The next turn was Lorimer and Loretta. Mr. Minto was relieved to see that Lorimer had looked after himself during the day and was still in circulation. He prepared to enjoy this act, at any rate, but just as the two trapeze artists were running up the rope-ladders to the roof of the tent Mr. Minto caught sight of the attendant who had handed him his twenty cork-tipped Player’s. He was talking to young Mr. Briggs and appeared to be agitated.
Mr. Minto tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, and even asked the small boy sitting next to him if he would like to sit on his knee in order to see the show better. He had no great wish to have the small boy on his knee, but he thought that some kind of screen might be useful. The small boy, however, told Mr. Minto rather snappily that only Cissies sat on people’s knees, and Mr. Minto felt squashed. Squashed and also worried; for the attendant had left young Briggs and had gone to have a word with Joe Carey…and was at that moment pointing him out to the circus proprietor.
Lorimer and Loretta were in the middle of their second trick; Mr. Minto did his best to appear interested in Lorimer swinging across the roof of the tent, at the same time keeping an eye on young Briggs, Joe Carey, and the attendant. Difficult, and not a little sore; he felt he had quite a sporting chance of coming away from the circus with a permanent squint.
Lorimer arrived back safely on his platform; Mr. Minto applauded, and noticed that young Briggs had left his seat and was making his way towards Joe Carey by the back of the one-and-threepenny seats. Loretta was swinging out now, to be caught by Lorimer at the last possible moment. It seemed to Mr. Minto that the connection had been made a little later than usual, but he had no time to worry about that. Briggs was at the entrance to the tent, talking to Joe Carey. Carey looked up to where Mr. Minto was sitting; Mr. Minto appealed to the small boy to sit on his knee, and was choked off even more snappily than before. He looked down to where Carey was standing, and for an instant their eyes met. Lorimer and Loretta were back on their platform again, and the audience was applauding wildly.
Mr. Minto was beginning to feel that he had had enough of the circus…especially when he saw Joe Carey collect four of the ringside attendants and point up in his direction. The four attendants were by no means weaklings; they could have given Mr. Victor McLaglen a good run for his money. What Mr. Minto did not like was the fact that all four were edging towards him…two along the front of the cheap seats and two working their way along the back. Mr. Minto was a marked man. He wished he had left the oilskin at the hotel and brought an automatic instead.
He was saved at the last minute by one of the nastiest sounds he had ever heard—the crack of Lorimer’s bones as he fell from the higher trapeze on to the middle of the ring. Chaos reigned around Mr. Minto and all over the tent. Women screamed, children yelled, everyone stood up in their seats and fell over their neighbours. Mr. Minto took a quick look round. Joe Carey had vanished. The four attendants had forgotten Mr. Minto for the moment and were dashing back to the main entrance. Mr. Minto dived through a sea of sticky children and crept out under the canvas side-walls of the tent. He was very sorry for poor Lorimer—very sorry indeed, but he was most grateful for the five minutes’ grace which his accident had given him.
He ran across the field to the corner where Joe Carey’s caravan was pitched, found the door locked, picked up a convenient pit-prop lying on the grass and burst his way through the door. He had five minutes, possibly less, in which to lay his hands on a great deal of damning evidence and finish up this business. In the first of those five minutes Mr. Minto had rather upset the normal tidiness of Joe Carey’s caravan. Drawers were flung open, cases burst into, and a great heap of miscellaneous goods scattered across the floor.
Mr. Minto had not found what he was looking for, though. He tapped the walls. It was not a very conclusive test, for all four walls of the caravan were made of thin Beaver-board and gave out the same hollow sound when knocked on. Taking a shot in the dark, Mr. Minto gave the back wall of the caravan a hefty kick with his right foot. The inside back wall was vertical, whereas the outside of the caravan was gracefully curved.…Mr. Minto was curious to know what, if anything, was kept in the space between the inside and outside walls. Four more kicks told him, after which he found the little knob which would have opened up the back wall without causing quite so much damage. The space between the inside and outside walls was packed tightly with the same packages which he had found inside the bag of the vacuum-cleaner and inside the dummy packet of cigarettes. Even Mr. Minto was impressed. He had never imagined the business to be on quite such a large scale as this.
