‘As the Head Clown I wonder if you can tell me what you think went wrong?
‘To be honest I don’t feel much like a clown after what has just happened. I’ve been in this business a long time and nothing like this has ever taken place. It’s scary and I don’t like the look of it!’
‘I agree. And if that had happened during a circus performance in front of a large audience it could have caused a panic of terrifying proportion.’
‘And loss of life as happened in the States during the circus fire in Connecticut. It’s a disaster we circus folk dread.’
‘Would you mind if I have a talk with you when I come back. I’m travelling back to London now but you may be able to throw more light on things once you’ve had a chance to give it some thought.’
‘No problem! I’d like to offer all the help I can.’
‘There’s one other thing I’d like to know. Does the circus carry any medieval pieces of armour?’
‘Yes it does. I believe they’re planning a magical act involving an armoured English knight.’
The smile on Giles’ face was all he could register, in reply, before Hank, the wire walker, dragged him away.
The journey from RAF Winkleigh to Eggesford was uneventful, with his American wire-walker driver being silent for much of the way. Giles had time to think about his future plans and on the train was able to concentrate on what he intended to do next.
The train was quite busy with passengers heading east to celebrate the New Year but he managed to get a seat and he drew out the list of possible suspects and added the name Allison Somerfield. He wondered about the clown he’d had a conversation with. Why had Ramon included him on that list in his pocket? He’d seemed like a decent guy and one to be trusted but, on occasions, first impressions could be deceptive. Giles smiled as he realised that theatrical magic was based on that premise.
His two nights at a place that had never existed had whetted his appetite for an attempt to solve a conundrum that was becoming more enigmatic by the hour. He rubbed the palms of his hands together and grinned at what he had to tell Freddie next time they met.
Before that, once he was back in his place at South Kensington, he must look out the Panama hat he often used when he and his ex-RAF friend went summer racing on the Sussex Downs.
Darkness had descended quite early that night when the taxi brought him to the door of his London flat. He went in, closed the door and immediately poured himself a whisky and green ginger.
He picked up the phone and made a quick call to Evesham to give Freddie news of how the visit had gone and to ask him when he was likely to be back in the big city for a tête-à-tête.
Giles had a couple of drinks from his crystal glass while he ran a hot bath.
His thoughts went back to his stay with the circus at Winkleigh. He recalled the events trying all the time to make some sense out of them.
As he undressed he commenced talking to himself again. ‘The plot thickens.’ His tired mind was starting to work overtime.
Searching for the Panama hat would have to wait till morning.
Chapter 4
DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS
The last day of the year began with a lengthy call on the phone from Senhor Mordomo who gave full instructions as to how Giles should get to the circus showpiece in the Soho strip club.
Tropicana was to be a Cuban-style extravaganza for invited guests to bring in the New Year and signify the emergence of a circus designed to bring back audiences in Britain which had been declining.
Patrons were being asked to wear linen suits or summer dresses with gentlemen in Panama hats to give the whole proceedings the aura of the authentic entertainment, by the same name, in Cuba’s capital city of Havana.
The circus boss hoped Giles would be there, not only to enjoy the show, but to meet the circus stars, some of whom were on the list Giles took back with him to London.
The Professor pondered for a while; an evening in a Soho strip club was hardly the venue Giles would choose to spend Hogmanay but beggars can’t be choosers and, with a job to do, he convinced himself that the visit might pay dividends.
He found the Panama in a hat box in his wardrobe and the linen suit, that hadn’t been worn since last summer, was given an airing in the bathroom with the window slightly open.
He phoned for a taxi to come for him at about 7.30 p.m. and spent the remainder of the day relaxing and making a few notes about his stay at the circus winter quarters.
Hank Findley, the tightrope walker, Ingrid Dahlberg, the lady knife thrower, Eva Zigana, the fortune teller, and Chuck Marstow, the clown, were possible suspects in a conspiracy to topple Senhor Mordomo.
There was also a suspicion about the magician’s assistant, Allison Somerfield, though Giles couldn’t quite explain why, apart from the fact that she could have been responsible for the fire in the clown scene.
He had a bite to eat at a local bistro and plunged himself into a receptive mood for the evening ahead.
The black cab arrived bang on time and Giles was greeted by a cabbie who was hooting with laughter as he opened the door.
‘Strike me pink! You’re not thinking of going racing are you guv? Glorious Goodwood doesn’t take place till the end of July. You’re seven months too early. And it’s bloody dark out ‘ere.’
Giles got into the cab shaking his head and almost losing the hat in the process.
The irreverent-sounding cabbie closed the door and dashed smartly round the other side.
‘I know’, he said with deference as he got in. ‘You’re going to a fancy dress ball. Where can I drop you off?
The Prof sighed disconsolately as he adjusted his hat and tried to steal a glance in the driver’s mirror.
‘As a matter of fact I’m heading for Soho…’
He got no further as the cabbie looked over his shoulder. ‘Ooh you naughty boy! I can’t blame you though as it’s not a bad way to end the year.’
