He looked at his watch and decided it was time for tea. If only Doreen…? Giles smiled and went downstairs to ask for some to be sent up.
The trip to Rum and the big Edwardian house known to this day as Kinloch Castle wherein he was followed and, most likely, offered false clues to put him off the scent, was next on his catalogue of incidents. But the biggest clue of all was there, inside that big house and within his grasp. As he sipped his tea Giles reasoned that given time or hearing some unconnected phrase, he would come up with an answer. He frowned and was startled by his own thoughts. That was it!
There was a phrase he’d heard and he’d taken it out of context and assumed wrongly. He was now sure it had a relevance to something that was in or near the dining room of Kinloch Castle.
Identity problems and the names of those film actors had to tie in with the phrase he’d heard and the secret that was close to the seats of Rhouma in Kinloch Castle. But that would have to wait until good fortune struck in the shape of another phrase or word that led him in a direction where success was lying in waiting.
On the way downstairs to lunch Giles’ brain, for no reason at all, began to ponder over the whispered voice who purported to come from beyond the grave. A devilish attempt to introduce the supernatural must have been the work of Allison’s killer and Giles would not forget that.
After having a light lunch, Giles decided to attend the afternoon circus performance. The early acts produced no surprises other than the clever use by clowns on the high wire pretending to lose balance and hilariously coming close to a fall only to recover at the last minute and hug each other in desperation. As the first half was nearing the finish the ringmaster announced that, owing to injury, the lady who was to perform on the swaying pole was indisposed and would not attempt her death-defying act until the evening. This announcement was met with muted groans from the audience but everything soon perked up as into the ring came the Andalusian mare with Lizzie astride her.
The band started playing gentle waltz tunes in quite slow time and the white mare, with her rider riding bareback, was in perfect time with the music. Hooves were beating and her head was nodding in such perfect unison it was impossible to say whether the horse was in time with the music or the music in time with the horse.
Throughout each phase of the routine the superb segue as the music effortlessly went from waltz time through to polka and then into the quicker Viennese waltz, was matched by the equally-superb segue by horse and rider. It was as much the transitional changes from one tempo to the next which generated the excited and appreciative applause, but as quickly as the applause started so did it die.
There was the slightest of stumbles from the mare as the band changed tempo once more. Lizzie looked down at the horse’s legs as if noticing something was amiss. The animal started to limp and slowly teetered into the ringside. The young rider was off in a flash as the white horse tried to regain balance but the stricken mare was now standing on three legs and was shaking as if in a fever.
Several attendants were quickly at the horse’s head to gently guide it out of the ring while the young rider was helped into her robe.
It took Giles only a few seconds to leave his seat and make his way to the circus stable where the sick horse was being examined by the circus vet. Giles kept out of the way until the vet came over to him and introduced himself as Barry Gilmour.
‘I don’t think we’ve met, Professor, but I know you’ll be anxious to hear about this case.’
‘Was it an accident do you think?’
‘You can be the best judge of that when I explain something to you.’ Giles nodded for him to continue. ‘The horse is a non-ruminant herbivore and such animals prefer to eat small amounts of food steadily throughout the day. Their digestive system is delicate and consequently overeating is bad for them. When that happens, or when they eat something that doesn’t agree with them, they are susceptible to colic.’ The vet’s expression became serious. ‘This sudden illness can cause poor performance in a dressage horse and the animal will refuse to perform the manoeuvres it has had no trouble with in the past.’
‘So you think that may have happened in this case?’
‘Yes I do, Professor. What’s more, a non-ruminant herbivore must never be fed lawn clippings!’ The corners of the vet’s eyes screwed tightly as he made the statement and Giles’ eyebrows went up as enlightenment dawned.
‘Where better to get lawn clippings than a racecourse preparing for the opening of its flat season in a few days time? The injury was created by someone not in charge of the horse’s welfare?’
‘I’ll know better tomorrow but meanwhile Bianca will have the best of attention and I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Bianca? What a lovely name for an incredible mare.’
When he left the stable Giles wondered at the cruel irony; the three-legged mare – twice on the same piece of ground…the Tyburn on York’s Knavesmire.
Chapter 22
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN…
It was a rather depleted evening show given by Circus Tropicana that day. Gayle performed a modified routine on the pole, discarding the part of the act involving the trapeze, and Lizzie didn’t appear with Bianca, the indisposed mare.
Although the evening was trouble-free, Giles made an appointment with Ramon to explain to him what the latest incidents had meant to his progress in his attempt to solve the gauntlet of fear curse.
The circus boss was angry at the way things were going and deplored the unforgiveable injury to the mare.
‘Be honest with me, Professor,’ he said. ‘Are you making any headway in this puzzle or is it now time to look for more professional help?’
‘You are at liberty to seek out the services of someone with a good track record of detection, Senhor but, whoever comes in, will have to start at square one whereas I have already covered a considerable amount of ground. As my racing pal would say, this was never going to be a sprint and stamina will win in the long run.’
