Mrs Chatterjee's Circus
Alice Davenport walked up the short gravel path to the house, somehow managing to carry a basket with one hand and hold up her umbrella with the other while simultaneously holding her voluminous skirts out of the wet. Despite the rain, it was a warm day and the kitchen window was open; from it, there issued a cheerful tenor voice of a decidedly non-operatic nature, raised in song.
In München steht ein Hofbräuhaus: eins, zwei, g'suffa!
Da läuft so manches Fäßchen aus: eins, zwei, g'suffa!
“Herr von Luftschiff!” Alice called.
“Vot?”
“You're very loud. Do you know you can be heard from the street?”
“Hy don't care. Hy happy. Tonight ve have bese bele olianna for dinner, und hyu und de Greenvoods can have gammon vith it if hyu vant. Is very goot Indian recipe vot hy learnt from Captain Singh in de Army. Very distinctive, not too schpicy, rich varm flavour.”
“That does sound quite welcome,” Alice admitted, fumbling with the door keys. The rain was making her feel a little chilly. A gust of complex, mouthwatering scent eddied from the window; there was definitely cinnamon in it, but the other components were hard to analyse.
“Hy hope hyu like it,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy had de hell of a time finding an aubergine in dis place.” He paused. “Ven hy first wrote down dis recipe, hy had even more trouble. Captain Singh called it brinjal. Nobody had a clue vot dat vas.”
Alice got the front door open with difficulty, and a tall clank bustled up with a reproachful air. “It would have been my pleasure to open the door for Madam,” it said, in a metallic voice.
Alice blinked. “What?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fitzroy. May I take your basket and umbrella?”
Von Luftschiff hurried through from the kitchen, wiping his hands on an entirely inadequate gingham apron. “Charles has yust found a new sort of coffee he likes,” he explained.
“I thought it might be something like that,” said Alice, carefully. “And where are Charles and Hilde at the moment?”
“Charles is in de vorkshop und Hilde has gone for a lie down.”
“Oh dear,” said Alice. “That doesn't sound promising.”
She let Fitzroy relieve her of the umbrella, but not the basket. As the clank went off to find a suitable place for the umbrella to dry, Hilde Greenwood came down the stairs. She was a kind-faced, sensible-looking woman of about fifty, with green eyes and hair of an indeterminate brown which was rolled up into a neat bun.
“Ah,” she said. “Hallo, Alice. I see Charles has just invented a butler.”
“Vell, ve probably needed vun,” observed von Luftschiff.
“Yes, but it's a little disconcerting to have one sprung on you like that,” said Alice. “When I left this house, there was no butler. Now, there's a big metal one that looks as though it's probably got a death ray in its chest.”
“Oh, I expect it has,” said Hilde matter-of-factly. “One can't be too careful.”
Alice sighed inwardly. It was her own fault, she supposed. She had, after all, signed up for this. She had agreed to become an agent in Her Majesty's Special Operations Forces following the untimely death of her father and her subsequent role in helping to bring to justice the person responsible. She had known perfectly well that, until she could be teamed up with the agent who would take personal responsibility for training her, this was going to mean living with a pair of middle-aged sparks and a vegetarian Jägermonster, with all the unpredictability that this would inevitably entail. Even so, right now she was just not in the mood for unexpected robotic manservants.
“Dinner is in about half an hour,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu vant gammon?”
“Yes, please,” replied Alice. “I should like gammon. But right now, I should like to go and change my dress and sit down for a while.”
Fitzroy whirred back into the hall. “Drinks will be served in the parlour,” it announced.
“How about hyu serve mine in de kitchen, Mister Fitzroy?” suggested von Luftschiff. “Hy got to go and fry de gammon.”
“Drinks will be served in the parlour,” repeated Fitzroy, sounding uncertain.
Charles Greenwood appeared from somewhere at the back, just in time to rescue his creation from hierarchical processing failure. “It's all right, Fitzroy,” he said. “Just take Herr von Luftschiff his drink in the kitchen as he asks.” He was small, bald and bouncy, with very bright blue eyes and a wiry build; at the moment he was wearing the oldest, scruffiest clothes in his possession, which was just as well, since he was covered with brass filings and splotches of machine oil.
The clank somehow managed to look dubious, which was quite an achievement for something that could not move most of its face. “Might I venture to suggest that perhaps Sir needs a cook?”
“Hy like cooking!” said von Luftschiff indignantly. “Und now ve got a house for a vhile, hy got de chance. Do hyu have any idea how boring it is in guest houses? Every time hyu tell dem hyu a vegetarian, dey giff hyu cauliflower cheese. Hy schvear, if ve had schtayed in any more of dose guest houses hy vould have turned into a cauliflower.”
“Sir is already green,” observed the clank.
“Whoops,” said Charles. “Sorry about that, Herr von Luftschiff. I think I need to fine-tune him a little.”
“Vot for?” asked von Luftschiff. “Hy not offended. Is true. Hy am green.”
“Well, yes,” said Charles, “but if Fitzroy says that to you, we don't know what he might say to other people.”
“Frankly, I'm feeling a bit green myself,” said Alice. “I'm off upstairs, if nobody minds. I'll see you all at dinner.”
“Und hy got to go und fry de gammon,” said von Luftschiff, departing in the direction of the kitchen.
Alice left the Greenwoods in the hall discussing the finer technical aspects of clank servants, and went up to her room. She had to admit that she agreed wholeheartedly with von Luftschiff about the house, although obviously not for the same reasons. Charles and Hilde were agents of some sort, although not in the branch of the service for which she herself had signed up; this meant that they inevitably had to do a lot of travelling, and this, in turn, meant a succession of inns, boarding houses and hotels, some better, some worse. She, too, had been growing increasingly tired of them. But then a letter had arrived requesting Charles and Hilde to rent a house in the area for a few weeks, and enclosing a cheque for any additional expenses that this might involve, such as a deposit. No reasons were given in the letter, but it seemed the two sparks were entirely used to this. Reasons, in their experience, arrived in due course, when they were needed.
