Gauntlet of Fear

by David Cargill

  ‘Yes I have,’ Freddie replied without hesitation. ‘Your rather enigmatic prognosis coincided with my own belief, Madame, at least as far as the putting two and two together and making eight part is concerned. I have backed the favourite Honey End whose name is made up of eight letters. The other horses with names of eight letters were of no interest to me and the latter part of your diagnosis of a conundrum was a load of double Dutch.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said an anxious Laura. ‘You must excuse me. I have to make a call to my mother.’ She rose and hurriedly left the group.

  It wasn’t long before she was back. ‘The lines were very busy,’ she said, slightly out of breath. ‘But luckily I got through to Mother.’

  ‘And?’ said an eager Giles.

  ‘My very good witch of a mother confirmed her premonition after reading the list of runners for the big race in the morning paper.’

  ‘Well?’ said the three curious listeners.

  ‘I’ve just placed a small wager on a rank outsider in the National. It’s a 100 to 1 shot with the bookmakers but I’ve placed the bet with the Tote which looks to be giving much longer odds. I don’t suppose it has any chance but I’m not going to let Mum’s prediction go unsupported.’

  ‘A 100 to 1 shot is it? Giles nodded as he spoke. ‘Well they don’t win that often but the first Grand National that Freddie and I went to was won by a horse named Caughoo and it was an outsider at those odds so…who knows?’

  ‘But does it have eight letters in its name?’ asked Freddie.

  ‘As a matter of fact it does!’ Laura came back with her answer after a thoughtful pause.

  The expression on the face of Madame Zigana was significant. ‘There may be the largest number of runners in today’s race than in previous years, and in particular we’ll have two to watch.’

  The early races were interesting spectacles but the big race was what the racing fraternity was concentrating on. As the runners left the paddock and paraded in front of the stands, before cantering down to examine the first fence, the tension was beginning to mount. The crescendo when the starter let the runners go, was at fever pitch and the roar of the crowd was probably heard in Liverpool.

  Most of the field cleared the first fence. All except one that is. Popham Down, who got over the first, fell over another runner and was brought down. The horse carried on riderless.

  The early pace set by Castle Falls, Princeful, Kapeno, Rondetto and Rutherfords, was frenetic and the favourite, Honey End was kept under control and not allowed to become involved. The odd mishap occurred on the first circuit but crossing Becher’s, second time around, there wasn’t a single faller. At this stage of the race, the riderless Popham Down, was on the inside of the course. As he approached the twenty-third and easiest fence he appeared to be tiring and he suddenly veered to the right hammering into Rutherfords and unseating his rider. Chaos was becoming madness as Limeking went down and other runners piled into each other. Jockeys on both sides of the fence tried to get hold of their mounts; loose horses were running all over the place, some even running back the way they’d just come.

  Out of all this mayhem one horse appeared moving to the right to find a gap. It managed to jump the fence and, having been in last place for most of the race, now found himself in the lead. When Honey End was remounted and set at the fence for the second time, which he cleared, he found himself in pursuit but thirty lengths behind. Following on was Red Alligator but hard as they tried they couldn’t catch the one in front. That one was a horse by the name of Foinavon…another with eight letters in the name.

  The race had barely finished with Freddie’s selection in second place at odds of 15-2. ‘Well so much for Madame Zigana’s prediction.’ Freddie uttered as he looked dejectedly at his betting slip. Laura was in a totally different mood as she excused herself once more. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said laughing and hugging Giles. ‘I must go and collect my winnings. It wouldn’t surprise me if mother’s premonition and the Gypsy girl’s were the same.’

  She was gone and back in no time as few people had backed the winner, Foinavon. ‘You lucky girl, Laura, Did you manage to get 100-1?’ Freddie asked giving her a pat on the back.

  ‘Well not really. You see I backed with the Tote and the horse was paid out at 444-1.’