‘Does that mean you are getting somewhere?’
‘I’m sure of it, even though the latest mishaps have clouded the issue a little.’
‘Are you prepared to give me some idea as to when you might be able to give an answer and stop what’s happening to my circus?’
‘If I am unable to bring this culprit to justice before midsummer I’m prepared to return the bulk of the retainer you gave me.’
The Portuguese supremo slapped his desk. ‘Let’s leave it at that then,’ he said. ‘We now have a timescale that satisfies me and I believe you are a man of your word. I will watch your progress with interest.’
Following his meeting with Ramon, Giles considered a visit to Gayle might be worthwhile, but as it was getting late and as she was probably resting, he decided such a meeting could wait until morning. He would then combine that with a visit to the vet and get the latest news on Bianca.
He headed back to the old coach house inn and made a phone call to Laura in Lockerbie. The good news was that Laura’s mother was making good progress at home and that her daughter was tying up some loose ends at her own work place and would be ready to join Giles quite soon.
Before turning in for the night Giles made a few notes regarding his next moves. The start of the circus season would soon be over in York and the entire extravaganza’s next spell would be in the north of London area and the aristocratic space of Alexandra Park. He would have to be ready for London. Also, as the middle of summer wasn’t too far away, when he’d guaranteed to the circus boss he’d return the bulk of his retainer fee if he was unable to bring the culprit to justice, he was acutely aware that he must remain focussed.
The early morning sunlight flooding his room, wakened Giles out of a restful sleep. After a light breakfast he was soon fit and ready to pay his respects to the two females who were the latest victims of circus accidents.
The vet was already at the stable when Giles arrived to question him. ‘It was definitely grass clippings which
caused our mare to suffer, Professor. And that means it was not self-inflicted.’
‘And what is your prognosis? When will Bianca be fit enough to give of her best again?’
‘We’ll give her a trial fairly soon and make a decision. But I expect her to be performing in a day or two. Exactly how well is questionable. We’ll have to wait and see, but she has a sound constitution and could surprise us all.’
‘Do you believe this was an attempt to kill Bianca?’
‘No, Professor, though it could easily have happened. The amount of grass clippings was only sufficient to incapacitate her; probably just enough to prevent her performing at her best. It looks like an attempt to cause distress to Bianca as well as Ramon.’
On leaving the stable, Giles wasn’t long in finding the youthful and supremely-fit Gayle who was exercising in the Big Top itself. ‘You seem like your old self again Gayle.’ He said when she’d stopped her exertions.
‘Thanks for the old, Professor. I have to confess, though, that when my limbs started to ache after the flashing lights caused me to fail to grasp the trapeze I did think senility had caught up with me prematurely. But the show must go on and one of the vital rules of circus life is that after a fall, the quicker one gets back into harness the quicker you are likely to succeed.’
‘I’ll let you get back into harness then, Gayle. Take care and good luck, but remember danger doesn’t always come from where you expect it.’
The next few days were spent keeping a watchful eye on all the acts and trying to detect any deterioration which might end in accident. Nothing of serious note occurred and Giles was pleasantly surprised to see the mare, Bianca, and her talented rider, Lizzie, back to form after the collapse in the ring. With Bianca giving her scintillating demonstration and Gayle thrilling the audience with the swaying pole and the trapeze, everything was back to normal. Giles though, was less than convinced. As far as he was concerned, just as he’d said to Gayle, danger doesn’t always come from where you expect it.
With the final performances at York over, the circus folk were speedily in the throes of dismantling everything and loading wagons for the journey south to Alexandra Park. That would be their home for the next few weeks.
Giles was packed and ready to catch the train to London but decided to stay around and savour the organised chaos of a huge complex being packaged and sent on its way in time to re-establish itself at another venue in preparation before delighting yet other audiences.
He watched, in awe, as large numbers of riggers made light work of bringing down and folding the giant canvas. For a second or two, his concentration was distracted to such an extent that he was not really aware that he was in the way of a group working feverishly to fold the tent just as the ground staff do at Wimbledon with a tennis net following a heavy shower of rain.
The next thing he knew was that he was bustled from behind and found himself sprawling into the thick material on the ground and being rolled over until daylight disappeared and his lungs became tight and he was unable to breathe.
He kicked with all his strength but that was short-lived and he was virtually semi-conscious when, eventually, he found himself lying on his back with a myriad of male faces gazing down at him.
‘The boss warned us not to lie down on the job but it’s bloody obvious he didn’t speak to you.’ One of the riggers sniggered as he spoke. An out-of-breath Giles was helped to his feet and, with his balance unsteady and his dignity in tatters, he teetered away from the seething crowd, thanking his lucky stars that he was still in one piece.
What was that he’d been telling others – about danger not always coming from where you expect it? Time, he thought, to take heed of his own words.
He returned to the coach house to collect his bag and call a taxi to take him to the station where he’d catch the next train to London. He made two more calls: one to Lockerbie and one to Evesham to alert those at the other end that he’d be at his South Kensington flat when they wished to contact him.
