The Headless Lady

Chapter Seven Center Ring

The muzzle velocities of Hugo and Mario Zacchini, fired from their mammoth cannon, were never any greater than the speed with which we left that trailer. Merlini took three lightning strides, ducked low, and shot through the doorway. I projected myself after him, springing outward from the doorsill to hit the ground, running. I heard Atterbury move behind me.

I plunged after Merlini’s flying figure, regardless now of guy ropes, stakes, or deep ruts the animal trucks had left in the springy turf underfoot. We ran the length of the menagerie top and turned right toward the back yard and the big top — the big top that for one bewildering moment seemed to have vanished completely. Then, against the stars, I saw its black silhouette loom out. Where the lighted expanse of canvas top and side walls should have been was only darkness — the dark and a low, deep crowd noise, a vast uneasy rumble of sound that was ominous and afraid. The music of the band beat at it frantically, trying to stave off panic.

I swerved abruptly and avoided disaster by inches.

The few lighted windows of the trailers along the left gave just enough light so that I made out the ponderous, lumbering shapes of the elephants a bare second before it was too late.

A woman’s voice in the darkness, hard and unyielding, swore at them. “Elsie! Back, dammit, back! Steady, Modoc! Steady, Rubber! Hold it, girl!”

Just ahead now, by the performer’s entrance, there was a hurried, confused movement of flashlights and a shouted tangle of commands. One deep voice rose above the others, hard with authority. “The cars! Get those headlights on, somebody! Hurry it!”

Someone else had already had the thought and acted on it. The roar of a starting motor came from near the end of the line of trailers and cars; and then, in a moment, two bright headlights swung around and rushed down at us. Dark figures scattered before the light, and a frightened horse reared wildly. The shapeless figure of a clown, his white face tense, jumped for the bridle, got it, and hung, pulling down hard as the frightened animal bucked. The car turned, aiming its lights at the arena entrance. Another clown, a red-nosed, baggy-trousered tramp, stood there and swung a beckoning arm.

“Get that car inside!” He vanished within the tent, and three other white-suited, grotesquely painted figures ran after him, their large clumsy shoes flopping; but they ran for once with a direct, sure-footed purpose.

I followed the car as it moved in and saw the long beam of its lights cut across the arena, throwing the dark shadows of the center poles and the intricate rigging onto the white faces of the banked crowd beyond.

The clowns tumbled into the center ring, and several prop men lifted and bore aside the long, limber white pole that had lain there, one end projecting out beyond the ring curb. There, between the two rings, where several overturned pieces of apparatus waited, two men knelt above something on the ground. One was a muscular gymnast in blue tights; the other, the lanky, hatless figure of Tex Mayo. Now, as the car lights came, the latter made a swift lifting movement and stood upright.

He turned quickly and came toward the light, half running, the limp figure of Pauline in his arms. Her head hung far back, mouth open, and the dark blood that welled from along her cheek ran down across her forehead, a dripping smear of red on the white face. The excited murmuring of the crowd was stilled suddenly as if someone had pulled a switch; then, as Tex moved past and was lost in the darkness behind the lights, it broke out again, a high, nervous gabble of sound.

Out in the ring the clowns swung quickly into a fast rough-and-tumble slapstick routine, trying to catch and hold the attention of the audience. Their somersaulting figures in the low light from the car threw weirdly distorted, monstrous shadows on the big top overhead.

Then a figure ran past me, leaped to the bandstand, and grabbed the mike. The bandmaster saw him, jerked his arms high, and brought the music to a crashing halt. Keith’s voice, strident and hollow in the amplifiers, filled the tent.

“Everybody keep your seats! Please! The lights will be on again in just a moment. If there is a doctor here, will he come this way, please.” The music swelled again.

I turned and followed the cowboy. Outside the headlights of another car now cut the darkness. Several figures converged quickly on Tex, as if to help, but he pushed past. His voice was a harsh rasp, almost a snarl.

“Get that trailer door open!”

The acrobat darted ahead of him, and in à moment a yellow oblong of light opened in the side of one of the trailers. Tex stood outlined in it for a second as he carefully swung his burden through the door.

And just as that happened, the lights within the big top flickered uncertainly and then came on. The excited hum of the crowd rose instantly, and the tension that had filled the darkness broke and began to fade.

The car within the tent began to back out, and Mac Wiley with another man jumped to the running board.

“Swing it around,” Mac ordered the driver. “Stay in it and keep the motor running. We may have to take her into town.”

