, back on the ground. Would you, please, resume your seats. There will now be an interval of ten minutes before the second half of the show.”
There was the sound of an incipient jeer from the members of Bogli’s Circus, but the rest of the audience seemed satisfied, and their spontaneous clapping soon drowned the one hostile sound. A loud excited buzz of conversation arose, pricked here and there by the cries of attendants selling ice-creams and chocolates.
CHAPTER XXXII
May 3rd (continued).
AFTER a bare ten minutes the band returned to their places and began playing immediately. During the interval it had been more obvious that the storm had by no means passed over, but was describing a sort of circular movement round the district, all the time more or less close to the tober. At some moments the lighting was visible through the tent top and the thunder seemed to burst at the same instant, while at others the vaguest of rumblings was only to be heard in some lull in the music or between the acts. But it no longer seemed to depress the audience, and even the circus staff looked less nervy than they had at the beginning of the evening. After a short introduction from the band, the music changed, and the first act of the second half commenced.
Through the parted curtain at the back of the ring ran eight pure white horses, their necks bent in a proud arc, and their tails almost touching their heels as they ran. Corinne followed them, dressed in a strict black costume and looking more handsome than I had ever seen her. She seemed a different person from the Corinne we had watched in the almost dismal seal act. Perhaps, I thought, she had a feeling for horses. I had been amazed at the one riding act I had seen her do, and here again it seemed as though there were a special sort of sympathy between her and the animals.
The horses were a little disturbed by the storm, and at first they showed some hesitation in the act, snorting, and occasionally jumping nervously when the whip seemed to approach too closely to them. I had once seen such an act completely ruined because one of the horses had been flicked with the lash, but I soon realized that Corinne was far too good a circus artist to lose her temper in the ring. She might have shown boredom, indifference, during an act which was anathema to her, but now I could see the infinite patience, the coaxing, as she tried to give the horses confidence. And she was succeeding. After a few moments she was completely holding the animals’ attention, and the act was running smoothly and briskly, as if there was no thunder, no rain, anywhere for a thousand miles. The audience was enthusiastic.
Meanwhile, I had noticed a strange thing happening beside me. Torrant was talking. I had never heard him speak at so great a length or with such intensity, and for once Cora Frances was the listener.
“But she’s so lovely,” he was saying. “Look at the way she’s handling those horses. Of course, to some people, she’s snappy and bad-tempered—I mean people who don’t see things quite the same way as she does, although I don’t mean by that that she’s not broad-minded. For instance, once … what was I saying? Oh yes, I mean, she’s not really bad-tempered by nature. Perhaps to those kinds of people I just mentioned, but that’s because she’s unhappy here. There are so many things she could do—she could do anything—so why should she stay in this circus when she doesn’t want to? She doesn’t owe her father anything. What’s he ever done for her, I wonder. Anyway, she’s repaid him by now.”
“My dear,” burst in Cora, unable to keep silent any longer, “if you’re trying to tell me that Corinne is a sweet-natured girl, then I do so entirely agree with you. But when you reckon with her, you know, you have to reckon with the circus in general.”
“Oh, the circus, the circus,” interrupted Torrant. “That’s what everybody says. But I can’t see why circus people should always be considered as something different from others. ‘Hath not a Jew eyes?’…”
“But really,” cried Cora, “I think that’s most unfair. There’s not the slightest resemblance. Of course I know all about the wandering Jew and all that—but he turned out to be a man called Feuchtwanger didn’t he, so there was no real mystery at all to that story. And of course circus people do wander about, I suppose …”
“I was quoting,” said Torrant, “in a purely figurative way. What I meant was, why should circus people always be looked on as different from other people?”
“Well, I’m sure you say things in the queerest ways,” said Cora, a little nettled.
“Then perhaps I express myself badly,” answered Torrant. “What I really mean is,” and now he seemed to be trying desperately to express himself, “that this sort of life is all wrong for a beautiful girl like Corinne. She ought to have a comfortable home and things like that. You can’t imagine how I hate it when I see her out there with that beastly seal, handling fish and being made a fool of by that stupid brother of hers. It’s so humiliating.”
“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 positi
on 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.
