He put up his hands and covered his eyes as if to shut out some appalling vision, and for a moment or two nothing was heard but the low sobbing of the victim’s sister.
“As suddenly as that change had come over the beast, Mr. Cleek,” Scarmelli went on presently, “just so suddenly it passed, and it was the docile, affectionate animal it had been for years. It seemed to understand that some harm had befallen its favorite—for Henri was its favorite—and, curling itself up beside his body, it licked his hands and moaned disconsolately in a manner almost human. That’s all there is to tell, sir, save that at times the horrid change, the appalling smile, repeat themselves when either the chevalier or his son bend to put a head within its jaws, and but for their watchfulness and quickness the tragedy of that other awful night would surely be repeated. Sir, it is not natural; I know now, as surely as if the lion itself had spoken, that some one is at the bottom of this ghastly thing, that some human agency is at work, some unknown enemy of the chevalier’s is doing something, God alone knows what or why, to bring about his death as his son’s was brought about.”
And here, for the first time, the chevalier’s daughter spoke.
“Ah, tell him all, Jim, tell him all!” she said, in her pretty broken English. “Monsieur, may the good God in heaven forgive me if I wrong her; but—but— Ah, Monsieur Cleek, sometimes I feel that she, my stepmother, and that man, that ‘rider’ who knows not how to ride as the artist should, monsieur, I cannot help it, but I feel that they are at the bottom of it.”
“Yes, but why?” queried Cleek. “I have heard of your father’s second marriage, mademoiselle, and of this Signor Antonio Martinelli, to whom you allude. Mr. Narkom has told me. But why should you connect these two persons with this inexplicable thing? Does your father do so, too?”
“Oh, no! oh, no!” she answered excitedly. “He does not even know that we suspect, Jim and I. He loves her, monsieur. It would kill him to doubt her.”
“Then why should you?”
“Because I cannot help it, monsieur. God knows, I would if I could, for I care for her dearly, I am grateful to her for making my father happy. My brothers, too, cared for her. We believed she loved him; we believed it was because of that that she married him. And yet—and yet— Ah, monsieur, how can I fail to feel as I do when this change in the lion came with that man’s coming? And she—ah, monsieur, why is she always with him? Why does she curry favor of him and his rich friend?”
“He has a rich friend, then?”
“Yes, monsieur. The company was in difficulties; Monsieur van Zant, the proprietor, could not make it pay, and it was upon the point of disbanding. But suddenly this indifferent performer, this rider who is, after all, but a poor amateur and not fit to appear with a company of trained artists, suddenly this Signor Martinelli comes to Monsieur van Zant to say that, if he will engage him, he has a rich friend, one Señor Sperati, a Brazilian coffee planter, who will ‘back’ the show with his money, and buy a partnership in it. Of course M. van Zant accepted; and since then this Señor Sperati has traveled everywhere with us, has had the entrée like one of us, and his friend, the bad rider, has fairly bewitched my stepmother, for she is ever with him, ever with them both, and—and— Ah, mon Dieu! the lion smiles, and my people die! Why does it ‘smile’ for no others? Why is it only they, my father, my brother, they alone?”
“Is that a fact?” said Cleek, turning to young Scarmelli. “You say that all connected with the circus have so little fear of the beast that even attendants sometimes do this foolhardy trick? Does the lion never ‘smile’ for any of those?”
“Never, Mr. Cleek, never under any circumstances. Nor does it always smile for the chevalier and his son. That is the mystery of it. One never knows when it is going to happen; one never knows why it does happen. But if you could see that uncanny smile—”
“I should like to,” interposed Cleek. “That is, if it might happen without any tragical result. Hum-m-m! Nobody but the chevalier and the chevalier’s son! And when does it happen in their case, during the course of the show, or when there is nobody about but those connected with it?”
“Oh, always during the course of the entertainment, sir. Indeed, it has never happened at any other time—never at all.”
