Carey was standing with his back to her, staring at the far wall of the caravan. It had been battered to pieces, and Mr. Carey seemed much affected by the sight. His face was pale, and as he turned round quickly to see Loretta he was trembling.
“Oh…it’s you, Loretta,” he said. “My dear, I’m terribly sorry.…’Ow is ’e?”
“You raised that rope,” said Loretta.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You raised that rope. I saw you standing at the ringside while our act was on. That trapeze was raised while we were doing the act. You heard that Lorimer had found out something about you, Carey…you thought he was going to tell that man Minto, didn’t you? And so you kept him quiet.”
“My dear girl, you don’t know what you’re saying. I wouldn’t do anything to Lorimer. You’re ill…go and lie down at your hotel. And don’t worry, I’ll make everything all right for you both.”
“You can’t make Lorimer all right…ever.”
“’E’ll get better. ’E’s broken some bones, that’s all. ’E’ll get over it. ’E’ll be back doing the act in no time. Don’t you worry.”
On the small table in the middle of the caravan Mr. Carey’s evening meal was laid out, untouched. Mr. Carey was not hungry—the sight of the battered wall had put him off his food. There was a half-loaf of bread on a plate and beside it a bread-knife with a saw edge. Loretta came up to the table, still staring at Carey. Her fingers reached out for the knife. She gripped it suddenly and yelled out.
“You’ve killed him! You swine…you’ve killed him!”
Mr. Carey had a momentary flash-back to a very similar scene…to the night when that jealous Dago, Varconi, had used a knife in this very caravan owing to a little misunderstanding about the relationship between Carey and Varconi’s wife. He had time for no more than a momentary flash-back, for he realized that Loretta’s arm was above her head, that the knife was in her hand with the saw edge pointing down towards his face, and that here was a young woman who was mad with fury and who meant business. He gripped her arm as it came down; the knife flashed past his face and tore the shoulder of his jacket. He took a tight hold of the girl and tried to pinion her arms behind her back. She was screaming hysterically now, and lashing out with the knife. Mr. Carey did not enjoy the next few moments. Of all weapons to be killed with, a bread-knife with a saw edge was one of the last he would have chosen. He was very relieved when the body of Loretta suddenly went limp in his arms, and she flopped on the floor of the caravan. She let go of the knife in falling and it dropped across her legs, opening up the skin and making a trickle of blood ooze out on to the worn carpet. She lay quite still. Mr. Carey took out a large red silk handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
He took another look at the battered wall, and the hundreds of small white packages tumbling out of it. His mind was already made up. Carey’s Circus was not due to leave the town until the Sunday morning, and was also due to open at Norwich on the Monday. Its proprietor, however, had no intention of staying on until Sunday, and less intention of being in Norwich on the following day—or in any of the places advertised by the circus’s publicity manager as future halts in the summer tour. He was getting out now while the going was good…at least, he hoped that the going was good. Geography had never been one of Joe Carey’s strong suits, and he wished he knew which was the port nearest to this town where one could run up the gangway of a ship bound for the continent without too many questions being asked. The main thing, however, was to get out of the town and, in the first place, out of Martin’s Field.
He was wearing his evening-dress in readiness for the evening performance. He took a light waterproof from a peg at the back of the caravan door and slipped it over his tails. There was a fairly big cupboard fitted along one wall of the caravan; Mr. Carey went up to it and made sure that it was locked. Then he went out of the caravan, leaving Loretta still lying on the floor inside.
The first of the crowd for the evening performance were just beginning to queue up, waiting for the ticket-office to open in half an hour. He turned up the collar of his waterproof and made his way across the field to the far exit. The thought occurred to him that it would be a nice gentlemanly thing to warn Dodo of the turn which events had taken; the thought also occurred to him that if he wasted his time being gentlemanly, he might quite easily find himself face to face with a pair of handcuffs. He broke into a trot, and realized the drawbacks of full evening-dress as a garb in which to make a getaway. Never mind, he had got out of corners before and he would get out of this one. He reached the gate and pushed it open. He felt better as soon as he was on the other side of the gate. Until, that is, he noticed the police constable ambling towards him.
The constable was of the large and heavy type, built on lines similar to the Rock of Gibraltar. The type one had a sporting chance of getting the better of in such matters as exceeding the speed limit or driving through pedestrian crossings. Mr. Carey did not welcome him, however. He was in no mood for constables, however heavy.
“’Evening, sir,” said the policeman, affably enough.
“Good evening,” said Mr. Carey.
“Nice evening, sir.”
“Very nice.”
“Going to have a full house tonight, sir?”
“I ’ope so.”
“Well…good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, constable.”
Mr. Carey walked on. The deep depression which had set in on seeing the policeman had lifted slightly; the outlook, if still unsettled, seemed a little brighter. Minto could not have got the local police on to the job, at any rate, otherwise the constable would hardly have wasted his time chatting about the weather. Mr. Carey then realized that the constable, with what seemed a great excess of zeal, was following him. He kept always a hundred yards or so behind, but there was no doubt that he was on the trail. If Mr. Carey quickened his pace, the constable—with much puffing and panting—accelerated accordingly. If Mr. Carey paused to inspect the contents of a shop window, the bobby found something equally interesting in another shop window further along the street. Mr. Carey bobbed up a side street; the bobby bobbed also. Mr. Carey turned quickly into Bank Street. The bobby followed.
