“You’re a funk,” said the youth.
Mr. Minto admitted that perhaps he was; where tigers were concerned, at any rate.
The youth took out a sticky slab of chocolate after this last answer, and said, “My daddy’s not a funk. My daddy would go in beside them all right. He’d do it for only a hundred pounds.”
Mr. Minto resisted the temptation to ask why the young man didn’t go and sit beside his daddy, if he were that kind of man; and the boy passed on from Anton and his tigers to the baby elephants, who were being put through their paces in the ring at that moment. If a baby elephant sat down on you, would you be squelched to death? Mr. Minto thought it highly probable. If the great big daddy elephant sat down on you, what about that? Mr. Minto, after consulting with his sister and her young man, gave it as his considered opinion that squelching to death would be a certainty in such an event. That would be awful messy, wouldn’t it? Mr. Minto agreed.
The boy then explained at some length how he had been very nearly squelched to death himself that very afternoon, owing to Podgy Simpson landing on top of him while practising for the school sports. Mr. Minto had then to answer a number of highly technical questions concerning the relative size, weight, and squelching properties of baby elephants, full-grown elephants, and Podgy Simpson. At which point the boy’s father, goaded on by his wife, came up and redeemed his offspring and carted him back to his rightful place in the half-crown seats.
“That gentleman knows a lot more about the circus than you do, Daddy,” said the youth on being carried down to his seat. “Did you know that if a baby elephant sat on you…” Mr. Minto saw that the father was in for an awkward night.
The elephants finished their act, bowed clumsily, and shambled out of the ring. Their place was taken by twenty-four beautifully kept chestnuts, held in tow by a single slender blonde. Mr. Minto, feeling himself almost part of the circus, informed young Mr. Briggs that the blonde was forty-two years old, had been married twice, and that it was her eldest son who was fired out of the cannon a little later in the programme. Young Mr. Briggs made his clucking noise again, and his wife-to-be told him that he would have to give up these farmyard imitations when he was married.
Outside the big tent, Mr. Joseph Carey sauntered up and down on the already well-worn grass, in the splendour of full evening-dress, and pulling at a fat cigar. Mr. Carey was in a good mood: business had been above the average for an opening day, and promised to be better; he had just fixed up a contract for a resident season in Glasgow during the Christmas and New Year Carnival, and another with a new team of Cossack riders who, being aristocrats, had considered it beneath their dignity to haggle over terms. He puffed contentedly at his cigar and decided to overlook the events of last night. They had been awkward enough, but it seemed that they had blown over. Except for the attitude of one young man who would have to be carefully watched.…
Mr. Carey, catching sight of Lorimer coming out of his dressing-tent in time for his turn, called him across and offered him a cigar—knowing quite well that a trapeze artist needs all his wind for his acrobatics, and is not likely to accept a large and powerful Corona just before going on to do his act.
“By the way,” said Mr. Carey kindly, “what was it you wanted to see me about last night, Lorimer?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Lorimer. “You didn’t seem too pleased to see me then so I won’t trouble you with it now.”
“Now, look ’ere, young fellow, I never interfere with the private lives of my artists—”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t, young man. If they want to go out and get tight, I let ’em. It’s no business of mine, as long as it doesn’t interfere with their acts, that’s to say. But you must ’ave been pretty bad to get it into your ’ead that I socked you last night, Lorimer. You were found lying at the back of Miller’s caravan, out for the count. As far as I know, you never came near my place the whole night.”
“All right. If that’s your story, Carey, stick to it.”
“It’s not my story, lad. It’s the truth. I’m just telling you for your own good. I’ve known too many acts in my day ruined through that kind of thing. In a turn like yours, young man, you want to climb up on the water-wagon and never come down.”
“Thanks very much. You say you never interfere with the private lives of your artists, Joe.”
“That’s my motto. I never ’ave done, and I never will do.”
“Okay. In that case, just leave Loretta alone from now on, will you?”
Mr. Carey took the stub of his cigar from his mouth, threw it on the grass, and prodded it into the earth with his heel.