“Oho!” said Cleek. “Then it is only when they are dressed and made up for the performance, eh? Hum-m-m! I see.” Then he lapsed into silence for a moment, and sat tracing circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. But, of a sudden: “You came here directly after the matinée, I suppose?” he queried, glancing up at young Scarmelli.
“Yes; in fact, before it was wholly over.”
“I see. Then it is just possible that all the performers have not yet got into their civilian clothes. Couldn’t manage to take me round behind the scenes, so to speak, if Mr. Narkom will lend us his motor to hurry us there? Could, eh? That’s good. I think I’d like to have a look at that lion and, if you don’t mind, an introduction to the parties concerned. No! don’t fear; we won’t startle anybody by revealing my identity or the cause of the visit. Let us say that I’m a vet. to whom you have appealed for an opinion regarding Nero’s queer conduct. All ready, Mr. Narkom? Then let’s be off.”
Two minutes later the red limousine was at the door, and, stepping into it with his two companions, he was whizzed away to Olympia and the first step toward the solution of the riddle.
II
As it is the custom of those connected with the world of the circus to eat, sleep, have their whole being, as it were, within the environment of the show, to the total exclusion of hotels, boarding-houses, or outside lodgings of any sort, he found on his arrival at his destination the entire company assembled in what was known as the “living-tent,” chatting, laughing, reading, playing games and killing time generally whilst waiting for the call to the “dining-tent,” and this gave him an opportunity to meet all the persons connected with the “case,” from the “chevalier” himself to the Brazilian coffee planter who was “backing” the show.
He found this latter individual a somewhat sullen and taciturn man of middle age, who had more the appearance of an Austrian than a Brazilian, and with a swinging gait and an uprightness of bearing which were not to be misunderstood.
“Humph! Known military training,” was Cleek’s mental comment as soon as he saw the man walk. “Got it in Germany, too; I know that peculiar ‘swing.’ What’s his little game, I wonder? And what’s a Brazilian doing in the army of the Kaiser? And, having been in it, what’s he doing dropping into this line; backing a circus, and traveling with it like a Bohemian?”
But although these thoughts interested him, he did not put them into words nor take anybody into his confidence regarding them.
As for the other members of the company, he found “the indifferent rider,” known as Signor Antonio Martinelli, an undoubted Irishman of about thirty years of age, extremely handsome, but with a certain “shiftiness” of the eye which was far from inspiring confidence, and with a trick of the tongue which suggested that his baptismal certificate probably bore the name of Anthony Martin. He found, too, that all he had heard regarding the youth and beauty of the chevalier’s second wife was quite correct, and although she devoted herself a great deal to the Brazilian coffee planter and the Irish-Italian “Martinelli,” she had a way of looking over at her middle-aged spouse, without his knowledge, that left no doubt in Cleek’s mind regarding the real state of her feelings toward the man. And last, but not least by any means, he found the chevalier himself a frank, open-minded, open-hearted, lovable man, who ought not, in the natural order of things, to have an enemy in the world. Despite his high-falutin nom de théâtre, he was a Belgian, a big, soft-hearted, easy-going, unsuspicious fellow, who worshiped his wife, adored his children, and loved every creature of the animal world.
How well that love was returned, Cleek saw when he went with him to that part of the building where his animals were kept, and watched them “nose” his hand or lick his cheek whenever the
opportunity offered. But Nero, the lion, was perhaps the greatest surprise of all, for so tame, so docile, so little feared was the animal, that its cage door was open, and they found one of the attendants squatting cross-legged inside and playing with it as though it were a kitten.
“There he is, doctor,” said the chevalier, waving his hand toward the beast. “Ah, I will not believe that it was anything but an accident, sir. He loved my boy. He would hurt no one that is kind to him. Fetch him out, Tom, and let the doctor see him at close quarters.”