Bobby or no bobby, Joe Carey was determined to get word to a pretty young girl who worked in that pawnshop that, though God might be in His heaven, all was not right with the world. Once he had given her warning, he did not very much care what happened. He could spend the rest of the evening leading this persistent policeman a dance. Sooner or later, judging from the weight and girth of the policeman, he would be able to shake him off. The first thing to do was to pay a quick visit to the pawnshop and get the girl out of this. Mr. Carey almost ran down the full length of Bank Street. Arriving at the door of the pawnshop he found another guardian of law and order stationed outside it. Mr. Carey swore and passed on.
The policeman at the pawnshop was of a different type altogether from the policeman shadowing Mr. Carey. Leaner, younger, and definitely more athletic in appearance. It was most annoying for Mr. Carey to find that, after a brief discussion, the two policemen had changed jobs. The leaner and more athletic specimen was now engaged in following him, and the heavier, more old-fashioned sample had been relegated to the task of mounting guard over the pawnshop. He now stood leaning against a lamp-post with his helmet in his hand, wiping sweat from his brow. The younger man seemed capable of shadowing Mr. Carey as far as John o’ Groats, if necessary.
Mr. Carey wisely gave it up and made his way back to the circus field. He was dogged by policeman No. 2 all the way, and when he arrived he found a third constable walking up and down in front of the other entrance to the field. It seemed to Joe Carey to be an ideal night for bringing off a nice quiet smash-and-grab in the town—every policeman seemed to be interested in the circus and in nothing else.
He made his way to Dodo’s dressing-tent, and was t
old that the clown was already in the big tent. The performance was not due to begin for another half-hour; there were still only a few people in the tent. The sections of the huge cage for the tigers’ act were being assembled all round the ring, for the tigers were to appear first at the evening performance. Mr. Carey found Dodo talking to one of the chocolate-sellers in the middle of the ring. He dismissed the attendant and got down to business.
“We’re sunk,” said Mr. Carey. “They’ve found the stuff.”
“Where? In the caravan?”
“Yes. The wall’s been ’acked to pieces.”
“Minto, I suppose?”
“I expect so. There’s a guard of policemen all round the field. I went out just now and was followed right through the town.”
“You weren’t trying to get away, were you?”
Mr. Carey was shocked.
“I was trying to get word to the girl at the shop. You don’t think I’d clear out and leave you, do you?”
“Yes,” said Dodo. “I know you would. Where’s Minto?”
“’E’s all right. ’E won’t trouble us tonight. It’s these damned local police I’m worrying about. What are we going to do?”
“Clear out, of course.”
“That’s not so easy. ’Ow are you going to do it?”
“Johnston’s car. He leaves tonight for Norwich to fix up hotel bookings, doesn’t he? He can take us.”
“They’ll stop the car when it leaves the field.”
“No, they won’t. We can make Johnston step on it all right. Sit in the back seat with a revolver between his shoulder-blades, and Johnston won’t worry about policemen or speed limits.”
“All right. We’ll try it. When?”
“We’d better do it during the show. Meet me outside my tent—after the sea-lion turn. I’ll fix up things with Johnston. Oh, hell!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I thought you said Minto wouldn’t trouble us tonight?”
Joe Carey swung round. Mr. Minto was making his way into the ring, looking very pleased with life. He had a fairly large lump on the back of his head covered with a wad of sticking-plaster, but apart from this he was looking remarkably healthy. He was having some little difficulty in getting inside the ring, for the attendants were fixing up the last section of the big cage and he had to dodge his way through a great number of ropes, steel bars, and human beings.
“Good evening,” said Mr. Minto. “House is rather slow in filling up tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yes…it’s this Lorimer business,” said Carey. “The news ’as got round the town. Puts people off.”
“You’ve had bad luck this visit, haven’t you?”
“I’ll say we ’ave. I don’t want to see this town again in a ’urry.”
“I don’t expect you will,” said Mr. Minto. “Has the circus ever been to Devon?”
“Yes,” said Joe Carey. “Exeter—a few months ago.”
“I wasn’t meaning Exeter. I was meaning Dartmoor.”
Carey and Dodo exchanged glances.
“Just what are you getting at, Mr. Minto?” asked the clown. “I wish to hell you’d stop beating about the bush and come out into the open.”
Mr. Minto did not answer. He had just noticed something which interested him. The last section of the big cage had been assembled and the ring was now completely surrounded by the steel bars. The attendants had cleared off. As soon as they had gone, a girl in a thick coat ran in from the wings of the tent and did something to the small door which formed part of the last section…the door through which Anton’s successor entered the ring to do his act and through which, if lucky, he left the ring at the end of the act. Mr. Minto would not have sworn to it, but he had a strong feeling that the girl had locked the door. The girl was Loretta.