And it was, she reflected as she unpacked the basket, one of the prettiest areas one could hope to be – for want of a better phrase – stuck in. They were in Kendal, an unpretentiously attractive town strung out along both sides of the wide River Kent. A journey of a mere hour or so in Bertha, the Greenwoods' mechanical jalopy, would take them into the heart of the English Lake District, and they had already taken some advantage of this fact and spent a couple of pleasant days in Windermere and Ambleside. It was just a pity she was feeling a little under the weather at the moment. It had started when she was out, and she had a very good idea what was the matter with her; tomorrow she would be fine, or at least a lot better. But tonight, on the strength of current symptoms, she would be retiring early with a warming pan.
She climbed out of her damp gown, hung it on the convenient peg on the door, and inspected the contents of her wardrobe. She had bought a black lace shawl in town and wanted to show it off to best advantage. Normally, Alice was quite decisive, but in her current state it took her a little while to choose between the peach satin and the mauve silk. In the end, a glance in the mirror convinced her that the latter was the better choice. Peach definitely suited her best when she was in the full glow of health.
She was just coming back downstairs when the doorbell rang. Fitzroy went to answer it, and Alice hung back on the stairs to watch the scene. Potentially, this was going to be amusing.
There was a small boy on the doorstep, who stared at Fitzroy and exclaimed, “Blinking 'eck!”
“I have not been taught to parse that statement correctly,” said Fitzroy.
A bewildered silence on both sides followed for a few moments, until the urchin managed to recover the power of speech and started delving in his pocket. “Letter here for a Miss Davenport,” he explained.
“Very good. Thank you,” said Fitzroy.
Alice swept the rest of the way down the stairs as gracefully as she felt she could manage in the circumstances. “I am Miss Davenport,” she said, taking a couple of pennies from her reticule.
The boy handed over the letter and received his tip with mildly astonished gratitude; he had clearly not been expecting more than a penny. He was not to know that if Alice had happened to have a sixpenny piece, she would have been glad to hand it over, because any letter that had managed to find its way to her here was certain to be important. As Fitzroy closed the door, she broke the seal, and she was just taking the letter out of the envelope when there was an almighty clang which caused her to drop both letter and envelope on the carpet.
Von Luftschiff's shaggy, befanged head appeared round the door wearing a distinctly sheepish expression.
“Damn,” he said. “Sorry. Hy dented de dinner gong.”
Hilde came up behind him. “Well, you needn't have hit it quite so hard, Herr von Luftschiff. It's not so big a house that we can't hear you if you just tap it.”
“Hy still don't alvays know my own schtrength,” he said, shaking his head. “Hy got a bit excited.”
“I'm sure we can straighten it out in the workshop,” replied Hilde. “Now, where's Charles?”
“Hy expect he schtill inventing schtuff,” said von Luftschiff. “He says dat coffee is really goot.”
“Inventing or not, he's got to eat,” said Hilde. “Fitzroy, go and get him, will you?”
“Yes, Madam,” replied the clank, and disappeared towards the back of the house.
Alice took advantage of the momentary hiatus to retrieve her letter. She went to the dining room window to read it. It was addressed from London, and written in a firm, neat hand.
“Dear Miss Davenport,” she read, “I fear I have some bad news. Mrs O'Dwyer, who was to have been responsible for your training and development on her return to this country, has sadly met with a fatal accident in Transylvania.”
Spy talk for “killed in action”, thought Alice grimly. She continued to read.
“Obviously for practical reasons it would be better to assign you to a female tutor, and I am looking into this at the moment. However, if I am not able to find a suitable person by 1 August, I shall undertake your tuition myself, since it is not fair to keep you in your current state of limbo any longer than absolutely necessary.”
Can't say fairer than that, thought Alice, who had no objection to being trained by a man if it came to it. She had no need to look at the signature to know who this particular man was, and his reputation had gone ahead of him. There was not the slightest danger that he would conduct himself in any way unbecoming to a gentleman.
“Meanwhile, I am now in a position to explain why you were all asked to remain in Kendal for a while. There are a few items you will need which would have been difficult to send through normal channels, and so I have arranged for you to pick them up from some friends of mine. Mrs Chatterjee's Famous Circus is currently performing in Lancaster, and will be moving up to Kendal within a few days of this letter reaching you. Mr Chatterjee has been entrusted with the items and will be expecting you. Go to the circus and ask to see him; you will probably need to pretend that you have an audition. Be sure to give your full name.”
There was a commotion in the doorway at this point, causing Alice to look up. There was still no sign of Charles, but Fitzroy appeared to be having some kind of nervous breakdown.
“Sir is not able to come to dinner yet,” it was saying. “But Madam ordered me to fetch him.”
“Oh, for gootness' sake,” said von Luftschiff. “Is not absolutely necessary he yoin us. Is necessary he eat. Vy don't hyu yust take him his dinner und den schtand over him und remind him to eat it?”
Fitzroy turned to Hilde. “Is that acceptable, Madam?”
“Yes, it's acceptable,” said Hilde. “And really, Fitzroy, I think I'm going to have to reprogram you a bit myself.”
Alice quickly finished reading her letter.
“While the circus is in town, I can also highly recommend going to see it. The fire eater, in particular, is outstanding. Please write and let me know when you have collected the items, and feel free to include any other observations that may be relevant.”
Interesting phrase there, thought Alice. I wonder what he means by that?
“Your humble and obd't s'vt, ARDSLEY WOOSTER.”
