by Pavel Kornev
That performance alone was worth visiting the circus.
"Breathtaking!" sighed Albert Brandt after the acrobats had finished bowing and were now off scene.
I was forced to agree with him. I had never seen anything like it.
The master of ceremonies came back out and announced:
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we will have a performance from a virtuoso of scientific hypnosis, Maestro Marlini!"
The music went silent, and an imposing looking gentleman swaggered out into the arena. He must have been forty or forty-five years old to look at him. His hair was gray, and his face was swarthy. Unlike most magicians, the maestro didn't wear a tailcoat, but a simple business suit. He did not break any of the other rules of the trade, though. He started with simple tricks, guessing people's thoughts and forcing them to remember things long forgotten. Only after that did his assistants start to bring out props.
"I need a volunteer from the audience!" the maestro announced after his assistants had finished affixing a tightrope to two pillars some distance apart.
There was no lack of willing participants. They even had to draw straws.
"Now good sir, if you’d kindly attempt to walk the tightrope," the hypnotist said to an ungainly gentleman with a considerably sized beer belly. "You needn’t fear, it's quite simple."
The volunteer lurched up onto the rope and, as could have been expected, jumped off after just two steps. The tightrope had already started swaying forcefully. Thankfully, it was less than a meter high.
"It really is quite simple!" Maestro Marlini declared. And, in confirmation of these words, one of the acrobats returned to the arena; with mocking ease, he walked the tightrope, bowed to the audience and ran backstage once again.
"Man is capable of more than he knows. All one must do is liberate his hidden reserves!" the hypnotist cried out when the screams and laughter had died down. "The brain is a unique tool. Very few are able to access even a quarter of its abilities!"
The audience started laughing again, and the hypnotist got a pocket watch from his vest and started swinging it on its chain before the reddened face of the embarrassed volunteer.
"Three! Two! One!" the maestro counted off loudly and demanded: "To the rope!"
The unwieldy gentleman calmly stepped onto the hanging tightrope, walked confidently across it to the opposite pillar, then walked back. Just before he’d reached the end, the hypnotist abruptly snapped his fingers, taking him out of the trance. The man instantly lost all confidence and nearly fell over as he jumped down.
"Voila!" declared Maestro Marlini, releasing the volunteer who was no less mesmerized than the crowd. He then called for another: "Well, does anyone remain, who dares doubt the power of the human mind?"
This time, the assistants brought out two stands. On one, there were three huge oranges. On the other, there were three felt balls of similar dimension.
"First, let me ask: do you know how to juggle?" the hypnotist asked a skeptically inclined old man. Based on his dashing appearance, he was retired military.
"No, sir," he chuckled back.
"We'll see about that." The magician took out the oranges and began throwing them into the air one after the other, tossing them from one hand to the next. "Watch and learn!"
"You can't teach an old dog new tricks," the volunteer said, shaking his head. But the maestro continued juggling the oranges. At some point, the old man became so far removed from reality that, as soon as the hypnotist asked, he closed his eyes and made a fairly skillful repetition of the hypnotist's primitive trick.
"Did you think we were done?" asked Maestro Marlini, leading his gaze over the silent audience. "Well, think again!"
He poured fire-starter fluid over the felt balls and struck a match on the side of the box; a colorless flame instantly rose up.
The old man threw, then caught the oranges over and over like a wind-up doll. And even when one of the hypnotist's assistants grabbed the fruits and placed them on the pillar, his hands stayed in motion as if nothing had happened.
Someone started laughing, and Maestro Marlini put a finger to his lips. Meanwhile, an assistant extended a gloved hand and grabbed one of the burning balls, throwing it to the volunteer still immersed in a trance. He didn't notice the change and started juggling them as he had earlier juggled the oranges. The audience gasped.
"Pain is all in our heads," the hypnotist declared at the same time. "But the abilities of the mind and body are limitless! Nothing mystical, nothing magical! Nothing but scientific knowledge!" He looked at the juggler and continued with a smile: "So then, we've been paying too little attention tonight to our charming ladies. Are there any valiant women out there in tonight’s audience...?"
Before he managed to continue, a girl with an alluring figure came out into the arena, and my heart gave a moan. I recognized her. It was none other than Elizabeth-Maria von Nalz, daughter of the inspector general and the love of my whole life.
"Oh! I admire decisiveness in people, my lovely mademoiselle!" laughed Maestro Marlini, kissing her hand and gracefully removing the glove from her thin feminine hand. "No tricks!" he announced as he led his hand before the face of Elizabeth-Maria. Then, suddenly, he stabbed a long knitting needle right through her hand.
Everyone just gasped, and I jumped out of place.
"Sit down," Albert pushed me back. "Calm yourself, I've seen this number before."
This number? He put a knitting needle straight through her palm!
Seeing it had a sinister effect on me.
"Pain is in our heads!" the hypnotist repeated insistently, carefully pulling the needle out and, with an automatized snap of his fingers, broke the trance.
Elizabeth-Maria looked in astonishment at her hand, kissed the magician on the cheek and hurried back to her seat.
"So, you see," Albert Brandt noted phlegmatically. "Just a trick!"