  The surprised look on everyone’s face was given an added dimension when Giles interrupted. ‘Don’t you see,’ he said. ‘Madame Zigana made another statement when she inferred that you would be successful in this year’s big race, Freddie. She mentioned something like paying special attention to your lucky number…and that is the number four and there were three of those numbers in the odds paid out by the Tote.’

  ‘But what real connection did that have with my name?’

  ‘That’s fairly simple, Freddie,’ stated Laura, the girl from the big house near Lockerbie who as a child solved conundrums with the boy who was now her fiancé. Your name, Freddie Oldsworth has the initials FO, the first two letters of Foinavon and the remaining letters in avon is where you live; beside the river Avon. Easy peasy if you’ll pardon the expression. Mother was certain her dream could become reality. And Eva was equally certain if you were able to follow her line of thought. The race turned out to be another fable like the one from Aesop. It resembled the Tortoise and the Hare.’

  ‘What’s more,’ exclaimed a thoughtful Giles. ‘The race was another perfect example of accurately jumping to conclusions.’

  The time spent in London’s South Kensington flat was an opportunity for Laura and Giles to put their heads together and attempt to solve a few more conundrum-type puzzles as well as getting to know each other more.

  Eating out at Simpson’s in the Strand, and a couple of nights at the theatre somehow cemented their relationship and Giles was glad of the input Laura was able to give to clarify the many things which were still vaguely obscure.

  ‘Let’s start with the tragic death of the magician’s assistant Allison, Laura,’ Giles suggested one afternoon. ‘I spoke with Martin Drummond and mentioned that the new assistant was the magician’s daughter. Martin thought that was a motive for murder on the part of the magician. What do you say to that?’

  ‘It could also work the other way round and provide the magician’s daughter with a motive for murder. Anyone could kill for a good part!’

  ‘Yes, Laura. That’s true but what if neither of those allegations were correct. What if the murder of Allison was a necessary prelude to a future atrocity…a smokescreen that would cloud the issue at a later date?’

  ‘You’re doing something with your face again, Giles. What are you up to?’

  There was no reply forthcoming from Giles. ‘Can I see that list of suspects once more, Giles? There is one name that wasn’t on the original list but you added later. I’ve been thinking about that name.’

  Handing the list over to Laura, Giles clasped his hands behind his neck and sat back ready to hear what she had to say.

  ‘There,’ said Laura as she scanned the list. ‘You added three names, Giles, and one of them made me do a bit of thinking.’

  ‘Well it wasn’t Allison,’ said a chastened Giles. ‘I certainly regret adding her name. I didn’t think the others were serious contenders. Whose name made you think about the spate of accidents?’

  ‘Signor Gomez, the trainer of Khan, the tiger.’

  The frown on Giles’ brow, as he looked across, was followed by his apt question. ‘I’d like to know why Rodrigo crossed your mind as a likely suspect?’

  ‘It was Allison’s escapades that made me wonder. Not the fire in the clown scene but the cage illusion when Khan and Allison were meant to change places.’

  ‘Go on, Laura. I’d love to hear a bit more.’

  ‘Well, you originally thought Allison might have been responsible for causing the equipment in the cage to malfunction, the magician himself could have been the culprit. But there was someone else who could have tampered with the mechanism…the person who secured the
tiger in the false back of the cage…the trainer of Khan, Signor Gomez.’

  ‘That is an interesting point of view and one to be given consideration but can you implicate Signor Gomez with the other accidents?’

  ‘Where was he when Allison had the fainting spell in the tyre illusion? Could he not have been one of the assistants wheeling in the tyres?’

  The lines at the outer edges of Giles’ eyes and the silence that followed Laura’s train of thought were enough to suggest that her exposition had some merit.

  Taking the slip of paper from Laura Giles put a question mark against the name of Signor Gomez. He looked up at his fiancée. ‘I knew we’d make a good team, my love. Rodrigo must now come into the equation and will have to be interviewed and given close scrutiny as regards other incidents…but, my dearest, I cannot rule out the one name on the original list that shouts out at me.’ He pushed the paper back to Laura and pointed at a name that made Laura gasp.