His companion, a beefy red-faced man, added, “My car’s out front. Police siren. Give you an escort.”

Mac nodded, stepped down, and let the car move on.

“I hope to hell there’s a doctor—” He stopped, seeing Keith run from the tent, followed by an elderly little man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a professional goatee.

“Where’d they go?” Keith asked.

“Trailer,” I told him, pointing. “That one.”

They ran for it, disappeared inside, and then, as Mac, the Sheriff, and I moved toward it, the acrobat came out and approached us.

“Is it bad, Steve?” Mac asked him.

The man wiped his forehead with his arm. “Afraid so. She landed smack in that mess of props for the seal’s act, that table, those metal steps, and some dead men. I felt the pole start in that direction and tried to swing it sideways, but I couldn’t make it. She was just going into her headstand when the lights — Say, what the devil went wrong, anyway? That never happened before!” (Dead men are anchors that hold a piece of rigging taut.)

“I don’t know,” Mac scowled. “But somebody’s going to catch merry hell.” Mac was no longer the smiling, enthusiastic person who had met us at the front door. His voice had a snappish, worried tone; and, as his eyes happened just then to rest on me, his scowl grew even darker. “Come on, Sheriff,” he added hastily.

I watched them go toward the trailer, suspecting now that Mac hadn’t given the Sheriff Pauline’s message, and wondering where Merlini had gone to. I had last seen him inside the tent, on the arena track, watching Tex as he lifted Pauline’s body. I half decided to go look for him, but changed my mind, realizing that what I wanted to know now more than anything else was the result of the doctor’s examination. Was or was not Pauline going to be able to amplify those cryptic statements she had made? I lit a cigarette, puffed impatiently at it a moment, and then moved to join the group that stood near the trailer door talking in low but excited voices. I saw Farmer Jack, one of the cooch dancers from the side show, and then Stuart Towne hurry up and attach themselves to the group, full of questions.

“Hey, you!” someone yelled, and I looked back to see a workingman pointing at me. “Watch it, Bud. The bulls!”

I wheeled quickly and then backed hastily. A ponderous moving wall of gray swept across the spot where I had stood. Three other elephants followed in single file, trunks grasping tails. The elephant boss, a short, bulky little man in an ill-fitting uniform coat, steered the leader with an elephant goad hooked behind his ear; and on the great beast’s head a woman sat, swaying easily. Her straight, almost youthful figure was encased in a tight-fitting scarlet and gold military uniform, resplendent with brass buttons and gold braid. She, likewise, held an elephant hook. Her face had a hard, bony look that the heavy mascara and grease paint could not conceal. The procession halted for a moment just outside the tent, waited until a shrill whistle came from within, and, as the music changed and the clowns poured from the exit, moved swiftly in.

Then a red-coated man with a whistle on a cord around his neck and a harassed look on his face popped out and spoke rapidly to Steve. The latter turned and hurried past me to the trailer, pushed through the group, and knocked at the door.

“Tex Mayo,” he called when the door had opened, “can you come now? Walter wants to run your announcement in next.”

Tex stepped out, his face grim, and walked with Steve across to where his pony had been tethered to a stake near the entrance. Keith came through the door after him, looked around searchingly, and then hurried toward me.

“What’s the verdict?” I asked.

“Not so good. Concussion. Weak from loss of blood. Still unconscious. Have you seen Joy?”

“No,” I told him. “Do you think—”

But he dashed off, running back along the line of trailers to one at the end.

I went into the big top, where the elephants in the center ring were standing on their heads. I half expected to see Merlini out there between the rings where Pauline had fallen, searching the ground for clues; but he was not there, nor, as far as I could see, anywhere within the tent, unless he had taken a seat in the stands with the crowd.

I watched the elephants take their final bow and lumber out. As the man at the mike made an announcement concerning the Wild West after-show, several cowboys rode madly in, circled the hippodrome track, and came to attention, lined up on the opposite side facing the reserved seats. “And now,” the announcer went on, “the Mighty Hannum Combined Shows take pleasure in presenting that world-famous western screen star, TEX MAYO, in person, with his wonder pony, BLAZE!”

Bugles blared, and Tex made a dashing entrance, standing in his stirrups. He circled the arena once, and then waited in the center ring.