‘The place I’m going to is Tropicana.’ Exasperation showed in Giles’ voice. ‘It’s a special show by a bigwig Cuban circus owner who wants his guests to be dressed like they do when the show is on in Havana. That’s the reason for the Panama hat, smarty pants!’
‘Well sit back and I’ll get you there but what you’re wearing shouldn’t be called a Panama hat. For what it’s worth a lot of us cabbies are real life smarty pants. It seems a lot of us have an enlarged hippocampus which is located towards the back of the brain.’
‘Is that so? Not many people know that! And when I bought this hat it was called a Panama!’
‘All I said was it shouldn’t be called a Panama. You see they’re made in the small town of Montecristo, in Ecuador, so they should be renamed Ecuador hats!’
‘So why are they called Panamas?’ Giles was reaching the stage of mild excitement when he was confronted with co-incidence.
‘I suppose it’s because Panama was where they were primarily sold. The most expensive ones are made from the Toquilla Palm Leaf grown in the coastal lowlands of Ecuador…’
‘You have just made my day!’ interposed a cheerful Giles as he settled back in his seat. ‘You have given another interesting example of something that goes by a name that isn’t strictly correct. And I’m beginning to see the light.’
‘I’m very glad to hear that. We’re nearly there, guv. Give me a call when you’re ready to go back. I’m on till late tonight.’
‘I most certainly will. You’ve been great company.’
Giles got out and paid his fare refusing to accept any change. He doffed his hat in deference to the cabbie and smiled at the lucky break he’d had of being driven in a black cab by a driver…with an enlarged hippocampus.
The neon sign that glowed above the dingy building had the single word TROPICANA in coloured lettering and the light rain on the pavement outside glittered with splashes from an artist’s palette.
Inside he was told he should keep his hat on by the girl at reception and he was then shown
downstairs to where a band was tuning up.
He was immediately greeted by Senhor Mordomo who shook him vigorously by the hand and led him to a large table where several men and women were seated.
The room was spacious and was lavishly decorated giving it a Mardi Gras effect; more so than one could have imagined from the upstairs reception area.
Long-legged girls in short skirts came round with drinks and trays of Cuban delicacies and Giles was speedily engaged in conversation with some of the people he’d met at RAF Winkleigh.
A resounding roll on the drums followed by a crash of cymbals brought everyone’s eyes towards the band where the circus supremo was on his feet with a microphone in front of him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the Press, welcome to Tropicana. You are invited to a preview that I hope will have you giving my circus first class coverage in your newspapers and magazines. Before the evening is over you will be entertained by the kind of show visitors to Cuba’s capital city regard as the best.’
‘Prior to the evening’s entertainment, which will include a mind-blowing act never before seen in any circus, allow me to introduce certain of my celebrities whose skill, artistry and mystery will captivate audiences, young and old, nationwide.’
Firstly he introduced the leader of his band who bowed to his audience. He was a well-built individual with thinning brown hair by the name of Felix Reiser.
Next in line was Sebastian Capuzzo, the Ringmaster. He was tall with dark hair brushed well back and Giles put his photographic memory into action. Both men were on the list, given him by Ramon, and both looked more than capable of leading a circus if they wanted to.
Each of those at the table where Giles was seated stood at the mention of their names. All of them were on that same list except Rodrigo Gomez who was the trainer of Khan, the Bengal Tiger. He was a swarthy character with a weather-beaten face, broad shoulders and slim waist and hips.
Giles was the final person to be announced: Ramon describing him as someone the circus was proud to have assisting with new ideas about the use of illusion in their show.
When the applause died down the circus magnate then encouraged everyone to partake of the refreshments before the evening entertainment started.
The short break that followed the introduction of the circus elite gave Giles the opportunity to chat and get to know each of them. The broad profile of everyone on his list was mentally catalogued for the next meeting with Freddie Oldsworth when Giles would proceed to let his friend have their details before his next visit to the winter quarters.
A roll on the drums brought conversation to a halt. Sebastian Capuzzo, the Ringmaster, stood with a microphone in his hand, in front of the band.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, Circus Tropicana is proud to present our tribute to the authentic Tropicana floor show that is Havana’s greatest entertainment. Tropicana is possibly the oldest and most lavish cabaret in the world and we hope we can recreate, in miniature, the spectacularly colourful show once enjoyed by the author Hemingway, and his associates.’
The band struck up immediately with lively Latin American music and a group of scantily clad dancers took to the floor. What little costumes were in evidence were brilliantly exciting and the dancing was slick and stimulating.
Giles was captivated and as each act ended another began with a different set of dancers. Vocalists interpreted the music which jumped between Cuban and Brazilian.
When the breathtaking spectacle was over, with a crescendo of percussion instruments, the Ringmaster appeared as the loud applause began to subside.
‘Thank you for your show of appreciation but, as I made clear earlier, you are now about to witness an act never before seen in any circus.’