The journey by train was always a chance to relax and clarify what his next moves should be; and this journey was no exception. He made a few notes. One being that a return visit to the St James’s Club in Picccadilly would be useful to find out if their premises would be available should he want to hold another meeting there.
Something was drawing him there. He desperately tried to analyse what that was and all he could think about was a phrase he’d heard at the big house on Rum. What was it?
He settled down to have forty winks but he’d hardly closed his eyes when he was shaken awake with six words on his mind…“he was the most trusted man.”
He looked around at others wondering if he’d said the words out loud. Nobody seemed in the least interested. So, getting back to those words and where he’d heard them. It was when he’d returned to hear Major Mackintosh and his wife discussing George Bullough’s gentleman friend, Sir William Bass. He’d assumed that the words had been expressed about Sir William…but what if they’d been talking about someone entirely different? What if the gentlemen at St James’s Club were able to throw a different light on those words?
He dozed off again and, although he went into a trance-like state, his mind was fully concentrated on that one name…a name that seemed to ring out like a fire alarm. He was convinced that, sooner or later, he would trip over a clue which would be incontrovertible proof of his belief. Was it possible that something he saw or heard, at the St James’s Club, would light the blue touch paper and ignite the explosion which would bring an end to his circus problem? That would, of course, put paid to the other saying do not believe all you see or hear.
Being in his South Kensington flat when he arrived back in London it was quiet. Quiet compared with the hustle and bustle of the dismantling of the Big Top and his conflict with the army of riggers who very nearly suffocated him in the folded canvas. The apartment building was a peaceful haven where he didn’t need to watch his every step.
Looking at his watch Giles decided he’d done enough for one day. He ran a bath and came to a decision that the following morning would be soon enough to pay a visit to the gentlemen’s club.
The St James’s Club was quite busy for a spring morning. The doorman welcomed Giles and ushered him inside to where the manager greeted him. After being given an assurance that if there was a suitable room available in the Club when he required it, all he had to do was give them a telephone call.
He spent some time being shown around and was intrigued by a large room used specially for the game of Baccarat. It was something he was totally unaware of when he’d lectured in the Club to the circus bosses and the stage magicians.
When he was about to leave he was invited to join members in the smoking room where they were having morning coffee. Once he was comfortably seated in one of the leather arm chairs he was in no hurry to leave and wanted to spend some time in conversation with the group of gentlemen smoking their cigars.
Topics varied from the weather to how the markets were doing on the Stock Exchange. However Giles managed to get around to the reading matter in the Club after he spotted the number of books available; many of them by the popular P.G. Wodehouse.
‘Can anyone explain why Wodehouse is a favoured read by members of the Club?’ asked Giles as he savoured the aroma of ground coffee beans allied with the quality cigar smoke. ‘Is it the light entertainment of Bertie Wooster and his valet, Jeeves; or is there an alternative but less obvious reason?’
‘I think I can answer that on behalf of all of us, Professor.’ The monocled gentleman, who spoke in a cultured voice, was sitting in a corner with a copy of “The Guardian” newspaper. ‘My name is Charles Meldrum and many of us were fortunate enough to have a manservant who made our lives almost trouble-free as did Jeeves for Wooster. But that, unfortunately, was in the past. There aren’t so many of them nowadays and it can be nostalgic to delve into the past even if only through the pages of a novel.’
‘Thank you, Mr Meldrum
. That makes a lot of sense, but it couldn’t have been easy to choose a manservant or valet in real life. After all the impeccable Jeeves was the fictitious imagination of an author of the old school.’
‘I suppose it was,’ said the spry elderly Charles Meldrum as he folded his paper. ‘But we lived in different standards then and made absolutely sure of our choice. It was vital that the gentleman’s gentleman was beyond reproach.’
There was a general murmur of approval and someone called out ‘He just had to be the most trusted person and we made sure the best person for the job was chosen.’
‘Will someone please say that again?’ Giles could hardly get the words out.
A sea of faces looked at the agitated, Giles.
‘What do you want, Professor?’
‘Someone said something that reminded me of a phrase I’d heard before.’
‘Well,’ said Charles Meldrum. ‘I think I was the last one to speak and I think I said the valet had to be beyond reproach.’
‘No,no, it was after that. Someone shouted out.’
‘Oh,’ said a portly gentleman. ‘I’m sure I heard someone say “he had to be the most trusted person” and I’m sure we’d all agree on that.’
‘That’s it!’ Giles said, almost knocking over his coffee cup in the process. ‘That’s definitely what I wanted to hear. Now if you’ll excuse me …!’ He rose and headed for the door leaving the gentlemanly occupants, bewildered and unable to understand what had been said that had caused such a transformation in their visitor.
The Club doorman removed his cap and scratched his head as Giles passed him and hailed a taxi. He thought it unusual for someone leaving St James’s not to let the uniformed person at the door have the honour of calling the cab.
Gauntlet of Fear Page 27