“Talking of coming out into the open,” he said, “can we get out of here all right? We seem to have been shut in by this cage, don’t we?”
“That’s all right,” said Carey; “there’s a door over there. Come on, Minto…what the ’ell are you getting at?”
Again Mr. Minto did not answer. He heard in the distance a sound which did not appeal to him at all—an angry roaring. He also heard the clang of a steel door, and he saw—straight ahead of him—the face of the first tiger as it came lurching down the tunnel and into the ring. Carey and the clown had their backs to the tunnel. Mr. Minto walked very quickly to the door leading out of the ring.
“Where are you going?” asked Dodo.
“Home,” said Mr. Minto. “Look behind you.”
He reached the door, and found it locked.
The rest of the tigers came down the tunnel and into the ring. The few early arrivals scattered about the tent were not quite sure what was going on. They consulted their watches and told one another that the show had begun twenty minutes too soon. The band, getting into their places to while away the time with more or less sweet music, leaned over the rail of their platform and refused to believe their eyes. Mr. Minto looked quickly round the tent. It was one of the boasts of Carey’s Circus that they had so many attendants that the big tent always looked full, even when business was bad. Not one of those attendants appeared to be in sight now. Mr. Minto was alone in the world…with the exception of Carey, Dodo, and six tigers.
The tigers were all in the ring now. They grouped themselves together around the entrance to the tunnel, weighing up the position. They had their eyes on Mr. Minto, who was the only one of the three men in the ring to have moved—not a wise move, as Mr. Minto was now thinking. It may have been merely imagination, but Mr. Minto was pretty sure that the largest of the tigers put out a healthy tongue and deliberately licked its lips in anticipation. Feeling rather pleased with himself for remaining so calm, Mr. Minto walked back to where Carey and Dodo were standing in the centre of the ring. If there was going to be any unpleasantness, he preferred it to be three against six, instead of one against six. The tigers followed him round with their eyes. And then—or so it seemed to Mr. Minto—they saw, for the first time, Dodo.
The next moments seemed very long ones to Mr. Minto. In reality the whole unpleasantness was over in less than ten seconds.
The clown was in his costume, ready for the show. A red-and-yellow costume similar to the one he had worn on the night of Anton’s death. The beasts stopped weighing up the position and began to slouch across the ring to where the three men were standing. The men parted company—Mr. Minto retreated back to the locked door of the cage, Carey along the opposite side of the ring. Only Dodo stood his ground, and Mr. Minto, after awarding him full marks for his courage, realized that it was not courage at all. The clown was petrified with fear.
The tigers came straight on towards him. They paid not an atom of attention either to Mr. Minto or Joe Carey…Dodo was their man, and they got him. The biggest of the animals paused for a second in its walk, relaxed its muscles, and sprang. The others took their cue from him. Dodo let out one horrible scream, and the rest was drowned in the roars of the six tigers.
Mr. Minto banged on the bars of the cage and yelled for help. At the other side of the ring, Carey yelled and swore. The people already in the audience, realizing at last that they were getting something extra for their money, stood up and added to the babel. After what seemed an eternity, but was actually only a few seconds, attendants rushed in from all directions. Four shots were fired. The big tiger leapt in the air with a snarl of rage, and rushed wildly round the ring. He passed a little too close to where Mr. Minto was standing for that gentleman’s liking. Mr. Minto leapt higher than he had ever done in his life and clung for dear life to the bars of the cage. Visions of various jungle films he had seen, in which tigers kept climbing up trees to get hold of the heroine’s legs, swam before him. The tiger in this case, however, was too hurt to waste time over a detective’s legs. It dashed round the ring and then ran qui
ckly up the tunnel and into its cage. The other animals, frightened by the shots, followed it. Mr. Minto heard a door clang outside the big tent. It seemed to him sweet music.
“Now then,” he said to an attendant outside the ring, “would you mind letting me out of this?”
Having put himself on the comfortable side of the bars, he went to find Loretta. She was standing in the wings, staring through the plush curtains into the tent.
“Did you lock the door of that cage?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And did you let those beasts into the ring?”
“Yes.”
“Oh! I just wanted to know. If it’s of any interest to you, I am not insured against tiger-mauling.”
“He tried to kill Lorimer…and you let him do it. I wish they’d torn you both to pieces.”
“They seem to have done that to one of us.”
“Not Dodo…Carey, I mean. He found out that Lorimer was going to tell you something—you made him think that, I suppose. He tried to kill him. He altered the ropes for the trapeze during our act this afternoon. Lorimer’s in hospital now. He may not live…he’ll never do circus work again. The little swine…he killed Anton…he thought that Lorimer knew he’d done it…he kept him quiet.…”
“Carey didn’t kill Anton,” said Mr. Minto. “Didn’t you watch how those tigers behaved? They’re intelligent beasts, those tigers. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this ever since Anton’s death—and you gave it them. The opportunity to get even with the man who killed their trainer. If Carey had killed Anton, don’t you think they would have gone for him in the ring just now? They didn’t. They left him alone—and me, thank God!—and they went for Dodo. They got their revenge all right.”
Death of Anton Page 20