He left the caravan hurriedly, dodged his way across the field through the tents without being seen, and paid a couple of quick calls in the town. The first was a very pleasant visit, the second distinctly unpleasant. He went first to the local police-station, presented his compliments, and asked if he might have a word with Superintendent Padgeham.
The Superintendent was in a benign mood. It was the day of the weekly Magistrates’ Court, and no less than fourteen motorists had been successfully prosecuted for hooting after eleven-thirty, leaving their cars parked in the High Street for five minutes longer than the time allowed, and travelling at thirty-one miles an hour through restricted areas. Superintendent Padgeham felt like a man returning from a day’s fishing with a heavy basket, and even felt kindly disposed to nuisances from Scotland Yard who came snooping into affairs that were no business of theirs.
“Well, well, well!” said the Superintendent. “If it isn’t Mr. Minto! How are you, sir? Come to hand over this circus business to us poor locals, eh?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Minto. “I wash my hands of the whole thing. You can carry on, Padgeham.”
“I had a feeling we’d get it in the end,” said the Superintendent. “Well, I’m afraid there’s not much any of us can do now. I’ve been making a few inquiries on my own, sir, and there seems no doubt that this fellow Anton was killed by the attendant Miller. Motive—jealousy. Shot the fellow and then threw him into the lions’ cage to cover up the murder—”
“Incidentally, they were tigers.”
“Tigers, then. And the tigers took the law into their own hands and finished him off. We can’t do anything about Miller now, sir. He’s dead.”
“So is Queen Anne,” said Mr. Minto.
“I don’t see what she’s got to do with it.”
“Listen,” said Mr. Minto. “Anton’s murder isn’t the most important thing in this case—not by a long chalk. This is one of the biggest and nastiest cases I’ve ever had anything to do with. I’m handing it over to you, Padgeham, on one condition.”
“And what’s that, sir?”
“You do exactly as I tell you from now until the end of the circus show tonight.”
“I’m sorry, sir. That’s impossible, sir. I’ve got my own ideas about this business, and—”
“All right. Go ahead. Use your own ideas—and get a severe kick in the pants from headquarters. Use mine, and you’ll get promotion and your face on all the front pages. Local Superintendent Rounds Up Dangerous Gang of Criminals. Padgeham, my dear good ass, the case is finished—over and done with. I’ve solved it—otherwise I wouldn’t be handing it over to you. Now that I’m sure you can’t make a mess of it, I’m prepared to let you have all the honour and glory of the last round-up. It’s my nature. Or, rather, it’s because I’ve no right to be mixed up in the thing at all.”
The Superintendent seemed impressed. The vision of his photographs on the front pages swam before him.
“What d’you want me to do, sir?” he asked.
“Put a guard round Martin’s Field. Now—right away. A man on each of the two exits, and some more patrolling round the field. If Carey, the proprietor, attempts to leave, have him followed wherever he goes. Don’t arrest him—just keep an eye on him. Do the same with the little clown—Dodo. Have your entire force—all four of ’em, or howe
ver many you have in this town—at the circus tonight. They can go to the show in plain clothes and enjoy themselves. I’ll pay for the tickets and put it down in my expenses.”
“Why?” asked Superintendent Padgeham. “What’s the idea, sir?”
“There’s going to be a mass arrest tonight,” said Mr. Minto. “I’ll tell you when to do it, and you step in and do your stuff. Have you a large supply of handcuffs?”
“You’re not arresting the whole circus?”
“Very nearly,” said Mr. Minto. “I’ve nothing against the sea-lion, and I think we’ll let the baby elephants go. They’d be a nuisance in gaol, anyway. But I’ve got enough to keep you boys busy for one evening. Got a pencil and paper?”
The Superintendent produced a note-book and a stump of pencil.