At that moment, six assistants brought out several long troughs filled with red-hot coals. The light from above was turned off. An eerie crimson glow poured out of the improvised path into the semi-darkness of the ring. A piece of paper thrown onto the coals quickly went black and caught fire.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is technically possible that there are undercover acrobats and jugglers in the audience. And it's also possible that our mademoiselle here could be one of the unique individuals that do not experience any pain whatsoever. But red-hot coals are another matter. I hope none of you suspect that I’ve planted a covert Indian yogi."
The audience replied with laughter, but not totally confident. Everyone was waiting for the culmination.
"Any volunteers? I need two people!" Maestro Marlini raised his voice. "No worries, we'll pay if this lands you in the hospital!"
This time, the audience's laughter was utterly nervous.
In the end, two people came up: a grown young man in a shabby suit from the back rows and a well-mannered pipsqueak with pomaded hair from the middle of the stands. Even if one were so inclined, imagining this duo as undercover yogis was quite beyond the pale.
"One thousand francs!" Maestro Marlini said to the younger of them. "One thousand francs if you make it to the end! And a hundred just for trying!"
Without hesitation, the young man took off his well-worn boots and socks, rolled up his pants and walked up to the glowing path.
"You may begin!" The hypnotist gave his permission. "Pray, begin!"
The young man bristled up nervously but, all the same, walked onto the coals. To my surprise, he made it a few steps, going faster and faster before he had to jump off onto the sawdust with his feet scorched black. The hypnotist's assistants immediately jumped over to him, put him on a stretcher and brought him backstage.
A grave-like silence came over the hall.
"Well?" Maestro Marlini turned to the second volunteer. "Are you still prepared to risk it? Do you believe in the power of the mind as fervently as I?"
The short man swallowed spasmodically and started
taking off his shoes. The audience started buzzing.
And again, the hypnotist took out his pocket watch. This time, it took him a minute or two to get ready. Then, the dandy walked calmly over to the red-hot coal path and walked across it from beginning to end.
The audience erupted into applause, and the master of ceremonies came quickly out into the arena.
"Inter-r-r-mission!" he announced. "Ladies and gentlemen, after the break you can expect trained carnivores, miraculous tricks and the crowning number: splitting a lady in two! Hurry back for the second act!"
But everyone hurried off to the concession area.
I threw myself back into my chair and patted down my perspired forehead with a handkerchief.
"It's all just tricks," Albert reminded me. "Want some cognac?" he offered and immediately waved his hand. "Ah, that's right! You don't drink!" he said as he left the box, whistling quietly to himself.
I sat there for a bit then got up and walked the passage between sections to the exit. On my way, I suddenly bumped into Elizabeth-Maria as she hurried the other way. Her hat was adorned with a fresh rose. Her narrow waist was pulled in with a belt, and she looked unbelievably attractive in her fashionably-cut dress, white blouse and jacket.
"Good evening," I greeted her, not at all hoping she'd recognize me, but the girl unexpectedly slowed her gait.
"Viscount Cruce!" she exclaimed. "What a meeting! Daddy's devilishly ornery with you!"
"Is that so?" I babbled back. "Again?"
"Oh, yes!" Elizabeth-Maria came closer and whispered: "He'll never forgive the fact that you beat them to Procrustes."
"He told you that?"
"That it was you that shot the monster?" the girl smiled, orange sparks flying in her colorless white eyes. "Yes, he did! He couldn’t keep from strutting in vexation!"
The inspector general's daughter started walking away and then I, in a fitful attempt to continue the conversation, blurted out:
"How's your hand?"
"Hand?" Elizabeth-Maria asked in surprise. She laughed back: "Oh, Viscount! Maestro Marlini is simply a genius! Just look for yourself!" she said, extending her thin palm. I touched it carefully and, barely holding back my shaking, said:
"Simply unbelievable!"
"I've been at all the maestro's performances. He really is unbelievable!" the girl said in admiration. "He's performing tomorrow at a reception at Baron Dürer's place. I'll be there, too. What about you?"
No one had invited me to a dinner party at the house of the aluminum king, but I just said mysteriously:
"I don't even know. I'm working on two investigations right now..."
"Oh, you must be there, Viscount. It will be such fun," the girl assured me and hurried down the corridor.
I took off my glasses and followed her with a persistent gaze. Then, I waited in line to buy a mineral water with syrup and took a seat on a free bench. The bell rang. Intermission was over, but I couldn't get up. I was too thrown off by the unexpected meeting.
My heart was beating unevenly with nervous breaks and bursts, at times causing my breathing to seize up. A cup of water helped to calm my nerves, but I didn't want to go back into the performance hall, so I stayed on the bench.
I just sat out the whole second act like that. When the audience finally thronged out to the exit, without even wanting to, I got up and grabbed Albert Brandt, surrounded by elated admirers.
"Leo!" he said in surprise. "Where'd you disappear off to? I completely lost you!"
"Nowhere."
"It can't be that Maestro Marlini made such a strong impression on you, can it?" the poet laughed. "Tomorrow, he and I will be entertaining guests at Baron Dürer's reception!" he said. He leaned in to me and whispered: "Unfortunately, I cannot bring you with me. I myself was invited by the aluminum king's personal secretary..."