“And just what d’you mean by that, eh?” he asked.
“You know damn’ well what I mean. You’ve been playing about with Loretta these last two months. The whole circus is talking about it. You got a nasty scar on your arm last time that happened, didn’t you? Well…I might balance things up for you—give you one down the other arm.”
Mr. Carey lit another cigar.
“When a bloke’s in love as much as you are, Lorimer,” he said, “’e sees things what aren’t there, and misses things what are bang in front of ’is eyes. And that’s what you’re doing, son. There’s nothing between me and Loretta, and you can take that as gospel. She’s a nice girl and a good-looker all right, but if I want a woman to brighten up my little life I can get one without risking a bust-up in one of my star acts.”
“You didn’t seem to think that way about Raquel and Varconi.”
“Oh, shut up about Raquel and Varconi! ’E was an oily little Dago, ’e was. Got ideas into ’is ’ead, and couldn’t resist flinging a knife about the place. Listen, Lorimer…I don’t say you’re not wise to keep your eye on that pretty little wife of yours, but you’re on to the wrong man, see?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask Loretta ’ow she enjoyed Anton’s company, night before last. Just ask ’er.”
“Anton?”
“Yes—Anton. You’re blind, son. Just because I’m friendly-like towards your girl and ’ave a bit o’ fun with ’er, you start getting all these daft ideas into your ’ead. And all the time the real thing’s going on and you can’t see it. You’d better get going—there’s them chestnuts finished. And you take my tip, son. You ’ave a little talk to Loretta about our friend Anton.”
Mr. Carey walked away.
Lorimer went slowly to the entrance to the tent. Anton…Anton and he had always been friends. Anton wouldn’t do anything like that; it was just one of Carey’s yarns, to get himself out of a hole. He’d have a word with Loretta about it, all the same. He slipped off his dressing-gown and smoothed down his white tights. Loretta came running up and asked him what the house was like.
“Packed. That fellow Minto’s here—he’s coming on to Dodo’s supper after the show.”
“Did you know he was a detective?”
“Yes. Loretta…”
“What is it?”
“Has Anton been making love to you lately?”
The girl stood still, staring at him.
“Has he?”
The band inside the tent brought its march tune to a crashing finale, and launched out on the music which introduced Lorimer and Loretta to the ring.
“That’s us,” said Loretta. “Come on—let’s go.”
Mr. Minto clapped politely as the pair ran into the ring, and told his brother that he had had a double brandy with Lorimer just before dinner. The priest, after consulting his programme to find out what Lorimer did in life, said that he could hardly believe it possible that a man engaged in such a strenuous and dangerous pursuit as this could be a consumer of alcohol. Claire, taking advantage of this, leaned across and said that it just showed how wrong Robert had been in wanting cider cup instead of champagne at the wedding reception.
Lorimer and Loretta shot up a lengthy rope
ladder to the very top of the tent at a considerably faster speed than the ordinary mortal takes to come down an ordinary ladder, and stood for a moment on the little platform high above the ring. Lorimer waved down to where he had noticed Mr. Minto sitting, and Mr. Minto waved back.
“I wish you wouldn’t show off, darling,” said Claire. “You’re behaving just like that man we met in Venice. The one who’d been before, and knew all about the Doge’s palace and everything.”
It was at this point that the small boy detached himself from his parents and took up most of Mr. Minto’s attention.
On the platform up in the roof of the tent, Lorimer pulled the centre trapeze towards him.
“Has he, Loretta?” he asked again.
“Don’t be such a damned fool. Get on with it.”
“You haven’t answered yet.”
“Go on—the band’s waiting.”
Lorimer pulled the trapeze back over his head, pushed himself off the platform with a kick of his feet, and swung out above the centre of the ring. Gathering speed each time he swung across the roof, until his back touched the canvas at the top of the return swing, he suddenly let go of the trapeze and sailed head downwards through the air. The crowd, telling each other quickly that there was no net, gasped and (in the case of a few elderly ladies) shut its eyes and hoped for the best. Lorimer connected, surprisingly but surely, with another lower trapeze which no one seemed to have noticed before. The jerk of his landing on it sent it soaring out over the heads of the people in the cheap seats, and then back right into the middle of the ring. Another leap through the air, another connection with the first trapeze—sent out to meet him with perfect timing by Loretta, another swing, and he was back again on the little platform.