“Just in case you get them mixed up, I’ll tell you whom I want arrested. Ready? Write down numbers one to eight in your note-book, then.”
“Eight?” said the Superintendent.
“That is all at present,” said Mr. Minto. “There may be more.”
The Superintendent sighed and wrote down his list at Mr. Minto’s dictation. It made an impressive display.
Joseph Carey, alias Joseph Smythe, proprietor of Carey’s Circus.
Ernest Mayhew, professionally known as Dodo, clown in the aforesaid Carey’s Circus.
James Winter, occupation unknown, resident at 288, Bank Street, in this town.
Helen Winter, wife of the aforesaid James Winter, same address.
Janet Winter or Carey, illegitimate daughter of Helen Winter, same address.
Ronald Craig Briggs, alias Donald O’Donnell, so-called vacuum-cleaner salesman, permanent address unknown.
John Barker, cigarette and chocolate salesman in Carey’s Circus.
Sebastian Rowley, Esq., independent means, of “The Cedars”, Castle Terrace, in this town.
The Superintendent lasted well until the last name on the list. At that he jibbed.
“Mr. Rowley?” he said. “I can’t arrest Mr. Rowley. He’s a magistrate.”
“All the more reason why you should arrest him,” said Mr. Minto.
“And—if it’s not asking too much—what are the charges?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Mr. Minto. “I’ll let you know later.”
He left the Superintendent in a dazed condition, and went off to make his second call.
For a quarter of an hour he walked up and down on the pavement outside his brother’s flat, brooding on the unpleasantness of his visit. When at last he went in he found Claire and Robert busy with final preparations for the wedding. It was going to be awkward enough for Mr. Minto to break the news, and Claire did not make it any easier by prattling brightly on various points of the wedding ceremony and its aftermath. They had decided, said Claire, that there was to be only one speech at the reception, because once these clergymen got on to their feet they didn’t know when to sit down. And there was a lot of careful planning to be done about Going Away, even if it were only for the weekend…no nonsense about confetti, old boots, and “L” signs attached to the rear of the car. Mr. Minto, as a Scotland Yard detective, was to see about all that sort of thing. It was another quarter of an hour before Mr. Minto could get a word in edgeways, and by that time he felt even more uncomfortable about what he had to say.
“Where is the prospective bridegroom now?” he asked.
“Running about doing some business,” said Claire. “The man thinks of nothing but his blooming vacuums. I hope he doesn’t dream about them. It would be very awkward if he started giving me demonstrations in bed.”
“Claire!” said the clerical member of the Minto family. “Really…!”
Mr. Minto lit a cigarette and blew two neat smoke-rings before broaching the subject.
“Claire darling…” he said.
“He wants money,” said his sister, “I’ve never heard him call me ‘darling’ before.”
“Be serious for just a minute. I want to tell you something. Something that may—upset you a bit.”
“Carry on. I can take it.”
“Are you very much in love with this young man of yours?”
“Robert—have you been getting at him?”
The little priest looked worried, but did not answer.
“You have. I can see it from the fishy look in your eye. I know you don’t hold with me marrying Ronnie, and you’ve been trying to get him to agree with you. It’s a little late in the day to do that, though. I’m going to—”
“You’re not!” said Mr. Minto.
“What?”
“You aren’t going to marry that young man.”
“Well!” said the bride-to-be. “We’re not going to have a Victorian scene, are we? What’s it got to do with you, Mr. Detective?”
“A great deal, unfortunately. And if I can do anything to prevent you from marrying that young man, I’ll do it.”
“That’s very nice of you. What are you getting at?”
“Claire, my dear, I’m terribly sorry…I’ve found out something about him that makes it impossible for you to marry him.…”
“What?”
“He’s a criminal. A very nasty type of criminal too.”
The priest looked across at Mr. Minto in astonishment. Claire stared straight ahead.
“What have you found out?” she asked.
