‘I took her some tea about half an hour ago,’ I said, ‘but she’s not been downstairs yet.’
‘Here I am,’ said Lady Hardcastle, fastening her dressing gown as she came down the stairs. ‘Whatever’s the matter, George? What’s all the racket about? Can’t a girl get some rest?’
‘I’ve just come from the police station,’ he said. ‘Something awful’s happened.’
‘Well don’t just stand there,’ she said, ‘come in and tell us. Flo, let the poor chap in.’
I stood aside and he swept in.
‘Tea in the drawing room, I think,’ she said, and led the way.
As quickly as I could, I made a pot of tea and prepared a tray. I took it through and found them deep in conversation.
‘Ah, Flo, thank you,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What? No cup for you? Fetch yourself one and join us; I think you’d better hear this.’
A few moments later I was sitting in an armchair sipping my tea while Colonel Dawlish retold his story.
‘At about six this morning I was taking a walk around the camp, checking a few things, you know. I don’t usually wander down through the animal cages – I’ll be honest, those blessed lions put the wind up me a bit. Gus – that’s Augustus, the lion tamer, he was with us at dinner last night – Gus says they’re just giant moggies but I’ve never been comfortable. Anyway, they’d been unusually quiet this morning. Ordinarily there’s a good deal of territorial roaring before breakfast but I hadn’t heard a peep out of them. So I took a stroll down through the animal wagons and there they were, the pair of them, fast asleep at one end of their cage. There was a pile of rags at the other, near the door. I thought, that’s a bit rum, someone leaving a mess there like that – you have to be dashed careful with these wild animals, you know, surprisingly fragile constitutions, some of them, doesn’t take much to upset them – and I went over to take a closer look. It wasn’t a pile of rags at all. It was Huey. Hubert Parvin. The juggler. Dead.’
‘Gracious,’ I said. ‘How? The lions?’
‘Yes, from the state of him I’d say he got into the cage for some reason and they mauled him to death.’
‘Gracious,’ I said again, vacuously.
‘Obviously I had to tell the police and they got the local doctor in.’
‘Doctor Fitzsimmons,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘That’s the chap,’ he said. ‘So he and your Sergeant Dobson – he seems like a practical fellow, ex-army I’d bet – they said it looked for all the world like a tragic accident, but if I wanted to be sure I should talk to you two. Dobson told me a frankly astonishing tale about a hanged shipping clerk and the evil wife of a wealthy businessman. And now here I am.’
I was about to say, ‘Gracious,’ again but caught myself just in time.
‘And why aren’t you sure?’ asked Lady Hardcastle instead. ‘Why isn’t it an accident?’
‘Huey was in the cage. On his own. In the middle of the night. And the cage door was locked.’
‘Could he have locked himself in?’ I asked.
‘He could in theory,’ he said. ‘The lock works from the inside as well as out.’
‘But in practice?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘He didn’t have a key with him. Nor was there one anywhere around. I looked most carefully.’
‘Did you mention this to Dobson?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? He’s already open to the possibility of it being murder, so why not confirm it and let him take it to the Bristol CID?’
‘Because I imagined he’d want to close us down while the CID came in and investigated.’
‘And...?’
‘And we can’t afford it. We’re in the most awful trouble. Financially, I mean. We can’t afford to close down while the police trample all over the place. We’d be ruined.’
‘So it’s all right to have a murderer on the loose as long as the circus stays open? Oh, George, surely you don’t think that.’
‘Of course not, Ems, that’s why I’ve come to you. Can’t you help clear it up? We can find out who’s responsible and hand them over to the police and everything will be kushti.’
‘Hmmm. Well. I’m not sure I’d do it for anyone else.’
‘But for me, Ems? Please?’ He looked so forlorn. ‘Can’t you help? I mean, I’ve helped the Provost Marshal with investigations in my time but to hear Sergeant Dobson and his man Hancock speak, you’re like a West Country version of Scotland Yard all on your own.’
‘Hardly, darling. We just did what the Bristol CID would have done if they could have been bothered. And more slowly, too. But of course we’ll help. Whatever we can do, we shall.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so very much.’
‘Think nothing of it, dear thing. Now, first things first. One presumes that the first person we should suspect would be the lion tamer. “Gus”, did you say?’
‘Augustus Noakes, yes. He definitely seems the most likely,’ said Colonel Dawlish.
‘And would he have a motive?’ I asked, trying to think of all the things we missed while trying to track down Frank Pickering’s killer.
‘Quite the strongest one I can think of: Hubert had an affair with his wife a few years ago, destroyed the marriage. She was one of the equestriennes. They thought they were being discreet, but of course everybody knew. She left Noakes shortly after and went to work at a riding school in Sussex.’
‘Is Noakes the sort of man to bear a grudge?’
‘I should say so. He was always having little digs at Parvin. Never let him forget it.’
‘Well, it looks as though you don’t need us at all,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’d say you’ve got a man with a strong motive for killing Hubert who very much had the means to kill him. I would wager that he intended to come back and unlock the cage after the lions had done their work and blame it on a drunken accident. He’d have wanted to leave the cage locked as long as possible to prevent the animals’ escape, but if he timed it right they might only have to be unlocked for a few minutes before someone found the body. He was just unlucky that you decided to go that way on your morning rounds. You didn’t usually visit the animals, you say?’
‘Not usually, no. It was just chance,’ he said.
‘So it does all point to Augustus Noakes. But then again,’ said Lady Hardcastle, thoughtfully, ‘we’ve jumped to the obvious conclusion before and been wrong. Whom else might one suspect?’
‘Well, there are the other one hundred and thirty-seven members of the circus. Everyone knows where the lion cage key is kept.’
Lady Hardcastle thought for a moment. ‘But some would find it easier than others to arrange to meet him in the dead of night and somehow manage to get him into the cage. To trick him or lure him. An acquaintance might very well be able to do it, but a friend would have a much easier time of it.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said.
‘So who were his friends? Who was part of Mr Parvin’s inner social circle?’
‘The nine others who dined with us last night were his closest pals. They’re the senior members of the troop, my junior officers and NCOs if you like. They’re almost always together.’