“Hoy, Miss Alice!” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu going to sit down und eat?”
“I am,” said Alice, pocketing the letter. “Sorry. It's from Mr Wooster.”
“Oh, that's good!” exclaimed Hilde, who was already sitting down. “Is it private?”
“No reason you and Charles shouldn't see it,” replied Alice, sitting opposite to her and passing her the letter.
Hilde read it quickly. “A circus? Excellent! Just what we need to distract Charles. I hope it arrives soon. Do please give him our best regards when you reply.”
“With pleasure. I rather hope I do get to train with him, because he does seem very nice. You and Charles always speak so well of him, and he comes across as extremely conscientious.”
“Yes, he's a thoroughly sound young man,” said Hilde. “He also has a very sharp mind. Oh, Herr von Luftschiff, that looks delicious!”
Von Luftschiff grinned broadly, showing all his fangs. “Hy hope so. Hy don't know if hy make it as goot as Captain Singh did, but hy tink it vill be all right.”
It was indeed delicious, and von Luftschiff, in his usual fashion, ate about as much as the other three put together; although, naturally, being a vegetarian he was not eating the gammon, so even if he had not had a hearty Jäger appetite he would have needed to eat more of the Indian dish to make up for it. The main course was followed by lemon meringue pie, to the especial delight of Hilde, since it was a favourite of hers.
“What about Charles?” asked Alice.
“Lemon meringue pie is yust as good cold,” replied von Luftschiff. “He can have it ven he ready. Hy not shouting for dat clank. It vorries too much.”
“It does,” agreed Hilde. “I think I may have to take a look at it myself before breakfast tomorrow morning."
Alice and von Luftschiff exchanged glances. They knew, from occasionally explosive experience, exactly what that meant.
* * * * *
The cart with the posters arrived first, along with half a dozen people to paste them up in various places around the town. Von Luftschiff, who was taking a post-breakfast stroll along the river, found one of them addressing a large tree near the church with a view to finding the best spot to put a nail. He had just pasted one of the posters onto a piece of hardboard to allow it to be hung.
“Hy reckon about dere,” suggested von Luftschiff helpfully, pointing to a suitable spot.
The poster-hanger, a skinny young man with sandy hair and a prominent Adam's apple, glanced round to see who was speaking, and then leapt about a yard, colliding with the tree. Von Luftschiff let out a sigh. He did not always get this kind of reaction in this country, and therefore, somehow, when he did, it always felt a lot worse.
“Hy vos only trying to help,” he said. “Anyvun vould tink hy vos going to bite hyu.”
The man did not look at all convinced. “What are you?” he gasped.
“Hy a Jäger,” replied von Luftschiff proudly. “Hyu dropped hyu poster. Hyu vant me to put it up?” Without waiting for an answer, he retrieved the hammer and nails, which the young man had also dropped in his fright, and then picked up the poster and studied it.
It was an impressive poster. At the top, in big bold capitals with tasteful little curly embellishments here and there, were the words “MRS CHATTERJEE'S FAMOUS CIRCUS”. For the avoidance of all possible doubt, there was an engraving immediately beneath these words showing a woman in ringmistress garb standing in front of a huge circus tent. Below this, somewhat crowded into the available space and set in a variety of sizes and styles: “Your only chance to see the remarkable talents of MADAME VESUVIUS, fire eater extraordinaire! Come and see STRONG ARM SALLY, the woman who can lift a full-grown horse! Marvel at THE GREAT ANTONIO and his PERFORMING POMERANIANS! Don't miss THE MIGHTY PYTHAGOREANS as they bedazzle with their unique combination of acrobatics and mathematics! Be amazed by THE TWO REGINALDS, dwarf and giant! Plus many JUGGLERS, CLOWNS, TRAPEZE ARTISTES, EQUESTRIAN PERFORMERS, MAGICIANS and STUNT VELOCIPEDISTS.” There then followed a panel with the word “Kendal” and a list of dates and times written in by hand.
Von Luftschiff selected a nail, banged it carefully into the tree, and hung the poster on it. “Dat looks like a goot show hyu got,” he said. “Hy definitely coming. Do hyu do anyting in de circus or do hyu yust hang de posters?”
“I... I'm a clown,” stammered the young man.
“Is goot. Hy like clowns. Vell, don't let me schtop hyu. Hyu got lots more posters to hang.” He picked the young man up from the ground, dusted him off, handed him the hammer and nails, and beamed. “Now dat vosn't so bad, vos it? Hy don't know vy hyu frightened of me. Hyu vit a circus. Hy bet hyu see veirder tings dan me every day.”
“Yes, b... b... but it's a circus. It's not real. Thing with you is, you're obviously real.”
“Ho ja. Hyu bet hy real. Personally, hy tink dat's a goot ting.”
Von Luftschiff was normally quite a cheerful soul, but he was a little pensive as he returned to the house. As the reader will already have gathered, he was somewhat atypical for a Jäger. Against a suitable opponent he could fight as well as any of his kind, and enjoy it just as much; but he objected to fighting humans, since he knew they were no match for him, and he found it difficult when they were afraid of him. After all, not so very long ago he had been human himself, and, while he was very happy with the strength and endurance of his new body, he was decidedly ambivalent about the fact that it was now green. It didn't have to be green. Jägers came in a variety of different colours, and a few lucky ones even kept their original skin tone. But green it was, and although he looked good enough in the mirror, not everyone was used to green faces, especially when they had extremely long sharp teeth.
He found Charles reading a newspaper in the parlour. The little spark looked up over the paper. “Oh, hallo, Herr von Luftschiff,” he said. “That was quite a short walk. Are you all right?”
Von Luftschiff sat down rather heavily. “Hy found a man putting up a poster for de circus. It looks goot, but de man vos schcared.”
“What, of you?” asked Charles.