  ‘You’re not serious, Giles…are you?’

  ‘Deadly serious, my dear!’ he said, his features showing real concern.

  Chapter 18

  DEAD MAN’S CHEST

  The city of York was in readiness for a spring and summer of welcome visitors as Giles and Laura arrived at the Knavesmire, after settling at a coach-house inn.

  The vans of the Tropicana Circus were already there in numbers and preparations had started for the erection of the massive tent. The Knavesmire was the York racecourse where, two hundred and thirty years ago, Dick Turpin, murderer and highwayman, had been hanged at the age of thirty-three, after being tried and convicted of horse theft at York’s Assises. The area, recognised as the Ascot of the North, was now being made ready to become a place of fun and high drama with some of the world’s top artistes in action.

  As they threaded their way through the maze of trailers and trucks, searching for the circus boss, all expectation of fun disappeared. The screams emanating from nearby were blood-chilling. Giles and Laura were almost first on the scene. They got there just behind a group consisting of two leading acrobats in leotards and wearing warm coats, and Ingrid Dahlberg the impalement artist.

  Miss Dahlberg was standing at the rear of the instantly recognisable trailer belonging to Ramon Mordomo. She was having difficulty calming herself and was being comforted by a female acrobat when Giles arrived.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ enquired a ruffled Giles.

  The impalement artist was unable to answer. All she could do was point to a narrow window which had the glass broken. All the windows on that side had the curtains drawn but the curtain on the broken window had been pulled to one side thus allowing a clear view into what lay beyond.

  Peering through the broken pane Giles could see what looked like the figure of Senhor Mordomo. He was seated behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his head tilted backwards and slightly to one side…and his face had turned a blueish colour.

  ‘It’s the boss,’ Ingrid managed to blurt out. ‘And I think he’s dead!’

  Unable to take his eyes off the tableau of horror at the far end Giles could hardly believe what he was witnessing. It was not the apparently lifeless body behind the desk that brought on disbelief, it was the objet d’art designed by the Frenchman Lalique, which was embedded in the man’s throat. The vintage car mascot, a collector’s item prized by Ramon, was seemingly now the cause of his death.

  ‘We’ll have to put a call through to the police. But what made you look through here?’ Giles asked.

  ‘I came round as I wanted to have a word with Ramon but his trailer door was locked. It looked as if the door was locked from the inside so I knocked but there was no reply.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I came round here. All the windows were locked but this one had been broken. I put my arm in and moved the curtain to one side…and the sight in there was ghastly.’ She was starting to sob as she spat out the words.

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on?’ The well known Portuguese voice made everyone turn.

  ‘Good God, Ramon! You’re alive!’ exclaimed Ingrid. ‘But that body in there? Who is it?’

  ‘I’m sure I can answer that,’ said a rather disturbed circus supremo. ’I believe that is Sebastian, Sebastian Capuzzo, our esteemed ringmaster.’

  ‘Ringmaster no more!’ commented one of the acrobats.

  ‘Sebastian made a habit of using my premises for a bit of relaxation and always wore a false moustache to confuse passers-by. We were going to use him as a credible double but that is now out of the question. I think we should call the police…but let’s get inside and confirm his condition and identity.’

  ‘Make sure no-one touches anything.’ Giles insisted.

  Ramon sent for several riggers, while Laura busied herself tending to Ingrid Dahlberg. There were several minor cuts on Ingrid’s left arm.

  ‘How did that happen?’ Giles asked as he went over to Ingrid and examined her injuries.

  ‘I think it probably happened when I put my arm in to open the curtain.’

  Two riggers arrived promptly with tools which, with some ingenuity, they used to undo the hinges and release the door away from the lock.

  Another visitor arrived at the scene asking what was wrong. It was Signor Gomez.

  Entering through the opened doorway Ramon was closely followed by Giles who suggested that the others should remain outside.