Through the applause, Lorimer said, “If he has, I want to know right now, Loretta.”
“All right. He has. He’s been making love to me. He’s crazy about me. Now, are you satisfied? If so, we’ll carry on with the act.”
The drums in the band rolled again. Both Lorimer and Loretta sailed out, hanging to the bar of the trapeze with their hands. This time Loretta went on her way to the other trapeze, shot out over the cheap seats, and was swung back again into the middle of the ring. Lorimer, hanging to the bar by his ankles, shot out his arms and seized her round the wrists. In the same movement he drew her up to catch on to the ropes of the trapeze, and swung himself and his partner back on to the platform.
“Oh, dear,” said Claire. “Very bad for the heart, isn’t it? We must try this, Ronnie, after we’re married. We can start on the chandelier in Robert’s sitting-room. They’re marvellous, aren’t they?”
“They’re not bad,” said Mr. Briggs.
In the roof of the tent, Lorimer put forward a question which invariably causes more embarrassment to the person who asks it than to the person of whom it is asked; a question that is still a sure laugh in any film or play.
“How long,” said Lorimer, “has this been going on?”
“Oh, never mind.”
“I mind all right, if you don’t.”
“Two months then. Longer, maybe. Come on—double somersault.”
“And I suppose you’ve given him every encouragement, have you?”
“Oh, shut up!”
And Loretta sailed out on her own, turning a couple of graceful somersaults high in the air, dropping twenty or thirty feet, catching hold of the second trapeze by what seemed to be either a miracle or a mistake, shooting out and back again, passing Lorimer in mid-air, landing on the first trapeze, shooting out again without stopping for a second, whisking Lorimer’s beret from his head as they passed the second time, clinging with her feet to the other trapeze, being hurled back again, and landing in comparative safety by catching hold of a long sash which Lorimer threw out to her and which uncurled, allowing her to drop head downwards towards the ring below and making the audience squeal, cry out, hold their breaths, cover their eyes, and finally heave a sigh of relief and burst into tremendous applause. Loretta climbed up the sash like a monkey and put back the beret on Lorimer’s head. The pair bowed, smiling down on the thousands of tiny, upturned faces below them.
“If you were a really jealous husband,” said Loretta, “you’d have been a second late in dropping that sash, wouldn’t you?”
“Loretta…have you let him make love to you?”
“Yes. I have.”
“Has he…?”
The drums rolled out again for the final turn in their act. Loretta was off once more, shooting out to the other trapeze and catching it this time by one foot. Lorimer, hanging by his ankles, swung himself out to catch her on the rebound.
Father Minto found it a little difficult to believe that this slender, rather attractive piece of womanhood could really have done three complete backward somersaults through the air in such a short space of time; but his brother had told him that this was what she was going to do, so it must be true enough.
Lorimer, now on the lower trapeze, appeared to be taking no interest in the proceedings as his partner righted herself after the final somersault and sailed towards him. He was patting his beret into shape as though that were the only thing that mattered in the world, and as though the spectacle of a woman sailing through the air towards him was none of his business. At the very last fraction of a second he suddenly dropped on the trapeze; his ankles caught round the bar, his body stretched down taut and his left hand only outstretched to meet her. She gripped it with her right hand—not quite correctly. Lorimer’s hand was slippery with the oil from his hair…she felt her own hand sliding out of his grip. She jerked herself up and hung tightly to his wrist. Lorimer pulled her up to the bar of the trapeze above him and the pair swung back on to the platform to take their applause.
“You were late that time,” said Loretta. “I nearly didn’t get hold of you.”
“I know,” said Lorimer. “You see how easy it is, don’t you? You shouldn’t have put that jealous husband idea into my head, dear.”