“Vell, it vosn't of de liddle pink elephants,” replied von Luftschiff. “He vos schtone cold sober.”
Charles put down the paper. “Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that.”
Von Luftschiff shrugged. “It happens. But is frustrating. Hy not a monster.”
“No, of course not. You're a kind, thoughtful and intelligent person. Sadly, too many people think they can judge by looks. They should try doing what Hilde and I do. We've encountered some absolutely diabolical villains who looked completely conventional and respectable. If everyone met a few of those, it would change their outlook completely.”
“Vell,” von Luftschiff pointed out, “hy not sure it's safe for everyvun to meet diabolical villains.”
Charles laughed. “That is a very fair point!”
“Is a bit qviet here,” von Luftschiff observed. “Vere are de ladies?”
“Oh, well, Hilde's trying to calm down Fitzroy at the moment. I'm not sure what Alice is doing.”
Von Luftschiff put his head on one side. “Trying to calm him down? Is dat vit psychology or vit a schpanner?”
“Knowing my beloved, it could be either or both,” replied Charles. “I hope she's finished soon, though. I mean, if she's sparking, she might decide to... augment him.”
“He already seems preddy augmented to me,” said von Luftschiff. “Dat reminds me. Veren't hyu going to do someting to Bertha?”
“Oh, we are, but we've got plenty of time to do that,” replied Charles. “We've decided she could do with flight capacity. After that incident with the flying clanks and the time it took us to get the cannon ready, we thought it would be a lot better if we could meet any future aerial threat on its own terms. In particular, they were able to get directly overhead out of range, and if you hadn't been up there standing on the flywheel bashing the daylights out of them with a shovel, I very much doubt we'd be here to tell the tale.”
Von Luftschiff grinned. “Dat vos fun!”
“And in the meantime,” Charles continued, “I've decided to buy a velocipede. Since we're going to be settled for a bit, I'd like to do some riding. The countryside round here is lovely.”
Von Luftschiff looked doubtful. “Ja. Beautiful. But lots of up und down. Hyu sure?”
“Best sort of country for it!” exclaimed Charles, with enthusiasm. “It's certainly hard work pedalling up hills, but it's so much fun coming down. Maybe you could try it? You're so strong, you'd probably find it a breeze.”
“H'mm,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy had a bad experience vit vun of dose tings vunce.”
“But you're a Jäger now,” Charles persisted. “It'll all be different.”
“Vell, hokay. Maybe hy try it,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu going to buy it today?”
“Yes, I think I probably am. Why?”
“Den hyu better go out soon,” replied von Luftschiff. “Hy tink it going to rain again. Is very nize here, but is vet.”
“Then I shall. Would you mind letting Hilde know where I've gone, when you see her?”
“No problem.” Von Luftschiff eyed Charles as he stood up. “If hyu going right now, hyu mind if hy read de paper?”
“Not at all. Although I'm afraid it isn't terribly interesting.”
“De vay hyu live, hy don't suppose it ever is,” replied von Luftschiff, with a grin. “Ven hyu running round catching rogue schparks und veird manifestations, vot's in de paper must seem preddy tame by comparison.”
Charles laughed, and went to put on his hat. Then, suddenly recalling something, he put his head round the door again. “Oh, by the way, does my nose look all right?”
“Hyu nose? It looks yust der same as it alvays does. Vy?”
“Ah. Well, I got a rather large splotch of oil on it last night, and Hilde insisted on having at it with the carbolic soap. It was still looking a little pink when I shaved.”
“No, hyu look fine,” von Luftschiff assured him.
Charles thanked him and left, and von Luftschiff settled down with the paper. Charles had been quite right. Even by the standards of a normal person (whatever exactly that was, von Luftschiff reflected), it was pretty boring. There was a brief notice about the circus, giving dates and times, but since this was journalism rather than advertising copy there were no other details. Apart from that, there was a story about a woman who had been thrown off her horse and landed in a hedge, and appeared to be annoyed rather than seriously injured; a rather pompous editorial about that hoary old chestnut, educational standards; a short and painfully worthy digest by the local Member of Parliament, entitled “This Week in Westminster”; and the usual set of official notices, letters, announcements and advertisements.
A little later, Hilde came in, still wearing her leather work apron. Von Luftschiff put down the paper.
“Hy glad de circus is coming,” he observed. “Hy tink dey need it round here. If hyu believe de paper, all dey ever do is auction sheep.”
Hilde laughed. “Looking at the paper, I suppose that is a fair conclusion. Have you seen Charles?”
“Ho ja. He vent out to buy a velocipede.”
She frowned. “I hope he isn't too long. I'd like him to look at Fitzroy again.”
“Hyu not fixed him, den?”
“Well, yes and no.” Hilde sat down. “That is to say, I've fitted him with lights and a metal detector, but I don't appear to have solved his psychological problems.”
Von Luftschiff shook his head. “Hyu fitted him vit a metal detector? He already vorries about everyting. Is not going to help if he keeps detecting himself.”
“Oh, other metals, obviously. I did set it to ignore his own components, unless they developed any kind of fault.”
“How does he feel about de lights?” asked von Luftschiff.
“I thought he'd be pleased,” admitted Hilde. “But now he's worried about the correct etiquette for using them.”
“Hy tink Charles overdid der formal,” said von Luftschiff. “Vhich is all right, but den hyu got to do plenty of training. Der poor clank can't vork it all out for himself.”
“Well, yes, basically,” said Hilde, with a sigh. “Oh well. The thing is, we've never really had to think about servants before. Usually we're in hotels and it's not a problem, and when we stay anywhere medium-term like this, we're generally so busy that we just hire someone temporarily from an agency. But at the moment we've got time on our hands, and Charles has plenty of coffee, and so I suppose it was always going to happen.”