Despite all these assurances of the animal’s docility Cleek could not but remember what the creature had done, and, in consequence, did not feel quite at ease when it came lumbering out of the cage with the attendant and ranged up alongside of him, rubbing its huge head against the chevalier’s arm after the manner of an affectionate cat.
“Don’t be frightened, sir,” said Tom, noticing this. “Nothing more’n a big dog, sir. Had the care of him for eight years, I have—haven’t I, chevalier?—and never a growl or scratch out of him. No ‘smile’ for your old Tom, is there, Nero, boy, eh? No fear! Ain’t a thing as anybody does with him, sir, that I wouldn’t do off-hand and feel quite safe.”
“Even to putting your head in his mouth?” queried Cleek.
“Lor’, yes!” returned the man, with a laugh. “That’s nothing. Done it many a day. Look here!” With that he pulled the massive jaws apart, and, bending down, laid his head within them. The lion stood perfectly passive, and did not offer to close his mouth until it was again empty. It was then that Cleek remembered, and glanced round at young Scarmelli.
“He never ‘smiles’ for any but the chevalier and his son, I believe you said,” he remarked. “I wonder if the chevalier himself would be as safe if he were to make a feint of doing that?” For the chevalier, like most of the other performers, had not changed his dress after the matinée, since the evening performance was so soon to begin; and if, as Cleek had an idea, the matter of costume and make-up had anything to do with the mystery of the thing, here, surely, was a chance to learn.
“Make a feint of it? Certainly I will, doctor,” the chevalier replied. “But why a feint? Why not the actual thing?”
“No, please—at least, not until I have seen how the beast is likely to take it. Just put your head down close to his muzzle, chevalier. Go slow, please, and keep your head at a safe distance.”
The chevalier obeyed. Bringing his head down until it was on a level with the animal’s own, he opened the ponderous jaws. The beast was as passive as before; and, finding no trace of the coming of the mysterious and dreaded “smile,” he laid his face between the double row of gleaming teeth, held it there a moment, and then withdrew it uninjured. Cleek took his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it hard. What he had just witnessed would seem to refute the idea of either costume or make-up having any bearing upon the case.
“Did you do that to-day at the matinée performance, chevalier?” he hazarded, after a moment’s thoughtfulness.
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “It was not my plan to do so, however. I alter my performance constantly to give variety. To-day I had arranged for my little son to do the trick; but somehow— Ah! I am a foolish man, monsieur; I have odd fancies, odd whims, sometimes odd fears, since—since that awful night. Something came over me at the last moment, and just as my boy came into the cage to perform the trick I changed my mind. I would not let him do it. I thrust him aside and did the trick myself.”
“Oho!” said Cleek. “Will the boy do it to-night, then, chevalier?”
“Perhaps,” he made reply. “He is still dressed for it. Look, here he comes now, monsieur, and my wife, and some of our good friends with him. Ah, they are so interested, they are anxious to hear what report you make upon Nero’s condition.”
Cleek glanced round. Several members of the company were advancing toward them from the “living-tent.” In the lead was the boy, a little fellow of about twelve years of age, fancifully dressed in tights and tunic. By his side was his stepmother, looking pale and anxious. But although both Signor Martinelli and the Brazilian coffee planter came to the edge of the tent and looked out, it was observable that they immediately withdrew, and allowed the rest of the party to proceed without them.
“Dearest, I have just heard from Tom that you and the doctor are experimenting with Nero,” said the chevalier’s wife, as she came up with the others and joined him. “Oh, do be careful, do! Much as I like the animal, doctor, I shall never feel safe until my husband parts with it or gives up that ghastly ‘trick.’”
“My dearest, my dearest, how absurdly you talk!” interrupted her husband. “You know well that without that my act would be commonplace, that no manager would want either it or me. And how, pray, should we live if that were to happen?”
“There would always be my salary; we could make that do.”
“As if I would consent to live upon your earnings and add nothing myself! No, no! I shall never do that, never. It is not as though that foolish dream of long ago had come true, and I might hope one day to retire. I am of the circus, and of it I shall always remain.”