He pointed to the clock in the room. ‘It is less than an hour until the New Year is welcomed in your country. In a short space of time you are going to see a balancing act with a difference. Because of the serious nature of this act I must ask you all not to applaud until the act is over.’
While he was speaking several assistants entered carrying two heavy metal stands. They were triangular in shape and, when placed side by side, two to three feet apart, with metal struts joining them together, they formed a staircase up one side and down the other.
The Ringmaster paused for effect; his eyes searched his audience. Five girls entered wearing colourful diaphanous pantaloons, with matching tops. In their hands they each carried two swords.
‘The swords you see are Falchion – one-handed single-edged swords similar to the Persian Scimitar. These large-bladed weapons, shaped like a large cleaver or machete, combine the weight and power of an axe with the versatility of a sword.’ The ringmaster’s words had the full attention of the visiting media.
The girls slipped the swords into grooves on each stand so that they lay parallel with the metal struts but with the cutting edge uppermost.
When the girls had completed their task a young man entered the arena; he was wearing flesh-coloured tights but was stripped to the waist, demonstrating his fine physique.
‘Ladies and gentlemen when you enter a circus you buy a ticket for a fantasy. It is now my pleasure to introduce Leonardo from Ecuador. This will be the very first time members of the public have been privileged to see his balancing act – the act of the century.’
The young acrobat rubbed the palms of his hands with a white powder.
‘The Death of a Thousand Cuts was a barbaric form of torture practised in China,’ the ringmaster continued his explanation to a hushed audience. ‘It lasted from the tenth century until it was abolished around 1905. Leonardo will now attempt to defy the death of a thousand cuts by climbing up and down the staircase of swords while balancing on his hands.’
A gentle roll on the drums led the ringmaster into his final announcement.
‘There is a metal spar running alongside each sword to assist balance but his hands have to come into contact with the cutting edge of each blade and any slight altering of his weight can result in serious injury. I therefore ask you to remain silent throughout the performance. Thank you.’
The drum roll stopped and slowly the Ecuador athlete began his hand balancing act. He placed both hands on the floor and little by little eased both legs upwards until he was in an upside down position.
He approached the foot of the Falchion staircase and with a slight sway of the legs from the waist he placed one hand on the cutting edge of the first sword.
Holding that position for a few seconds he followed by placing the other hand on the same blade.
The balancing climb continued to the second sword as spectators held their breath.
Every eye in the room was fixed on the lean figure as he climbed to the third rung of the sword ladder. His lithe body swaying slightly to the rhythm of each hand movement had a hypnotic effect on those who watched with unblinking eyes and quickening pulses.
The fourth rung was reached when a slight cough in the room caused a tiny tremor in the balanced form.
There was only a momentary pause then Leonardo was at the top and beginning his downward movement. It was as his hands moved on to the second blade from the top that, for the first time, a distinct sign of pain appeared in the body of the balancing artist.
Giles stiffened when a red fluid slowly oozed between the fingers of the acrobat as he moved down one more rung. The fluid was apparently mixing with the whiteness of the resin type powder on the young man’s hands and was now starting to cover the blades on which he was balancing.
Balancing was now in the past tense: for the body, which had been upside down for more than five minutes, was already losing equilibrium.
Giles was a fraction too late as he dashed out of his seat. The young Ecuadorian tumbled from his perch slicing an arm and a thigh in the process.
‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ Giles asked in a voice with no intention of flippancy. ‘Will someone please call for an ambulance…for God’s sake?’
Ambulances can sometimes
be held up for a variety of reasons, particularly on New Years Eve, but on this occasion the paramedics from the Soho Centre for Health and Care came fairly close to breaking records. By the time they arrived Leonardo had been given first aid and was ready to be whisked away to the nearby hospital on Frith Street.
Giles went with him missing the ringing of the bells bringing in the New Year.
Doctors confirmed that although the injuries to Leonardo were serious they were not life threatening and as the acrobatic young man had never lost consciousness Giles was able to have a brief conversation with him before returning to the Tropicana venue.
‘They were at the wrong height!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The blades…some of them were higher than they should have been!’
A tired but articulate Leonardo surmised that a few of the grooves, which were designed to hold the blades on to the stands, must have been altered making the cutting edges slightly higher and thereby deadly dangerous.
Giles concluded that the alterations had been deliberately done to cause the accident to happen. But who could have done it?
The alterations could have been made just prior to the performance and everyone on his list of suspects had been at Tropicana that night. It could have been any one of them.
Another thought struck him. The adjustments might well have been done before the stands were moved to London so someone not on his list could be the culprit.
Before leaving the injured Leonardo at the hospital Giles was able to glean from him information about the Panama hats. The cabbie had indeed been correct as, believe it or not, Leonardo had been born and brought up in Montecristo and despised the error in naming the hat as if coming from another country.
Back at Tropicana the Prof asked to be excused as he’d had enough for one night. He phoned the number given him by the cabbie who’d brought him to the show in Soho and, before leaving, said he would get in touch with Senhor Mordomo and give dates for when his next visit to the winter quarters would be.
Gauntlet of Fear Page 5