“Hyu vant to see de paper?” asked von Luftschiff.
“Not really, but thank you for asking. Is there anything about the circus in it?”
“Ja, but not a lot. Hyu vant to know about de circus, hyu can go into town und look at de posters. Dey vere putting dem up ven I vos out.”
“Ah, so it's on its way, then. That's good to hear. Do you know when it'll get here? I suppose they'll need a day or two to set up.”
“Vell, der first show is on Friday night und today is Vednesday, so hy should tink dey vill be here very soon. Maybe today.”
“Do you recall any of the acts?” asked Hilde.
“De fire eater vot Mister Vooster likes is top of de bill,” replied von Luftschiff. “Den dey got a schtrong voman. Dey said she could lift a horse. A horse is not a lot for a Jäger, but is damn goot for a human. Hy vould like to see her. Und some performing dogs, und de usual clowns und yugglers und acrobats und tings. Oh, und two Reginalds, votever dose are.”
Hilde smiled. “Reginald is a name. And wouldn't you be happier if we switched to German?”
“Hy got to be able to schpeak goot English here,” von Luftschiff pointed out. “Hy need de practice.”
“Fair enough. Oh, I know what I was going to ask you. I've got to send an extra load of washing to the laundry because Charles got oil all over himself last night. Is there anything you'd like to go in?”
“Ja. Hy got a couple of handkerchiefs. Hyu vant me to get dem now?”
“No hurry, but if you could have them ready after lunch that would be good. I'll send Fitzroy down with them. I don't think he's going to have too many etiquette worries about a trip to the laundry.”
“Dat clank can vorry about anyting,” replied von Luftschiff dourly.
“Well, yes, you have a point, but he's going to have to learn. There's no point in having a clank butler if he can't buttle because of his nerves.” She paused. “Circuits. Whatever. And next time you go upstairs, would you mind tapping on Alice's door and asking her? She got her dark red dress rather wet yesterday, so she might appreciate having it cleaned and ironed.”
“No problem. By de vay, can de clank climb schtairs?”
Hilde looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, technically, yes,” she replied.
“Technically?”
“He, er, seems to be afraid of heights.”
Von Luftschiff heaved a sigh.
“Hy might have known.”
* * * * *
Alice came down for lunch following a hard and very satisfying morning's study. When she had lived with her father, she had been in the habit of attending courses of evening lectures, but it had been impossible to keep to a lecture-based study programme while constantly on the move. So she had considered the various subjects that interested her, chosen European history as the one likely to be of most immediate use, and bought some good books. At first she had kept to her original habit of working in the evening, but it soon became clear that she studied better in the morning, and therefore this was what she did when she had the opportunity.
By complete contrast, she now descended to a scene in which everyone was talking at once. Hilde was standing near the bottom of the stairs, explaining to Fitzroy how to get to the laundry, what to do once he got there, and how nice and simple it all was. Charles had just come in and still had his hat on, and was chattering away excitedly to a bemused-looking von Luftschiff about gear ratios.
The Jäger was the first to notice her. “Ho, Miss Alice,” he said. “Vot sort of sandviches hyu fancy? Hy about to make lunch. Is also a cold meat pie und some salad, so hyu might yust vant dose.”
“I think cold meat pie and salad will be fine for me, thanks,” Alice replied. “Charles, what on earth have you invented this time?”
“Oh, not invented,” said Charles earnestly. “Bought. I've bought a velocipede. Do come and have a look!”
“But I dare say you will be making improvements,” said Hilde.
“Oh, almost certainly. In fact, as I was riding it home I had an idea for making it amphibious. It would be quite useful to be able to ride across the river.”
“There are bridges,” Hilde pointed out.
“Well, you never know,” said Charles. “They tell me it floods sometimes.”
“But, Madam,” said Fitzroy plaintively, “suppose I get lost?”
Von Luftschiff swung round to face the clank. “Hyu,” he said, with emphasis, “making me annoyed.” He looked at Hilde. “Hy vote hyu send Ashmole to show him de vay. Ashmole got more sense in vun of his revolving blades dan dis clank got altogether.”
“That's an excellent idea, Herr von Luftschiff, but unfortunately Ashmole is under repair at the moment,” said Hilde. Ashmole was the Greenwoods' spy clank, a resourceful little gadget which had played a significant role in the defeat of the last villain they had encountered. “That's what I was doing earlier this morning. He's developed a tendency to go in circles.”
Von Luftschiff sighed. “Ho-kay. Now hyu listen to me, clank. Hy show hyu de vay dis time, but only because hy don't vant to have to vaste time looking for hyu if hyu get lost. Hyu can find hyu own vay back. Is not a big town.”
Charles was frowning. “I really need to make a few more adjustments, I'm afraid. But then there's the velocipede... oh, yes, do come and look at the velocipede, everyone!”
Everyone trooped out politely to look at the velocipede, which was currently leaning against the wall under the parlour window. To Alice it looked pretty much identical to every other example of its kind she had ever seen, but Charles went into considerable detail about how it was the latest model and had a number of fascinating technical features.
That was the thing with sparks, Alice decided. Even when they bored you, at least they bored you in such a way that you could tell they would actually be really interesting if only you had the faintest idea what on earth they were on about. They were not, for instance, anything like Augustus Bennett, the young man to whom her father had once introduced her in the hope of a possible match. Augustus had been very rich, rather stupid, and thunderously boring. He had mainly talked about himself. Sparks, on the other hand, rarely did this; the Greenwoods had to be coaxed into doing so. They always had much more fascinating things to talk about.
“...and, you see, it would be the easiest thing in the world to insert an extra gear wheel here,” Charles was saying, beaming all over his face. “That way, you see, you could double up the gear mechanism, and that obviously more than doubles the actual number of gears you can obtain, because...”