“He’s engaged in one of the filthiest trades any man could be mixed up in…the smuggling of dope. He’s no vacuum-cleaner salesman—that’s only a blind. His job is to take round supplies of drugs to poor wretches all over the country. He’s not the head of the concern—not even the brains. He’s just a tool…he’ll probably get no more than a year or two in gaol for his sins. But you can’t marry him, Claire. If I thought you were madly in love with him I might have done something for the pair of you…even knowing what Briggs has done. But I don’t think you are madly in love with him. You’ve always dashed into things without thinking much about the consequences, Claire. I believe you dashed into this. And the consequences in this case won’t be pleasant ones…I’m going to have young Briggs arrested tonight.”
Mr. Minto got up and stared out of the window, playing with the tassel of the blind-cord.
“I’m going back to town tomorrow,” he said. “I think you ought to come with me—stay at my place for a few weeks….”
Claire went out of the room without speaking. Mr. Minto threw himself into an arm-chair.
“Oh, lord!” he said. “Robert—you’re a priest. Why the devil do things happen like this? Why the blazes did you get me to come down here, eh? I wouldn’t have come within a hundred miles of the place if I’d thought I was going to be mixed up in a mess like this.”
“It seems that it was as well that I did ask you,” said the priest.
“You…you didn’t know anything about this, did you?”
“I had my suspicions. As a matter of fact, I thought young Briggs took drugs himself. I thought I was being absurd…he stayed here a few weeks ago, you know. There was a little powder left lying in his bedroom one morning which worried me a lot. I knew it wasn’t health-salts or anything like that. I never imagined it was anything as serious as this, of course. But I think it was as well that you came down here.”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t have liked Claire to have got tied up with a little rotter like that. She’ll get over it all right. Poor kid, though…!”
“You said you were going to have him arrested,” said Robert. “Is he involved in the circus business?”
“Yes. Not in the death of Anton. I’ve got my man for that all right.”
Mr. Minto stood up. His brother did not speak.
“Yes,” said Mr. Minto. “I’m arresting Joseph Carey tonight.”
“You’re wrong—” said the priest, and stopped.
Mr. Minto smiled.
“Thank you, Robert,” he said. “I didn’t say I was going to arrest Carey for the murder, did I? Good heavens, no! I’m arresting practically the entire population of this town tonight for one thing or another. And now I know whom to arrest for the murder of Anton. Thank you, Robert.…”
Mr. Minto went straight back to the circus ground. It was shortly before seven o’clock. He passed the constable standing at the main entrance to the field, and the sight cheered him. The stage was set for the last act. He walked round the big tent to the tigers’ cage. There were very few people about. The circus staff and performers were in their tents and caravans getting ready for the evening performance; the crowds had not yet turned up. Mr. Minto reached the cage and stared at the animals, who were huddled up in one corner of the cage.
“It’s all right,” said Mr. Minto, half to himself and half to any tiger who might be listening. “We’ve got our man.”
It was just after saying this that something hit Mr. Minto on the back of the skull. Interviewed some time later, Mr. Minto gave it as his opinion that the something which hit him was either (a) part of the Norman ruins, or (b) one of the cabers which are tossed at Highland Games. Actually it was a small length of lead piping. Mr. Minto gave a little groan, his legs crumpled up underneath him, he fell on the grass and lay still.
Chapter Seventeen
Loretta left the hospital to which Lorimer had been taken and walked back to the circus field alone. She had stood beside his bed and waited in vain for him to move or recognize her. He had lain with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. There was some hope, she was told. He might never be able to work in the circus again, but with careful treatment he might be pulled through. Loretta went away stunned. She could not imagine life without the circus.…With Lorimer a cripple, and never again the thrill of swinging right across the roof of the big tent from one trapeze to another. She walked on, and found herself back in Martin’s Field. One of the stable hands muttered his sympathies and asked how Lorimer was. She did not answer. She walked past the tigers’ cage and on to the corner of the field where Joe Carey’s green-and-white caravan was pitched. She went slowly up the steps and pushed open the door.
Death of Anton Page 19