I shrugged my shoulders, not at all upset by the fact.
And though I had slightly bent the truth in talking about investigating two crimes at once, Elizabeth-Maria would surely be accompanied to the reception by her fiancé. What need did I have to watch them and kick myself in vexation? None at all.
"Are you going to go home now?" I asked the poet.
Albert Brandt turned to his awaiting admirers and shook his head:
"No, I do not believe I am."
"See you tomorrow, then."
"The reception is at four," the poet warned me. "I won't be home the second half of the day."
"So, I guess I'll see you the day after tomorrow," I smiled. "I won't be available for the first half of the day."
We said our farewells; Albert led the admirers of his work into the nearest drinking establishment, and I went outside, stood on the top step of the circus entrance and leaned heavily on my cane. I just stood and admired the smooth black surface of the Yarden, reflecting back all the riverbank street lights.
"I’m surprised to see you here!" came a voice from behind my back.
I turned and found myself face to face with a slender gentleman in a floor-length cloak with a white scarf thrown carelessly around his neck.
Bastian Moran, may he die in an explosion!
But I didn't ask what the devil Department Three wanted from me. Instead, I smiled and quipped:
"Indeed! What a small world this is, senior inspector!"
Bastian Moran raised a steep eyebrow in feigned surprise.
"I wouldn't be hearing a note of sarcasm in your voice, would I, Viscount?" he inquired. "You cannot seriously suppose that you're being followed?"
"You don't look like much of a circus aficionado."
"True, but I am also not the type to thoughtlessly waste human resources on following such a predictable gentleman as yourself," the senior inspector noted. "Bearing in mind your friendship with a certain poet, I knew where to look. How your talented friend spends his time is a secret to no one."
"Is there a particular reason you were looking for me?" I asked, digging out the very essence of his reply. "Have you finally arrested the bank robbers' accomplice?"
"We have not," Bastian Moran answered calmly. "Yet," he added, looking around and suggesting: "Would you like to take a walk down the embankment?"
I didn't refuse. We left the crowd of viewers heading home after the show, and walked down the riverbank in the light of the gas lamps.
"When was the last time you saw your uncle, Viscount?" the senior inspector asked suddenly.
"Has something happened?" I stopped, leaning on my cane.
"Answer the question!" Bastian Moran demanded, all his courtesy instantly sapped.
I winced and stated unconfidently:
"The Count and I last spoke on the day of the bank robbery, senior inspector."
"And you haven’t spoken since?"
"No," I shook my head. "I tried calling this morning, but the line was malfunctioning. I had to speak with his attorney. But, what happened?"
Bastian Moran took out a pack of Chesterfields, lit one up and looked at the river.
"An attack was made last night on your uncle's estate."
"Is the Count alright?" I immediately asked.
"Nowhere to be found," the senior inspector answered curtly. "Our current thinking is that he was not home for the attack."
"What rotten luck," I joked back unkindly and waved my hand. "Pay it no mind. I'm just angry."
"Considering the imbroglio between the two of you, Viscount, I'm afraid I have to ask what you were doing last night."
For a moment, I lost my place.
"You suspect me? Really?"
"We're following up on all leads."
I chuckled:
"This time, I'm lucky enough to have an alibi. At midnight, I was handing over the remains of Procrustes to detectives in the Chinese Quarter."
Bastian Moran nodded and made a fully expected clarification:
"And the second half of the night?"
"Ramon and I went back to my place. We went up to the top of Calvary and looked at the city,
coming back to our senses. It's not every day that you kill a legend, you know," I said, smiling as I told the pre-agreed lie. "And though you might suspect Ramon of wanting to help me with a false alibi, it would have been impossible for me to even get out there."
"I suppose then that you were not a passenger on the night train headed in that direction, then?"
"No, senior inspector, I was not."
Bastian Moran took a last puff of his cigarette and threw the butt into a cast-iron ashcan.
"Alright," he nodded, not clear at what, and went silent.
"Allow me to ask," I then said. "What happened? It cannot be the same uncatchable gang that robbed that bank, can it?"
"What makes you say that, Viscount?"
"I don't believe in coincidences."
"The robbers were there, that much is certain," Bastian Moran confirmed. "The tire marks in the mud by the gates are identical to the ones we found at the scene of the robbery."
I nodded and returned to the river. I could see the little yellow lights of the carriages crossing a bridge over the Yarden. They were taking home audience members after the show. I suddenly wanted to be in one of them, not playing cat and mouse with an agent of the all-powerful Department Three, but just going home to my family or friends.
But the passing weakness left on its own. I sighed and asked:
"And now, you suppose my uncle was somehow connected with the bank robbery?"
"I don't suppose anything," Bastian Moran said with a dismissive wave, pulling on his kid-leather gloves. "I'm more interested in the check for ten thousand francs signed by your uncle. Where did you get it, Viscount?"
"Did the maître file a complaint?" I chuckled, not at all surprised by this turn of events, and certainly not afraid or thrown off balance. I didn't care at all.