“Hy go and make lunch,” said von Luftschiff to nobody in particular, and wandered indoors. Alice could hardly blame him. He was far from stupid, but this must be going as far over his head as hers.
“I think that's a good idea,” said Hilde diplomatically. “That is a lovely velocipede, darling, and I'm sure you're going to have a wonderful time both riding it and tinkering with it, but you also need to eat.”
“I could take some sandwiches into the workroom,” Charles suggested.
“You had your dinner in there last night, dear, and I do like to see you at meals sometimes. Just to remind me we're still married.” Hilde smiled affectionately. “Come on in.”
“Well, you were late for breakfast because of Ashmole...”
“Only late, dear. I didn't miss it altogether.”
Suppressing a grin, Alice followed them into the house. Hilde could be just as bad as Charles, and she had the grace to be well aware of it; but there was an important difference. Hilde was a morning person. She tended to wake up buzzing with ideas and start implementing them before breakfast, but by mid-afternoon she started to flag a little, and she rarely, if ever, sparked in the evening. Consequently, Hilde always got a good night's sleep, unless she happened to be disturbed by her husband. Charles, however, was entirely the opposite. He was usually rather dazed in the morning, and never started sparking properly until he was well caffeinated. This meant that he could often spark well into the evening, and sometimes, when at work on a major invention, he would stay up all night. It was probably due to this biorhythmical quirk that Hilde generally came across as a great deal more practical than Charles. She never had sleep deprivation to contend with.
Lunch was good, but then it always was. Von Luftschiff had the kind of determination in the kitchen that one can probably only get by being a vegetarian with a very large appetite in a time and place that does not cater particularly well for vegetarians. Not that he had any qualms about feeding those who were more omnivorous; Alice had no complaints at all regarding the meat pie.
“If you're going to take Fitzroy to the laundry,” she said to him after lunch, “I might walk with you, if you don't mind. I should think the circus will have set up by now, or at least set up enough for me to be able to see Mr Chatterjee.”
“Ja, dat vould be fine. Und perhaps hy vill yoin hyu ven hy have taken der schtupid clank vhere he needs to go. Hy vould like to look round.”
Charles looked slightly pained. “Fitzroy isn't actually stupid,” he protested. “He just has a few glitches.”
“If de glitches schtop him using his brain properly, dat makes him schtupid,” replied von Luftschiff. “Sorry. Hy got to tell it like it is.”
Finding no answer to this, Charles contented himself with pulling his long face; but it was not long before he thought of something else he wanted to do to the velocipede, and immediately perked up again. “Are you ready?” asked Alice.
“Ja, pretty much. If der clank is,” said von Luftschiff, looking none too favourably in the general direction of Fitzroy.
The circus was on the show field, at the extreme northern end of the town. The laundry was in the same general direction, but up one of the side roads; on the other hand, von Luftschiff walked faster than Alice, so unless anything went seriously wrong he would probably catch her up before she reached the circus. And so, as it turned out, he did, still making exasperated noises about the “schtupid clank”.
“What has Fitzroy done now?” asked Alice.
“Oh,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “Ve met a dog. It seems he schcared of dose too. Hy don't know vot he isn't schcared of.”
Alice could not restrain a chuckle. “I'm afraid he's not one of Charles' better inventions. He probably hadn't had enough coffee.”
“De principle is goot,” said von Luftschiff. “A mechanical servant, hokay, great idea. Is yust dat dis particular vun is terrible.”
“I wouldn't quite say terrible,” Alice demurred. “He's all right if you want a plate of biscuits in the parlour.”
“Hy should tink Ashmole could do dat,” replied von Luftschiff. “Ho vell. If he gets lost going home, Charles can go und find him on his new velocipede. Hy done my bit.”
They walked a little further in silence, and then Alice said, “You know, perhaps you're being just a little hard on Fitzroy. I know he's a drip, and that annoys you because you're very brave. But then it's easy for you to be very brave. You're strong and tough. You don't have to be afraid of anything much.”
“Ho ja. But not so long ago, hy vas human. Hy remember vell enough vot it vos like to be schcared.” He shook his head, reminiscing. “Hy vos schcared most of de time. But den, hy had someting to be schcared about. Ven hyu got armies of clanks vot are completely out of control, und verevolves und revenants und Gott only knows vot else, hyu got goot reason to be schcared. Dat clank got notting like dat to vorry about. Dat's vot bugs me.”
Alice thought about this for a few moments. Then she said, “Maybe he could learn not to be scared. I mean, some people are afraid of you when they first see you, but usually they learn.”
Von Luftschiff sighed. “Not alvays. Anyvay, hyu veren't afraid ven hyu first saw me. Hyu didn't have to learn.”
“Well, no, but I think I would have been if I'd seen you before I heard your voice,” Alice admitted. “And then I'd have had to realise later that you're a decent person.”
“Hy don't tink dat clank vill learn not to be schcared of me,” said von Luftschiff dourly. “Hy probably de vun ting he got goot reason to be schcared of.”
“You wouldn't hurt him, though,” said Alice.
“Ach nein. But hy might have to shout at him.”
The circus was now in full view. Although the Big Top itself was well and truly closed, a fact advertised by a large painted sign and backed up by a couple of burly guards with impressive biceps and even more impressive moustaches, there was a great deal else going on, and it was clear that parts of the show field were not only open for business but already doing a brisk trade. Rows of stalls lined the route from the gate to the Big Top, and behind the right-hand group of stalls there was a cluster of smaller tents, wagons, caravans and temporary wooden buildings. Among the crowds darted a motley assortment of children, who saw the arrival of the circus not only as the most exciting thing that had happened in months, but also a heaven-sent opportunity to make a tidy profit running errands and carrying messages. Alice thought she recognised the boy who had come to the door with the letter the previous day.
