“But you don’t know for sure?”
“No. I didn’t wake up until we got on the lot here. Why?”
“Anybody else know?” Merlini looked around, but the other answers were all like the first one.
“Thanks, boys,” Merlini said. “If he shows up, let me or Wiley know about it, will you? Some state troopers out front looking for him. Come on, Ross.”
“One alibi down,” I said. “And two to go. He was working the concert when the Major got his, and though he might have doused the lights, he was out in the ring again when the evidence was stolen.”
Merlini didn’t answer. His long legs carried him quickly back the way we had come. At the front door Calamity was sputtering to himself.
“State troopers,” he muttered glumly. “And cops. I knew something like this was going to happen.” He saw us. “Superstitious, am I? That boss windjammer and his ‘Cavalry March’! Might as well have played ‘Home Sweet Home.’”
Merlini didn’t argue that. “Calamity,” he said, “send someone around to see if they can find Garner. If you can locate him, maybe your troubles will be over.”
Calamity nodded. “You’re probably right about that. I think he’s a Jonah too. All the funny business on this outfit started right after he joined up.”
“Another thing,” Merlini added. “Who did Paulette Hannum elope with?”
“Press agent who was on the show then. Young fellow, by the name of Andy Myers. The Major didn’t like him much. And neither of them been on the lot ever since as far as I know.”
“Pauline’s mother,” Merlini asked, “Lucille. What sort of an act was she doing when the Major married her? Do you know?”
“Sure. She was the other flyer in the act with Mac and the Major. Damn good aerialist. One of the first women to do a double somersault.”
“Thanks, Cal.” Merlini started off. “Don’t forget Garner. Oh, by. the way — any Western Union messages come for me?”
“No.”
Merlini made for the Major’s trailer again. Mac, Keith and Joy stood outside talking. Stuart Towne emerged just as we arrived, and one of the assistant troopers put his head out and said, “Miss Pattison, you’re next.” The inquisition was in full swing.
Merlini said, “Wait, Joy. I’ve got news for the Captain.” He shoved in past the trooper at the door and announced, “One thing I forgot to tell you. A tramp clown by the name of Garner needs some questioning. He was hiding in the wardrobe last time Wiley and I talked to Miss Hannum, and what he overheard seems to have scared him off. No one’s seen him in the last hour or so anyway. Looks highly suspicious. He hasn’t been with the show long, and I’ve noticed that his ring presence is none too professional. He doesn’t know how to fall on his face properly, for one thing. Pagliacci’s costume might hide a joker, and that’s not intended as a pun. I—”
“Description?”
“That’s the catch. I haven’t seen him except in his make-up. Better ask Wiley.”
“Palmer, you see to it.”
Merlini was eyeing a revolver that lay on the desk before the Captain. “Atterbury’s?” he asked.
The trooper nodded. “Yeah. And he had no permit, so I guess the Sullivan Law’ll take care of him unless I find something better.”
“The gun’s no help, then? It hasn’t been fired lately?”
“Doesn’t look it. Could have been cleaned, of course.”
“Turn up any other firearms?”
Schafer nodded slowly. “Towne has one. Same condition like this. But he has a permit. And there are quite a few irons in the Wild West department. One of the boys is checking those.”
Chief Hooper had a suggestion. “We didn’t frisk the magician.”
Merlini turned to him. “It’s all right with me.”
He held his arms out, and the Sheriff did a thorough job of slapping his pockets. As he finished, Merlini put two fingers into the Sheriff’s breast pocket and drew out a half-dozen playing cards. He fanned them with an expert gesture. “Well,” he grinned. “Aces. All aces! You play poker, Chief?”
Hooper merely growled, “Wise guy!” and set about fanning me, but without any better luck.
Merlini asked the Captain, “No news of any bodies on the teletype?”
“No. But I sent out some men to look over the woods near where that trailer was parked this morning.”
“Good. And what about your inquisition? Is my story holding up?” Merlini glanced at Hooper.
Schafer said, “Yes. It’s doing all right so far. No contradictions. But you certainly had all the dope there was. We haven’t gotten a thing that’s news yet.”
Hooper chimed in. “In other words, you know a hell of a lot too much.”
“No, Chief,” said Merlini. “Not yet. But I hope to before long. Have you quizzed Miss Hannum yet?”
The Captain growled this time. “No. Doctor she had in awhile ago got to her first. He said we’d better hold off awhile. But I wonder. Think she could be playing ’possum?”
“It’s quite possible,” Merlini said. “She alternates between talkativeness and dead silence. When you get at her, put the screws on. Particularly see if you can uncover anything about the mysterious angel who paid off the six weeks’ worth of back salaries here last Saturday. Find out what she knows about the two runaway elephants and the phony wreck near Bridgeport, and why the show’s three-card-monte man was told to lay off. It wasn’t because Tin-Plate-Johnny here”—Merlini nodded at Hooper— “was causing any heat. He got his.”
With that parting shot Merlini started out, and Hooper, with an ugly look on his red face, moved toward him growling something about libel.
But Schafer halted him. “Skip it, Chief,” he snapped. “You’re on the sidelines this trip. I’m running this. And I know all about the shakedown this morning, so get the ants out of your pants.”
Hooper’s voice followed us through the door. “Okay,” he snarled, “but I’m going to get something on that guy!”
Chief Hooper would have disclaimed any imputation that he was clairvoyant or possessed of second sight, as a lot of damned nonsense. Nevertheless, his prophecy, as we were to find out in short order, was one that Nostradamus himself would have been proud to own.
Chapter Fourteen
Stolen Sword
“… All the human freaks and wonders just the way they are pictured, painted, and described along this long line of pictorial paintings. Twelve big acts and oddities all inside, all alive, and all on the one ticket…”
For the next hour or two Merlini dithered nervously, his usual Oriental calm more than a little upset. He wandered with apparent aimlessness about the lot as if waiting for something to happen; he side-stepped all my attempts at conversation. We side-walled in to the kid show again and caught the final afternoon performance. Merlini glumly eyed the armless knife-thrower, the snake woman, and “The Human Salamander who actually eats, drinks, and swallows living flame.”
Finally, however, I struck a spark that caused him to brighten momentarily.
“You remember the old chestnut about the boy who found the strayed horse by imagining himself to be a horse and asking himself where he would stray to?”
“Yes, of course. The horse chestnut.” Merlini regarded me curiously. “You aren’t suggesting that I imagine I’m a missing body and ask myself where a murderer might hide me?”
“Something like that, yes. Imagine you are the murderer. Personally, I think I might figure that the innards of a phony mummy on exhibition — the mummy of a murderer at that — would be the last place anybody’d look.”
Merlini gave me a sour glance. “That just goes to show what writing for the pulps will do to a man’s imagination. You need a cold compress in place of your hat. This imitation cadaver is pretty well shriveled up. It would have to be an awfully small missing body.”