“Motive,” said Keith. “The show’s hers now. And the Carnival Equipment Company. Or most of it is.”
“Carnival Equipment Company?” Merlini asked. “Most of it?”
“That’s his estate,” Keith explained. “He owns a carnival-game manufacturing company, the circus, and a little real estate back in Indiana. But Pauline only gets two-thirds. The Major promised Joy Pattison a third. She’s his niece. And Pauline won’t stop till there’s another ‘accident.’ That’s what is driving me nuts. I need help. I checked all of Joy’s rigging myself before she went on this afternoon. I’m doing the same tonight.”
“Joy Pattison?” Merlini asked. “She wouldn’t be Pauline’s partner, the Paulette of the ‘sister’ wire-walking act, would she?”
“Yes, she is. Why—”
“What else does she do?”
“Swinging ladders and double traps. And it would be so damned easy to—”
“The ‘sisters’ don’t get along too well together, do they?”
Atterbury looked at him sharply. “What makes you ask that?”
“I caught the act just now. There was a misplaced announcement.”
Keith nodded. “You understand. Joy’s mother was a Hannum. When she died six years ago — her mother and father were both killed in a circus train wreck — Joy came with her uncle. Pauline was already doing the wire act and needed a partner. The Major coached Joy in the act, and then she made the mistake of getting too good for her own good. She practiced that forward all last winter and added it at the beginning of the season. Pauline had a fit. She wanted the Major to make Joy leave it out. He simply told her to get to work and see if she could top it. But Pauline was his daughter, and she kicked up so much fuss that he had to compromise by leaving her the announcement.”
“And the audience,” Merlin¡ said, “doesn’t realize what they are seeing.”
“No,” said Keith. “Not many of them know that a forward is a damn sight harder than a back flip. But the show people do, and it burns Pauline up. Another reason I’ve got to work fast on this is that Pauline knows that I side with Joy. And now she’s the boss of this outfit, I expect to get the ax any minute.”
“I see,” Merlini said. “Complications already. Tell me, why does Joy stay on? She could get a job with the Wait Brothers any time she wants it. She’s doing a big-time routine.” (The Wait Brothers Show was Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey, so-called by other circus men because of their habit of posting “wait paper”— posters that read “Wait for the Big Show.”)
Keith nodded. “Yes, I know. The Major asked her to stick it out the rest of the season. Said she had what it takes, and that he could make her the best woman wire-walker in the business. He was helping her dope out a single routine. He was pretty proud of her ability and his coaching.”
“Major Hannum used to do trapeze in his younger days, didn’t he? I seem to remember—”
“Yes. The Flying Hannums. Back around about ’14 and ’15.”
“You haven’t told Joy any of this?” Merlini asked then.
“I haven’t shown her the photos or hinted anything about the accident yet. But I’m going to now.”
“Here come the fireworks, Ross,” Merlini said. “An extra-special set-piece with fourteen kinds of colored fire and they very choicest serpentine aerial bombs, all spelling out the blazing word: Murder. I suggest we touch off the pyrotechnics as gently as possible, Keith, so that we don’t get a face full. The photos are the only real evidence you’ve got. The rest is all guesswork. And the scene of the crime — if that’s what it is — recedes rapidly. We need more evidence. The Major’s trailer. Did that come over with the show?”
“Yes. It’s out front now, parked behind the ticket wagon. The Major’s driver brought it along as usual when we moved. But it’ll be locked, and Pauline will have the keys.”
Merlini gave me a wink. “I don’t imagine the lock is anything too unusual. Come on.”
He didn’t wait for Keith to lead the way. He started off at once through the dark — quickly, as if the blackness of a circus lot was as familiar as his own bedroom. We went with him, skirting the menagerie top back toward the front door.
“Lot layout anything like this, last night in Kings Falls?” Merlini asked, his voice low and conspiratorial, in keeping with the illegality of our burglarous mission.
“Pretty much,” Keith said. “The Major’s trailer is parked in the same place.”
On our left now, I saw the lighted side-show banners across the midway, rising above the nearer ticket wagon and line of concession stands. The dark square shapes of several parked cars and trailers showed dimly before us.
“Who else parks here?” Merlini asked.
“Mac, Bob O’Hara — he’s the reserved-seat ticket superintendent — Brown, the treasurer on the ticket wagon, and Calamity. I park here sometimes. The Major’s trailer—” Keith stood still. “There’s someone in it! There’s a light.”
One trailer only showed a light, a faint glow from beyond the window curtains. Then the light moved.
“Flashlight,” Merlini said. “On your toes.”
There were two windows on this side of the trailer, one aft and one in the door. The window sash of the rear one, hinged at the top, had been propped open. We moved quietly toward it for a look.
As a Fenimore Cooper Indian, I’m a washout. Beneath my foot a discarded crackerjack box crunched loudly. It almost seemed to be connected with a public address system.
Instantly the light within the trailer vanished.
We halted abruptly and stood waiting. I swore under my breath.
For an instant I thought I saw, framed in the black rectangle of the open window, a lighter blur against the dark that might have been a face. It showed for half a second and then was gone.
“Windows. Other side!” Merlini ordered quickly. “Hurry! Watch them.”
I jumped, not bothering now about any noise I might make. The trailer’s occupant knew we were there. I circled the trailer, keeping in close to its side. There were two windows, both closed.
I heard Merlini rattle the doorknob, and I looked in cautiously. Then Merlini knocked.
There was no answer. After a moment of complete quiet I heard the faint click and scratch of metal on metal. I knew what that was. Merlini was picking the lock. Whoever was inside was completely surrounded— trapped. I felt the way an inexperienced speaker does just before he steps out with an impromptu speech to face a large and formal audience. I wondered how the person within the trailer felt.
The door’s hinges creaked then; and immediately after, the interior of the trailer was filled with light. I saw Merlini’s hand on the wall switch, reaching in through the partly open door. My eyes swept the interior.
There was no one there.
The furnishings of the trailer were obviously custom-built. The room was fitted out as an office and living-room. A desk of modern design and a tubular chair replaced the sink and kitchen equipment carried by most stock models. The walls were covered with circus memorabilia: posters, and photographs of performers, freaks, and animals. I noticed a miniature model of an ornately carved parade band wagon and, above the door, an elephant tusk. There was a table in the extreme rear flanked by built-in seats that, at night, could be converted into a bed.
Then Merlini’s figure filled the doorway, and he stepped in, picklocks still in hand, Keith behind him. I left my post, circled the trailer hastily, and went in after them.
It was then I saw the gun, a Colt automatic, in Keith’s hand.
Merlini noticed it also. “Where’d that come from?” he asked.
Atterbury, looking blankly around the room said, “Bought it this morning. I thought—”
“Good,” Merlini cut in. “Just point it this way.” He stood with one hand on the knob of a wardrobe door at the forward end of the trailer close to the outer door. “No one left by the open window. All the others, I see, are closed and locked on the inside. So—”