“When that was stolen last night,” I said slowly, “only two women could have known the importance of the evidence it held. Pauline was hors de combat, and Joy—”
From outside, through the open door, came a sound that jolted us both into instant action. I got through the doorway first, just in time to see the stone that had rolled down the hillside come to a stop a dozen feet away.
From above, near the hill’s crest, we could hear the retreating sound of someone running through the brush.
Chapter Ten
Vanishing Lady
I hotfooted it up the hill, but by the time I reached its top all sounds of flight had ceased. In his headlong rush my quarry had doubtless left a trail that looked to any self-respecting woodsman like a four-lane highway. But since my natural habitat is Broadway, I made no attempt to locate and follow it, not wanting to put the local Boy Scouts to the trouble of a search for me.
Merlini, slightly more confident, nosed around for 15 or 20 minutes and finally located the tree behind which the hidden watcher had concealed himself. There was one footprint, an impression small enough to have been a woman’s, though it had the appearance of having been made by a male shoe.
“Why the Daniel Boone act?” I asked. “Don’t you think it’s high time we got a little official assistance on this case? We passed a State Trooper’s barracks just outside of Waterboro.”
Merlini shook his head. “Not just yet. But soon. We catch that circus first; there are one or two items I want to check on.”
He returned to the trailer and got the torn envelope, the glass cutter, and the rubber gloves.
Then he said, “Think you can turn this car and trailer here? We’ll take it with us. First town down the line that has a Western Union, I’m stopping off for a minute. You keep going; I’ll catch you.”
We had 70 miles to go; and, though I pushed along as fast as possible, the trailer slowed us so that it was nearly two o’clock when we reached Norwalk.
Merlini pulled in before a garage. “Just to make sure no one tampers with the evidence this time, we’ll park the trailer here.” Then, seeing a hungry look in my eye, he added, “You can eat at the grease joint on the lot.”
“I still think we should send the cops an SOS,” I said as we started for the show grounds. “Joy and Keith will be three states away by the time you get the mounties after them. Aren’t you afraid that, when you do report, the authorities are going to be somewhat annoyed at your procrastination?”
“I expect they will,” he said. “But you must remember that we still have no concrete evidence to prove that either the Major’s or Pauline’s accident was anything else. The fact that last night’s evidence was stolen is proof of a sort — but it was stolen. Did you say Joy and Keith?”
“Joy was your candidate last night, wasn’t she? Since she ditched her car and trailer in a spot like that, she must have been met by a car. Keith’s. You said I shouldn’t cross him off just because he started the investigation.”
“Joy, then,” Merlini summed up, “killed the Major, discovered the will she had counted on was either missing or nonexistent, tried to kill Pauline so as to inherit the show, failed, got cold feet this morning and took a powder. That it?”
“You certainly make it sound cold-blooded enough,” I said, not liking the theory at all, but unable to offer any other that would fit as many facts. “I’m only trying to be analytical in the best Merlini manner. Joy and Keith are both without alibis for the Major’s death, and either of them might have swiped the evidence. Whereas Pauline and Mac, the only other two who knew that any evidence had been found, both have alibis as big as a house — damn!”
“Something wrong?”
“Yes. It’s taken me until now to figure out why you said last night that everyone else on the lot has an alibi in the matter of the missing evidence. None of them knew we’d found it.”
Merlini nodded. “You’ve stated it very neatly. Joy and Keith are the only possibilities, with Joy a good length in the lead. If this were fiction, I’d eliminate her immediately as being too suspicious — but it isn’t. What I want to know now is what happened to the pieces of glass that were in that envelope? And to the hat and the photo. They aren’t in the trailer. If they’ve been destroyed, why not do the same with the envelope, the glass cutter, and the gloves? Those things, found together, show that the person who burgled the Major’s trailer and the person who made away with the evidence are one and the same. They also indicate that both the Major’s and Pauline’s accident were caused by the same murderer. Why were they left there? And why, of all places, were they hidden in the ash receiver?”
“What do you mean, ‘of all places’? I thought the ash receiver wasn’t a half-bad hiding spot. You searched with your customary thoroughness and missed them. We found them only by accident.”
“I wonder,” he said. “Would you hide rubber gloves in such a place? I don’t think I would.”
We pulled onto the lot before I had time to give that the thought it deserved. We parked behind the side-show top near several other cars. A gang of half a dozen Negroes moved with unhurried deliberation from stake to stake around the tent tightening up the guy ropes. Their lazy rhythm was timed to the old guying-out chant: “Hit it. Hee — Hoooooo! Heave it… Heavy! Stake it! Break it! Down Stake!”
The big-top band, mellow and resonant because of the intervening canvas, was working on the concert selections that preceded the spec (opening spectacle). As we got out of the car, a spirited black horse galloped toward us from the direction of the back yard. Its rider wore a medieval riding costume of ultramarine blue that was just the proper contrast for the golden hair beneath the tall pointed cap.
“There would seem to be a minor error in your calculations, Ross,” Merlini said. “This looks like Joy.”
“Yes,” I admitted, making some rapid mental readjustments. Then excitedly I said, “It’s Pauline that’s missing! The murderer sidetracked her trailer and this time he—”
“Look before you leap, Ross,” Merlini advised. “The hair samples I found were blond. Pauline’s brunette.”
Joy’s horse reared before us and halted. “I saw you drive in,” she said. “Keith and I have been wondering where you were.”
“We were delayed a bit,” Merlini replied. “Where’s Pauline? Did she go to the hospital?”
“No. She’s here. She exploded when the doctor suggested she do that this morning. She said it would take more than a cut face, a sprained back, and a knock on the head to put her off the lot. Tex drove her over. He wouldn’t let anyone else drive. They just got in.”
“What time did they leave?”
“Six-thirty, when I did. But Tex drove slowly.”
“Are we the last arrivals?” Merlini asked. “Or has anyone else failed to—”
The side wall of the side-show top lifted, and Gus stepped out. “Was that you just pulled in?” he asked.
“Yes,” Merlini answered.
“See anything of a Buick roadster and a green trailer on the way?”
Merlini evaded a direct answer. “Why?” he asked. “Did you mislay one?”
My reputation for prophecy, if I ever had one, was thoroughly discredited; but I knew now before Gus answered what he would say.
“The Headless Lady hasn’t shown up yet. She should have been here a couple of hours ago. Lee Daniels, the side-show manager, is fit to be tied.”