In the big circus ring a half-dozen acrobats, clad in the tight-fitting garments developed by Leotard, were tumbling, somersaulting and cartwheeling. One was even swinging from a trapeze. When they came to rest for a moment, Holmes asked the nearest of the women, "Are you Miss Edith Everage."
"Edith!" she called out to one of the others, a brown-haired girl who appeared to be of school age. Her fine figure in the skin-tight garment made me blush as she walked up to us, though her face seemed too hardened for one so young.
"You want me?" she asked with a trace of London cockney in her voice.
Holmes introduced himself and came directly to the point. "We are investigating the recent attempts upon the life of Vittoria Costello, the so-called Circus Belle. Do you know anything about a riding accident?"
"The horse threw her. That wasn't an attempt on her life." "She thought it was. And what about the poisoning of Diaz?" Edith Everage shook her head. "They say that was an
accident."
"Didn't he cut her once during his knife-throwing act?" "Naw. They were thick as thieves."
"But you would like to replace her as the Circus Belle."
"I deserve it! I worked for the Rovers since I was fifteen. I'm even learning to do a trapeze act. They hired her with no experience at all, just because she won that bleedin' contest. And Mr Philip, he makes sure she treats him nice, if you get what I mean."
While they talked a cage had been wheeled into the ring. Though its bars were covered with canvas the growls emanating from inside left no doubt that the tiger had arrived. The trainer, armed with a whip, and a man in a frock coat accompanied the cage. Even at a distance I could recognize an older version of Charles Rover. Holmes must have had the same impression, for he asked her, "Is that Philip Rover?"
"It is," Edith acknowledged. "It's a wonder we ever see him, between Vittoria and that blonde doxy he brings on the road with him."
"Who would that be?"
"Milly Hogan. She was in a show at the Lyceum Theatre once and she considers herself above mere circus performers. She usually stays in his tent during the performance, but I saw them out playing with the new tiger this morning."
"All right," Philip Rover called to the acrobats. "Everyone out of the ring. We're going to start letting the crowd in soon. I want them to see nothing but that cage as they take their seats."
Edith hurried off with the others and Rover turned his attention to us. "You must be Sherlock Holmes. My brother told
me you were in here, but for the life of me I can't imagine why. That Spaniard's death was an accident. The poison bottle had been prepared to dispose of an aging python. Diaz drank it by mistake."
"Your star, Vittoria, tells a different story. She fears for her life. Does she have any enemies here?"
"None," Philip Rover assured us.
"What about Edith Everage?"
"Everage? She's one of the acrobats, isn't she?"
"So I understand," Holmes told him. "Was she ever considered for billing as the Circus Belle?"
"Edith Everage? Certainly not! We ran a nationwide contest to choose a beautiful woman for the part. Vittoria was the winner. Edith was never considered."
"Yet there have been two attempts on Vittoria's life, possibly by Edith."
"Did you get these ideas from my brother?" Philip asked, anger beginning to show on his face. "I must tell you our Circus Belle is a popular woman with the younger men here."
"Including Charles?" Holmes studied the man with his piercing gray eyes, but before he could say anything else there came a shout from the direction of the tiger's cage.
Philip Rover turned and started toward one of the clowns who'd yelled. "What is it?" he barked.
The clown came running over, trying to keep his voice low. "Mr Rover, something's wrong! I just looked under the canvas and Vittoria's in there with the tiger. I think she's dead."
The minutes that followed were a nightmare. Pushing the great beast back with long poles, the handlers finally were able to unlock the cage and pull the body out of its grasp. As a physician it fell upon me to examine Vittoria's body when it was removed from the cage. I had no trouble-pronouncing her dead, but the sight of that clawed, bloody face, with the dress virtually torn from her body, moved me to a great sadness. From her tiny feet to a gaping wound in her neck, there were claw marks everywhere.
Holmes watched it all in silence, and did not speak until I had finished my examination. "What do you think, Watson? Did the tiger kill her or not?"
It was not the first time I had found Holmes's reasoning a step ahead of my own. My eyes focused on the gaping neck wound. "His claws couldn't have made a wound like that and there seems to be no blood on his jaws or teeth."
"Exactly my thought! The woman was already dead when she was placed in the cage. It was covered with canvas and the killer expected it would not be found until show time." He turned to a pale Philip Rover. "Who had a key to this cage?"
"Only the animal's trainer. And I keep a spare one in my tent." "Does your brother have one?"
"I don't think so."
Charles Rover joined us then, summoned by the ringmaster. "What happened here?" he asked.
"Someone killed Vittoria and put her body in the tiger's cage," his brother told him.
"My God! Should we cancel the afternoon performance?"
Philip Rover scoffed at the idea. "We have five hundred people out there already, with more arriving every minute. The show will go on, but get this tiger cage out of here. The police will want to examine it."
I could see something was troubling Holmes, beyond the traumatic fact of the crime itself. "Did you gentlemen carry any insurance on the life of Vittoria Costello?" he inquired.
Philip brushed aside the question. "We have enough other expenses. I know of no circus that insures its performers. Why would you ask that?"
"In a death where there has been facial injury, one has to be certain of identification. Fraud of some sort is always a possibility."
"Go and look at the body," Philip told his younger brother. "Assure Mr Holmes of its identity."
Charles returned after a moment, the blood drained from his face. "It's Vittoria," he assured us. "There's no doubt. The ringmaster identified her too."
Sherlock Holmes nodded. "Then we must go about finding her killer."
"The circus isn't hiring you," Philip stated quite clearly. "This is a job for the local police."
"Ah! But they did not do well in Oxford, did they? The death of the Spaniard is still unsolved."
"I told you about that," Philip insisted. "It was an accident. We have no money for you, Mr Holmes."
"I was hired by Vittoria Costello to protect her," he informed them. "Now I must find her killer."
"Hired?" the younger brother repeated. "How is this possible?"
"She came to my lodgings in Baker Street yesterday, and told me of the incident with the horse and the poisoning of Diaz in Oxford. She feared the killer would succeed on his third attempt." He repeated some of what she had told us.
"But this is untrue!" Philip insisted. "She fell off that horse, as she had done before. And I have already told you the Spaniard's poisoning was a simple accident on his part. The poison was meant for a sick python."
"Why would she lie?" Holmes asked. "It would seem her death is all the evidence we need that she told the truth."
But the Rovers were already hurrying away to meet the police. A short time later, while the body was being removed through the big top's rear entrance, the spectators were finally allowed
inside. There was a buzz of speculation among them. They had
seen the police wagon draw up, and they knew something was amiss. Holmes and I took seats near the front of the grandstand,