“Hoo!” exclaimed von Luftschiff. “Hy going to look at dat schtall vhile hyu go und see Mister Chatterjee. Look at all dat schtuff!”
Alice grinned. There was a good selection of leatherwork; true to his vegetarian principles, von Luftschiff did not use leather if he could get an alternative, but there was nothing else available for footwear and very little for belts and sheaths. But it was clearly the knives that had really caught his eye. Someone connected with the circus had quite a talent for metalwork.
“Have fun,” smiled Alice. “I'd better see if I can catch the eye of one of those kids... ah, it seems I already have,” she added, as a chubby little girl appeared at her side. “Hallo. My name is Miss Alice Davenport, and I need to see Mr Chatterjee. Can you take me to him, please?”
The child bobbed a hasty curtsey. “Yes, miss. This way.”
Alice followed the little girl between the stalls and as far as the door of one of the temporary buildings. “His office is in here,” said the child importantly, “but he's very busy at the moment. Please wait outside, miss, and I'll go and ask if he can see you.”
Alice thanked her and waited. A few minutes later, her guide re-emerged. “It's all right, miss,” she announced. “He'll see you. When you go in, there's a corridor with four doors in it, and it's the end one on the right.”
Alice duly handed over the expected tip, and the child scampered off in search of more work. The building smelt of paint, with a musty note of underlying mildew, and the doors had pasteboard signs attached to them, all curling at the edges and written in badly faded ink. Alice wasted no time trying to decipher them, but walked straight to the office where she had been directed. The door was ajar, so she took hold of the doorknob in order to knock on it.
There was no response. Puzzled, she tried again, a little louder. Perhaps Mr Chatterjee's hearing was not good. Still getting no response, she tried a third time, and when that met with an equal lack of success, she said, “Mr Chatterjee?”
Silence.
Alice pushed the door open and strode in, then stopped short as she took in the scene in front of her. A man, presumably Mr Chatterjee, was slumped motionless over a desk covered in papers. She lifted his hand. It dropped back onto the desk with a dull thud.
She edged, with some difficulty, into the confined space behind him, put both hands firmly on his shoulders, and shook him. Nothing happened. She picked up the limp hand again and checked for a pulse.
There was none.
Alice rushed back out into the corridor and banged as hard as she could on all three of the remaining doors. Three astonished figures emerged from them. One of them, without question, was Mrs Chatterjee, a majestic-looking lady who was currently resplendent in an orange sari. The other two were a tall youngish man with precarious eyeglasses and an elderly man with very bushy white eyebrows.
“What's going on?” demanded Mrs Chatterjee. “And who are you?”
“I'm Alice Davenport,” Alice replied. “I've just been in to see your husband, but something's badly wrong. Do you have a doctor travelling with you?”
“Yes,” said the man with the precarious eyeglasses. “Me. I'm Dr Abercrombie.”
“Well, then, for goodness' sake go and attend to Mr Chatterjee,” said Alice. “He hasn't got a pulse. I have no idea what's the matter, but if that child is anything to go by, he was perfectly fine just a few minutes ago.” She turned to the elderly gentleman. “And you are...?”
“Jones,” he replied, a little querulously. “I'm the bursar.”
Mrs Chatterjee swept past Alice and the doctor. “I'm sure there's nothing at all to get into such a panic about,” she declared. “I expect it's nothing more than his usual trouble. You're not in any branch of the medical profession, are you, Miss Davenport? It isn't always easy to find someone's pulse... oh.” She tailed off, her hand around her husband's wrist, her face suddenly all concern.
“Usual trouble?” asked Alice, as Dr Abercrombie hurried past her.
“Epilepsy. But he doesn't look as though he's just had a seizure. Everything would be much more disordered.”
The doctor gently and tactfully moved Mrs Chatterjee away, and made a careful examination of his patient. When he looked up, his face was grave.
“Mrs Chatterjee,” he said, “I'm very sorry to tell you that the news is bad.”
Mrs Chatterjee was too dark to go pale, as such, but she did turn a very unpleasant colour. “He... isn't, is he?”
“I'm afraid so. Perhaps you'd better sit down, as I'm afraid I've got a little more that I have to tell you, and it won't be very nice.”
The ringmistress sat down heavily on the only other chair in the room. “I don't see what you could possibly have to tell me that could be any worse,” she said.
“Well, you see, I can't establish a cause of death,” explained Dr Abercrombie, as gently as he could manage. “I am absolutely satisfied that he did not suffer an epileptic seizure. Both the state of his papers and Miss Davenport's testimony rule that out. That means I'm not able to sign his death certificate at present. I suggest we call in another doctor to see if two heads may be better than one, but if that doesn't work, there will have to be an inquest.”
Mrs Chatterjee was silent for a moment with her head bowed, but she held herself together royally. One did not become ringmistress of a famous circus by going under when disaster struck. “Miss Davenport's testimony,” she repeated, thoughtfully. “Perhaps Miss Davenport would like to repeat it, so that we all have it clear in our minds?”
“Certainly,” said Alice. “But, before I start, may I ask if my name is already familiar to you, madam?”
“It is.”
Alice nodded, taking a deep breath. “Good. Well then, I asked one of the children to take me to see your husband. She brought me to the main door of this building and asked me to wait outside while she went to see if he would be able to see me. She said he was very busy. She was inside for only a few minutes, then she came out and said he could see me. She told me which was his door, I gave her a few pennies, and she skipped off into the crowd. When I went in, all the doors were closed except for his, which was ajar. I knocked three times but got no answer, so I called his name. There was still no answer, so I went in and found him as you see him.”
“And the child?” asked Mrs Chatterjee.