Loretta stared at him. She was trembling—a thing she had never done all the time they were playing this act.
They slid quickly down the ropes, landed on the sawdust to the well-timed accompaniment of two crashes on the tympani in the band, bowed and salaamed and kissed their hands in all directions, and ran out of the ring.
In the wings Anton was waiting, after watching their act.
“You cut things a little close then, didn’t you, Lorimer?” he said.
“I’ll say he did,” said Loretta. “He seems to think I can hang about in mid-air for a quarter of an hour while he puts his blessed beret straight.”
The girl ran off to her dressing-tent.
“Lorimer…”
“Yes?”
“Be careful with that last turn of yours. You don’t want anything to happen to Loretta, do you?”
“Why should it worry you?”
“She’s a nice girl. I wouldn’t like to see her break every bone in her body.”
“No…I can understand that.”
“I’ll see you tonight—about what we were talking about this afternoon. Twelve o’clock—slip out of Dodo’s party. I’ll be round behind the cats’ cage. Don’t forget—I want to see you…alone.”
“You needn’t worry,” said Lorimer. “I’ll be there all right. I want to see you, too, Anton.…”
He went slowly back to his own tent and changed into ordinary clothes. He lit a cigarette, and then unlocked a suit-case lying on the floor-boards of the tent. After rummaging about in the clothes lying inside the case, he brought out a service revolver and stowed it away in his hip-pocket. Then he strapped on his wrist-watch, and made sure that it was keeping correct time. He did not wish to be late for his appointment with Anton.
Chapter Six
Robert Minto did not greatly enjoy Dodo’s supper-party. He could not help wonderin
g what the Reverend Father M‘Veagh would say if he saw his second-in-command enjoying beer and bangers in such company. Everyone was most pleasant and friendly, of course; the sausages were well-cooked and plentiful, and Mr. Carey’s second funny story was undoubtedly a scream…though Robert wondered if he hadn’t left out a bit in the middle, for it seemed a little pointless. However, he laughed heartily and only stopped when he was told that it was his turn now to tell one. On the whole, however, Father Robert Minto would have been much happier tucked up in his little bed instead of being a guest at the party. This was due chiefly to the fact that he had been made to sit beside Horace at the supper-table.
When Dodo threw a party, he did his throwing in the grand manner and invited everyone who was anyone in the circus. He usually held an overflow meeting in a smaller tent of the very important nobodies in the circus—the attendants, programme sellers, cleaners, and so on. Among the anybodies invited to this party was Lars Peterson, and Lars Peterson had said that he would be delighted to come, on one condition. He must be allowed to bring Horace with him. Mr. Peterson would no more think of going to a part without Horace than of entering the ring without his trousers. Horace was very touchy and easily offended, and if he got to hear that Mr. Peterson had been enjoying himself at parties without even asking him there would be the very devil to pay. The chances of getting Horace to balance three tennis balls, a parasol, five tumblers, and a bucket of water on the tip of his snout would be hopeless if the sea-lion got to know about it. Dodo, having listened to all this, said that by all means Horace must come to the party, and went out and bought a ton of fish.
Horace, then, was brought along and sat down at the table and behaved himself a great deal better than most of the guests, and—after a few unsuccessful efforts—balanced a banger on the point of his nose, at the same time applauding his feat by clapping his flappers together.
All very amusing—except to Father Robert Minto who had never sat next to a sea-lion in his life and who did not know exactly how to take it. It was no use ignoring the beast, for Horace had an awkward habit of turning towards Robert and blowing wetly into his ear if he thought he was being neglected. Nor was it any use being friendly to him, for that merely set him off barking in a lusty baritone and put an end to all conversation. Robert was at a loss to know what line to take with Horace; he grew hotter and pinker and more uncomfortable, and was perfectly conscious that he was an object of amusement to all the other people at the party. The sight of a Roman Catholic priest sitting down to supper cheek by jowl with a performing sea-lion has, after all, its funny side. Robert heaved a sigh and brought out his handkerchief as Horace’s whiskers and snout fondled his ear.
Death of Anton Page 6