“I wish you might not; I wish the dream might come true, even yet,” she made reply. “Why shouldn’t it? Wilder ones have come true for other people; why should they not for you?”
Before her husband could make any response to this, the whole trend of the conversation was altered by the boy.
“Father,” he said, “am I to do the trick to-night? Señor Sperati says it is silly of me to sit about all dressed and ready if I am to do nothing, like a little super, instead of a performer, and an artist.”
“Oh, but that is not kind of the señor to say that,” his father replied, soothing his ruffled feelings. “You are an artist, of course; never super—no, never. But if you shall do the trick or not, I cannot say. It will depend, as it did at the matinée. If I feel it is right, you shall do it; but if I feel it is wrong, then it must be no. You see, doctor,” catching Cleek’s eye, “what a little enthusiast he is, and with how little fear.”
“Yes, I do see, chevalier; but I wonder if he would be willing to humor me in something? As he is not afraid, I’ve an odd fancy to see how he’d go about the thing. Would you mind letting him make the feint you yourself made a few minutes ago? Only, I must insist that in this instance it be nothing more than a feint, chevalier. Don’t let him go too near at the time of doing it. Don’t let him open the lion’s jaws with his own hands. You do that. Do you mind?”
“Of a certainty not, monsieur. Gustave, show the good doctor how you go about it when papa lets you do the trick. But you are not really to do it just yet, only to bend the head near to Nero’s mouth. Now then, come see.”
As he spoke he divided the lion’s jaws and signaled the child to bend. He obeyed. Very slowly the little head drooped nearer to the gaping, full-fanged mouth, very slowly and very carefully, for Cleek’s hand was on the boy’s shoulder, Cleek’s eyes were on the lion’s face. The huge brute was as meek and as undisturbed as before, and there was actual kindness in its fixed eyes. But of a sudden, when the child’s head was on a level with those gaping jaws, the lips curled backward in a ghastly parody of a smile, a weird, uncanny sound whizzed through the bared teeth, the passive body bulked as with a shock, and Cleek had just time to snatch the boy back when the great jaws struck together with a snap that would have splintered a skull of iron had they closed upon it.
The hideous and mysterious “smile” had come again, and, brief though it was, its passing found the boy’s sister lying on the ground in a dead faint, the boy’s stepmother cowering back, with covered eyes and shrill, affrighted screams, and the boy’s father leaning, shaken and white, against the empty cage and nursing a bleeding hand.
In an instant the whole place was in an uproar. “It smiled again! It smiled again!” ran in broken gasps from lip to lip; but through it all Cleek stood there, clutching the frightened child close to him, but not saying one word, not making on
e sound. Across the dark arena came a rush of running footsteps, and presently Señor Sperati came panting up, breathless and pale with excitement.
“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” he cried. “Is it the lion again? Is the boy killed? Speak up!”
“No,” said Cleek very quietly, “nor will he be. The father will do the trick to-night, not the son. We’ve had a fright and a lesson, that’s all.” And, putting the sobbing child from him, he caught young Scarmelli’s arm and hurried him away. “Take me somewhere that we can talk in safety,” he said. “We are on the threshold of the end, Scarmelli, and I want your help.”
“Oh, Mr. Cleek, have you any idea, any clue?”
“Yes, more than a clue. I know how, but I have not yet discovered why. Now, if you know, tell me what did the chevalier mean, what did his wife mean, when they spoke of a dream that might have come true but didn’t? Do you know? Have you any idea? Or, if you have not, do you think your fiancée has?”
“Why, yes,” he made reply. “Zelie has told me about it often. It is of a fortune that was promised and never materialized. Oh, such a long time ago, when he was quite a young man, the chevalier saved the life of a very great man, a Prussian nobleman of great wealth. He was profuse in his thanks and his promises, that nobleman; swore that he would make him independent for life, and all that sort of thing.”
The Detective Megapack Page 107