“Tex Mayo,” the announcer blared, “with his cowboys and cowgirls will appear in the Mighty Hannum Wild West Rodeo, presented in this arena immediately after the big show is over! The ticket sellers will now pass among you with tickets for this sensational, scintillating cavalcade of daredevil roughriders, world-renowned rodeo champions, trick ropers, sharpshooters, and whip-crackers in a kaleidoscopic panorama of thrills and chills — a fast-riding, sharpshooting re-creation of the Old West. Tickets are fifteen cents to all!”

I didn’t hear the rest of it because I was watching two performers who had come in, passed me, and were walking out on the track toward the end ring on the right — Steve and Joy Pattison, who was now dressed like Steve in blue tights. They left their slop-shoes at the ringside, stepped to the center of the ring, waited as the Wild West aggregation thundered off; and then, hand over hand, climbed a rope toward a double trapeze that hung above. A second pair of performers did the same in the other end ring. An attendant on the ground below pulled at a rope that set the apparatus swinging, just as Keith Atterbury hurried past me and seemed about to run out after them. But he stopped and watched with a white face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I tried to find Joy to ask her to cut this traps act. I looked all over. Where did she come from? Did you see?”

“No. They came in together just a moment ago. But what—”

“That damned swinging ankle-drop. I don’t think after what’s happened that either Steve or Joy are in any condition—” His voice trailed off as he watched them intently, nervously.

Steve hung from his knees, gripping Joy’s ankles. The trapeze swung in a wide arc back and forth. The bass drum in the band boomed; and Joy dropped, on an outward swing, twenty feet through space! And then the coiled rope that streamed after her, attached to one ankle, pulled her up short. She swung back in a much longer arc, her head just clearing the ground.

Keith relaxed, and simultaneously I jumped. Merlini’s voice came suddenly from over my shoulder. “A murderer running wild,” he said, “and things like that scheduled twice daily. Ross, it gives me cold shivers. Murder on a circus, as I’m beginning to realize, is as easy as breathing and damned hard to prove. A minor alteration in the rigging, a half-cut rope, this matter of the lights—”

“Where,” I demanded, “did you disappear to?”

“Oh, I’ve been around. Discovering things. Come outside where we can talk. There’s much too much band music here,”

I followed him outside, side-stepping a troupe of clowns that was on its way in. I had several questions all loaded and aimed, but he fired first. And he scored a bull’s-eye.

“Quickly!” he said. “How soon after the accident did Joy Pattison put in an appearance?”

I blinked at that one. “Just how,” I asked, “do you happen to know that that is the whopping big question that’s before the house?”

“Answer me!” he commanded impatiently. “She’ll be out here in a minute.”

“She didn’t show up until just before she went out there for that traps act. And Keith was buzzing around excitedly hunting for her, wanting, so he says, to persuade her to skip it. He still seems to think she’s on the spot, though it looks to me as if he was calling his shots wrong. He predicted that Pauline would have a try for Joy, and instead of that—”

I stopped. Keith and Joy came from the tent, and Merlini beckoned to them.

“Miss Pattison,” he said, going straight to the point, “I’m conducting a little private census of my own. Will you please tell me just where you were when the lights went out?”

Joy’s arm was linked in Keith’s, and when that question hit her she jumped. He felt it, and his head jerked quickly toward her, his eyes startled.

“You are a magician, aren’t you?” Joy said, striving to make her voice steady. “What makes you ask that?”

Merlini frowned down at her. “I’m asking that of a lot of people, starting now. I didn’t expect results so soon.”

Joy hesitated a moment. “I might as well confess,” she said. “I’m afraid I was in another trailer again where I shouldn’t have been. Pauline’s.”

“Oh, damn!” Keith said. “You were looking for that will!”

“Yes, I was. I still think it’s there, too.”

“But you still haven’t found it?” Merlini asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t have time. I went to my trailer after I left you and changed. Then I saw Pauline go on for her perch act, and — well, I thought if I could find that will, we’d have some evidence she and Mac would have a hard time explaining away. I knew I had a good seven or eight minutes, but — I’m a lousy burglar, I guess. I got caught there too. I heard some shouting outside, and then someone pulled the door open. I just had time to make the wardrobe closet again before Tex carried Pauline in. Then everybody came. Keith brought a doctor, and Mac came in, and I had to stick there until they had gone. I kept the door open a crack and finally, after Mac left — I had to take a chance; I was due to go on and would be missed — I stepped out.”

“The doctor saw you?” Keith scowled.

“Yes, but I think I misled him. He was working on Pauline at the bed. I put one hand on the knob of the outside door, slammed the wardrobe door and, as he turned, said, ‘Oh, excuse me,’ and backed out as if I had walked into the wrong trailer.”

