‘Indeed no. Someone’s nose was put quite seriously out of joint by the news that the new boy was getting top billing. Someone thought that if anyone should be getting top billing it was him. Someone thought that he and his lions were the reason people came to Bradley and Stoke’s Circus.
‘Now the finale of Abe’s act is to lift a barbell above his head. Two enormous iron balls, it is, on either end of a long iron bar. He gets two men from the audience and asks them to try to lift it, you know, to prove how heavy it is. First one tries, then the other, then both together, and even between them they can barely lift the thing. One afternoon, as the show was being set up, someone removed the two enormous iron balls and the heavy iron bar from the trolley and replaced them with two papier-maché balls on either end of a broom handle, all painted grey. The stage hands wheeled the barbell out on the trolley, just like always. Abe selected his two volunteers – big enough to look like they should be able to lift it, but never too big in case they actually could. He had the first one attempt to lift it, and of course it shot up into the air like it was made of paper and paste. Unluckily for Abe he’d picked a show-off, and this chap chucked the thing in the air, twirled it around, threw it to his friend... the audience were crying with laughter. They thought it was part of the act, but Abe was mortified.’
‘He probably should have kept it in the show; it sounds marvellous,’ I said.
‘Actually, it was rather fun,’ he said, ‘but Abe didn’t see it like that. And he knew exactly who was responsible. He knew that Gus had meant to humiliate him and never forgave him.’
‘But, really,’ I said, ‘It’s all a little convoluted. Murdering a man so that another man will be falsely accused of murder as revenge for a practical joke?’
‘In my defence,’ said Colonel Dawlish, ‘I still think Gus killed Huey Parvin by locking him in the lion cage. Abraham Bernbaum is a charmingly gentle man who lost his temper a few years ago. It’s you two who were trying to make things complicated; I just told you another everyday story of circus folk.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Lady Hardcastle, decisively, ‘let’s interview them both. Augustus Noakes the lion tamer is the bookies’ favourite, and Abraham Bernbaum the strongman is the 100-1 outsider who may be worth an each way bet.’
‘I never had you pegged for a gambling gal,’ said Colonel Dawlish.
She took his face in both her hands. ‘My poor, na?ve little darling,’ she said and kissed his forehead, ‘there’s so much you don’t know about me.’
He laughed.
‘Hurry, servant,’ she said. ‘Fetch hats and gloves, we are bound for the circus to speak to a lion tamer and a strongman. George, you need to do whatever it is you need to do if you want to open tonight; we’ll make our enquiries as discreetly as we can.’
As we approached the circus entrance we could see that there was some sort of commotion within. We were met at the box office by a flustered Mickey O’Bannon.
‘Thank the lord you’ve come, boss,’ said the Irishman. ‘Where the devil have you been?’
‘I’ve been with my friends,’ said Colonel Dawlish indicating Lady Hardcastle and me. ‘Whatever’s the matter now?’
‘It’s Gus, boss.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s dead, boss, God rest his soul.’ He crossed himself.
‘He’s what?’ exclaimed Colonel Dawlish. ‘How?’
‘Crushed, boss. We found him about an hour ago, backstage. He had one of Abe’s barbells across his chest, pinning him down, and one of those iron weights he uses... crushed the poor fella’s head, so it did. Burst it like a grape.’
‘My god,’ said Dawlish, obviously stunned. ‘Who else knows?’
Mr O’Bannon swept his arm to indicate the hubbub and commotion inside the camp. ‘Pretty much everyone, I’d say.’
‘Right, we need to keep this on the QT. No one leaves the camp. No one says anything to outsiders except Lady Hardcastle and Miss Armstrong. Understood? Spread the word; it’s a family affair. Then get me Abe. I need a word with him.’
‘Really, George!’ said Lady Hardcastle, angrily. ‘Two suspicious deaths and you’re going to keep it quiet? I can’t be party to this, I really can’t. You have to tell the police. I’m going to get Sergeant Dobson right this minute.’ She turned to go.
‘O’Bannon,’ said Colonel Dawlish with a nod towards Lady Hardcastle.
The prize fighter took two steps towards her and went to lay his hand on her arm to stop her from leaving. But before he managed to touch her, I had seized his arm, turned it away and thrown him across my hip. Within moments he was face-down on the grass with my knee in his back and his right arm twisted painfully behind him.
‘Please don’t try to move, Mr O’Bannon,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s a tricky hold and something might get broken.’ I gave his arm a little tweak to emphasize his predicament.
‘As I said, George,’ said Lady Hardcastle, coldly. ‘I’m going to fetch Sergeant Dobson. He’s a sensible, practical man and I’m sure I can persuade him that discretion is of the utmost importance. But the police will be involved, and you and your staff will cooperate. I promised that I shall do everything I can to help you, George, and I shall, because that’s what friends do. But what I shall not do is break the law. And I never expected a friend to ask me to.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Emily. You can’t. You’ll ruin us.’
‘I can and I must. And you’ll not be ruined, not if I can help it. You must trust me, George.’ She looked at him sternly for a moment as he calmed slowly down. ‘Now release Mr O’Bannon, Armstrong.’
I gently let O’Bannon’s arm fall back into a more natural position and stood up, careful not to press my knee into his back as I did so. He got slowly to his feet, massaging his shoulder and took a step towards me. I readied myself for an attack but he held out his hand.
‘Don’t worry, girlie,’ he said. ‘My old da’ taught me never to get into a fight I wasn’t certain I could win.’
I reached out my own hand and he grasped it and shook it solemnly. He leaned in close.
‘That was quite something, girlie,’ he said quietly in my ear so that the others couldn’t hear. ‘I never even saw you moving. Now the colonel here, he’s a nervous fella, and he sees disaster round ever corner. But me, I’m more of a philosophical sort. I don’t trust the police as a rule – I’ve had more than my fair share of run-ins with them – but I reckon I’m a pretty good judge of character. I had a pint or two with your man Sergeant Dobson the other night and I reckon we can trust him. I reckon we can trust your mistress, too. I see things getting out of hand here and us getting into even deeper water if we try things the colonel’s way, so you go with her to the police station and I’ll calm the colonel.’
‘Thank you, Mr O’Bannon,’ I said, leaning back and looking him in the eye. ‘No hard feelings?’
‘None at all, girlie. And call me Mickey. You did what you had to do and no one can hold that against you. Just don’t go telling anyone how easily you took me down or I’ll be out of a job.’