  Going over to the broken window Giles was sure the pane had been broken from the outside. The gap in the shattered glass was only big enough to allow an arm and shoulder to go through and, with the door locked from the inside, Giles was convinced he was, once again, involved with a locked-room mystery. It was extremely doubtful if any human being could have entered via that broken window unless…!

  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket Giles went over to the humidor and opened the box. The humidor was almost full of cigars all of them with wrappers. There was no partly smoked cigar in the ashtray but the ornate cigar lighter felt vaguely warmish through the hanky in Giles’ hand.

  ‘It’s beginning to look like an attempt on my life,’ uttered a shaken circus boss as he tried to recover his composure. ‘But how could that have been done?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I’ll find out.’

  ‘I think you’d better, Professor. You’re the locked room wizard.’ Ramon looked seriously concerned as he glowered at Giles. ‘Something must have got in without Sebastian being aware…unless it was magic, Professor Dawson!’

  ‘The terms, supernatural and magical are often used to explain events that are apparently impossible, Senhor. But be in no doubt, such events always have a logical explanation if one examines and explores all possibilities. It was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, I believe, who put it much better than I can.’

  ‘You may well be right, Professor. But a magician or illusionist can create what seems to be the impossible even though the secret becomes perfectly logical only when the mechanics of the trick are explained. Come to think of it, I have an illusionist as one of my suspects. Is it possible that he could have devised some devilish device that plucked the Spirit of the Wind from the desk and, with tremendous force, plunged it into a man’s throat without him making any effort to prevent it happening?’

  ‘I think you’re bordering on the realms of fantasy and delusion without considering all the other alternatives.’

  ‘I suppose you mean, for example, that someone, with the necessary skill, could have thrown the Lalique mascot from the break in the window.’

  ‘You’re putting words in my mouth, Ramon. If that was indeed what happened, it means the object must have been removed from the trailer beforehand.’

  ‘Assuming that was the case,’ said the circus owner. ‘And the mascot had been taken from my trailer, who had the skill to throw with such force and accuracy?’

  ‘I know what you’re getting at, of course. It could only be the person with the cuts on her arm from reaching through the broken glas
s,’ stated Giles. ‘Is that what you’re implying?’

  ‘Yes! Ingrid Dahlberg, one of my original suspects.’

  It wasn’t long before the police were on the scene. Detective Inspector Brian Rowlands made himself known to those who’d been present when the body of Sebastian Capuzzo was discovered. He took statements from everyone and was especially pleased to become acquainted with Giles.

  ‘It’s good to know that you are working with Senhor Mordomo in trying to establish who may be trying to terminate his ownership of the circus. It would appear to have reached the stage where someone is also trying to terminate his existence and you may be the best person to get to grips with this assassin.’

  ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this, I can assure, you but it may take some time, and I will keep in touch.’

  Some hours later the Barnsley chop, cooked to perfection provided the main course at the old coach house inn and was badly needed to help counteract what had been a difficult day. The gruesome murder had come out of the blue, and blue was the predominant colour. After dinner the need to discuss the death was paramount to Giles.

  Upstairs in the cosy little bedroom the chat moved to the individual statements given to the Yorkshire detective and it was Laura who eventually posed the question. ‘Did he ask what you made of the unsuccessful attempt on Senhor Mordomo’s life?’

  ‘Yes, he did, Laura. Yes he did.’ Giles answered with a smile and a gentle nod of the head.

  ‘You are doing that thing with your face again, darling!’

  ‘Yes I am, my dear. Yes I am. At least I sincerely hope so.’ Giles paused and his brow furrowed as he continued. ‘What,’ he asked, with a beguiling voice and a twinkle in his blue eyes. ‘What if the intended victim was the ringmaster and not the circus boss?’

  ‘That would throw a different light on things I suppose.’

  ‘Yes it would, wouldn’t it?’ The blue eyes appeared a little colder and his features changed to deadly seriousness.