Keith groaned. “That tears it,” he said. “When that doctor—”

“No, Keith,” Merlini said, “that doesn’t tear it. If the doctor wasn’t fooled it gives Joy an alibi.” He turned to Joy. “There’s another thing I want to ask. After you had left the Major’s trailer and just before Pauline left, she said some very odd things. She said, for instance, that she had something to tell the Sheriff, something that would make an investigation of her father’s death unnecessary and would put the Sheriff’s name in every paper in the country. Can you tell me what she meant, particularly by that last statement?”

Thoughtfully Joy shook her head. “No, I can’t. It— it sounds as if she’d intended to accuse someone. But why do you say that, if the doctor knows I was in the wardrobe, I have an alibi? An alibi for what— Do you mean that Pauline’s fall wasn’t an accident, that the lights…”

“Merlini,” Keith interrupted, “just what was wrong with the lights? I think you know.”

“I think I do,” said Merlini. “And I’ve been collecting alibis. Trouble is, I seem to have too many.”

I gave Merlini a nudge. “Prepare to repel boarders,” I whispered. “Here comes Mac. I hope your light story is good.”

J. MacAllister Wiley came toward us with a determined look in his eye.

“Another council of war, I see,” he growled. “Miss Pattison, swinging ladders are due on in a minute.”

Joy nodded. “Okay, Mac.” She gave Keith an uncertain smile and left us.

“And you, Keith,” Mac said. “It’s an eighty-mile jump to Norwalk. If you’re going over tonight, don’t you think you’d better start?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Keith said icily. “Don’t you remember? I don’t work here any more.”

“Nonsense, Mac replied diplomatically. “Pauline has a temper; you know that. I expect her to fire everybody regularly, now she’s running this outfit — and then get mad again if they take her seriously. Besides, your contract specifies a week’s notice. Run along and forget it.”

Keith’s expression told me that he was on the verge of telling Mac to go soak his head when he caught the warning nod Merlini gave him, and replied instead, “Okay. I’ll stay the week and think about it.” He turned and followed Joy toward the arena.

Mac said at once, “Now you listen to me, Merlini. Pauline—”

“Mac,” Merlini cut in, “where’s the Sheriff?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s left. And dammit, you’re not going to—”

“Then you didn’t give him Pauline’s message?”

“No. Luckily I didn’t. She fell just as I got to him. She can’t talk to him now. That’ll have to wait. And you’re going to mark time, too. Sheriff Weatherby is a straight-laced old busybody, and though that so-called evidence of yours is a lot of eyewash, I know that the smooth line of patter you can dish out with it is likely to make him hit the ceiling. And then the show’ll have cops all over it until she is well enough to talk.”

“You heard Pauline agree that it was murder, didn’t you?”

“Yes. She also said that when she told what she knew there wouldn’t need to be any investigation. So we’re just going to sit tight until she talks. And that’ll be that!”

“There’s a chance she’ll be able to talk, then?”

“Yes. But it won’t be tonight. And if you sick an investigation on this show that I’m going to be able to prove could have been avoided, I’m going to sue you for every penny’s worth of business the show loses.”

“Take it easy, Mac,” Merlini said. “Besides, I’ve already had words with Sheriff Weatherby.”

“You’ve WHAT?” Mac nearly did an unscheduled balloon ascension without a balloon.

“I talked to him,” Merlini repeated. “But I didn’t mention murder — just yet. I merely started him going and listened while he told me about Pauline’s fall. He said that you had just leaned over to speak to him when the lights went out. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Mac said scowling prodigiously. “But — but what — why—” He stopped, and his bushy eyebrows rose. “Saay! Are you going to stand there and tell me that Pauline’s accident—”

Merlini nodded. “I was leading up to that. Hasn’t it occurred to you that Pauline’s ‘accident’ was awfully pat? Miss Hannum as much as says that she is going to name a murderer — and then, presto — like that, she takes a tumble. Not just an ordinary tumble, mind you, but one that happened because the lights—”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Mac sputtered. “Not this time! I checked on those lights. The light plant is parked on the other side between the menagerie and the big top. The main big-top cable runs to a plug box just outside the end of the big top and branches out into feeder lines. Some idiot tripped over the cable and jerked it loose. Back-yard customer, probably. There are a lot of them around tonight.”

Merlini shook his head. “I know, Mac. I looked into that myself. Before you did. But those cables don’t come unplugged as easily as you’d unhitch a floor-lamp extension cord from a base plug. It would need a real hefty yank. It might trip someone up, but I don’t think it would jerk loose.”

“I see,” Mac said. “So that’s it. I suppose you’re going to tell me you found footprints over there. The grass is six inches high.”

“No,” Merlini said, “nothing like that. And no dropped cigarette butts or cuff links or pants buttons. I wish there were. A child could have caused Pauline’s fall without leaving a clue. It’s too simple. An acrobat balances a tall pole on his forehead, and the victim does a headstand atop that. If they can’t see, they can’t balance. Pull the light plug, and gravity does the rest. And in the ensuing darkness the culprit goes away from there fast. I tell, you, Mac, there’s a murderer on this show, and I don’t like his looks. He’s too expert. He’s simple and direct and no foolishness about it.”

“The patter’s good, Merlini. Yours always is. I still don’t believe it. If you’re so sure about it, why don’t you blow to the Sheriff? Answer me that?”

Merlini regarded him thoughtfully a moment. “I had a reason, Mac. A reason that only two people know at the moment — myself and the murderer. So if you don’t know, I don’t think I’ll broadcast it yet. He might just possibly forget himself and let it slip that he knows.”

Mac gave Merlini a steady look from level brows. “You said ‘if I don’t know.’ Are you accusing me of murder?”

“I couldn’t do that very easily, could I? You’ve got two nice shiny alibis. You were with Calamity when the Major got his, and you were talking to Sheriff Weatherby when the lights went out.”

“That’s a relief,” Mac said with some sarcasm and without smiling. “And how long can I count on this mysterious reason of yours preventing you from hollering for the police?”

“I’m not sure,” Merlini said, “that you can count on it at all. But I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t holler without tipping you off, provided you put a guard on Pauline’s trailer and keep it there until further notice.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Just admit for a moment that maybe I’m not talking through my hat, that perhaps someone did have a try at Pauline. He has stopped her talking — for the moment. But not indefinitely. If the doctor says she’ll pull through — he might very well have another try. And she’s in no condition to defend herself.”

“The doctor wants to move her to a hospital in the morning,” Mac said doubtfully.

“That would help,” Merlini said. “But I’d suggest you have him get her there now, while she’s still unconscious. If she’s the sort of trouper her father was, she’ll object to a program like that — short of a broken neck.”

“I know, dammit. That’s what I’m afraid of, “ Mac scowled. “Okay. It’s a deal. You don’t talk and she gets a guard. Calamity says accidents on circuses come in threes. Do you think you could manage to have the next one? Murderers, bah! Good night!” Disgustedly Mac turned and stalked off, his limp more noticeable than ever because of the angry way he stumped along.

“Merlini,” I said, “don’t you think the man protests too much?”

Merlini took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offered me one, and took one himself. He tapped it slowly against the back of his hand. “Ross,” he said thoughtfully, “when we heard that music change and we ran from the Major’s trailer tonight, I left first. Who came through that door next? You or Keith?”

“I did.”

“And did he follow right behind you?”

“Yes. I think so. Why?”

Merlini frowned at me. “You couldn’t swear that he did, then?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. He wasn’t far behind me, though. He was in the back yard here just a few seconds after I arrived.”

“A few seconds is too much,” Merlini said unhappily. “That complicates matters no end. Come on. I want a word with that doctor.”

I grabbed at his arm and issued an ultimatum. “Not so fast,” I growled. “I want to know about this. Now! And what, for Pete’s sake, is this hocus-pocus about not informing the law? I didn’t promise Wiley not to give the Sheriff an earful, and if you don’t talk, I’ll damned well—”

“I don’t think so,” Merlini said. “You can’t. Mac’s quite right. The evidence we’ve got isn’t worth a plugged nickel.”

I suddenly felt as if I’d just been stepped on by a full-grown elephant. “But the hat,” I protested weakly. “The photo, the broken spectacle pieces, the prints on the windowpane, the elephant hook.”

“The bull-hook,” Merlini said, “is not evidence. We’ve no proof that it was used as a murder weapon. And those other things — hm, well — as soon as I saw that Pauline had fallen, I investigated the lights. I was there perhaps five minutes; and then, remembering that we had left it unlocked, I went back to the Major’s trailer. Hat, glass, prints, and photo—” Merlini made a swift smooth gesture and the glowing cigarette he held vanished “—have disappeared!”