“I would like to speak to her again,” replied Alice, “but I think it will be no more than a formality. She can have been no more than ten or eleven. If a child of that age had seen anything out of the ordinary, she would have come running out in a panic, but she came out quite normally. She had evidently just been speaking to him. What I would really like to find out from her is whether or not there was anyone else in the office when she saw him.”
“If there was,” said the doctor, “it could only have been one of us. You would have seen anyone who came out of the building.”
Alice automatically glanced at the window. It was doubtful it would even open, and it certainly showed no signs that it had been opened recently. “That's true,” she agreed.
“You suspect foul play?” asked Mrs Chatterjee sharply.
“I'm afraid I can't rule it out, madam,” replied Alice. “If it wasn't foul play, it was a most extraordinary coincidence.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Chatterjee slowly.
She considered for a few moments, then turned to Dr Abercrombie. “I think we shall skip the second doctor and move straight to the inquest,” she said. “If there's any possibility of foul play, I want it investigated as soon as possible. I'm leaving you in charge of all the arrangements. Get the police in, and be as discreet about it as you can. I want plain clothes officers, if they're in any way willing to send them. I don't want any members of the public to panic, and I most certainly do not want anyone from the papers getting hold of the story, at least until we leave this town. The show must go on. That is our first consideration.”
Dr Abercrombie nodded understandingly. “Of course, madam. You may rely on me.”
“And I would like to talk to you in my office,” continued Mrs Chatterjee, turning to Alice.
“With the greatest of pleasure, madam,” Alice replied, “but first of all I need to send for my colleague. I think he will be very helpful.”
“Oh, you have someone with you? Excellent. Send for him by all means.”
“One moment,” said Alice, and hurried to the exit, where she hailed the nearest passing child.
“Go and find my friend Herr von Luftschiff and bring him here at once,” she instructed. “You'll probably find him near the stall that sells knives and leatherwork. He is quite tall, with dark hair and a shako hat. And he's green. You can't miss him.”
The child stared at her. “Green?”
“Yes, green. Don't just stand there goggling. Go and get him – now!”
* * * * *
Von Luftschiff contemplated the knife in his hand with enormous satisfaction. Unlike his continental kin, he was not happy to carry a sword about in public, since in this much more tranquil land it looked more like a threat than self-defence. But sometimes self-defence was needed, especially when travelling with the Greenwoods, and to this end it was sometimes handy to have some edged weapons. He had bought a set of small throwing knives and this one, which was basically a dagger. Not just any old dagger, though. It was better than anything he'd had in the Army, back in his human days. The balance was perfect, and there was some really beautiful metalwork on the hilt. It also had a wooden sheath, painstakingly inlaid around the top with brass and mother-of-pearl and ringed with brass bands to provide insurance against splitting.
It had been quite expensive, of course. But von Luftschiff could afford it, and he never objected to parting with good money for good craftwork. Someone who could make a knife like that deserved to make a decent living.
He was abruptly shaken from his reverie by a small child who almost barrelled straight into him. “Mr von Lupship?” he demanded.
“Close,” said von Luftschiff, sheathing the knife. “Vot hyu vant?”
“There's a lady wants you, sir, right now. Over there.”
“A lady in a green dress und a black hat vid a feather?”
The child nodded. “Come on!”
“Hokay. Hyu run, hy follow.”
Within a few seconds he was at the door of the temporary building, where Alice was waiting for him. She thanked the child and pressed a tip into his hand, but her face was worried, and von Luftschiff noticed immediately. “Vot's wrong?” he asked. “Hyu need me to confirm hyu identity or someting?”
“It's rather worse than that,” replied Alice, after satisfying herself that the child had run off out of earshot. “Mr Chatterjee is dead.”
Von Luftschiff gaped. “Vot?!”
“You'd better come in and see for yourself. Cause of death unknown; time of death, disturbingly recent. And we've got to go and talk to the widow, who is handling the situation remarkably well, but if I'm any judge at all she's going to have a good cry when she's finished the immediate arrangements and can get a few minutes on her own.”
Alice led him into the building. Mrs Chatterjee came out of her office, and stopped in her tracks. “Who,” she demanded, “are you?”
“Ah,” said Alice. “You were expecting Charles Greenwood, yes? This is Herr von Luftschiff, the Greenwoods' assistant.”
“Hyu vant Charles, hy can get him if hyu like,” offered von Luftschiff.
“I don't know about any Herr von Luftschiff,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “Nor, indeed, any Jäger of any description.”
“Hy telling hyu, hy can get Charles. Und Hilde if hyu need her,” von Luftschiff repeated.
“He can,” said Alice firmly. “And in the meantime, I can vouch for him a hundred per cent. I suppose you're aware of the matter of Mr Worthington?”
“Not in detail,” replied Mrs Chatterjee slowly, “but yes, I have heard that there was a situation involving that gentleman.”
“No gentleman. He killed my father,” said Alice. “Herr von Luftschiff helped to bring the scoundrel to justice. It's your circus, madam, and even more than that it was your husband, and in every case but this I'm more than happy to defer to your judgement; but if you won't see Herr von Luftschiff, you won't see either of us.”
“A spirited girl,” said Mrs Chatterjee, with something like approval. “I begin to understand a great deal. Very well. Come in, both of you.”
They entered the office, which was only barely less cramped than that of her late husband, especially since it had one more chair. This meant that both von Luftschiff and Alice could take up Mrs Chatterjee's offer of a seat.
“If hyu vill excuse me,” said von Luftschiff, “hy am not fully vot hyu might call up to date. All hy know is dat der poor yentleman is dead. Hy very sorry to hear dat, but hy don't underschtand how he died.”
“Neither does anyone at the moment,” replied the widow, grimly. “Not even our doctor, who is normally very good. Consequently, given the suspicious nature of the timing, I'm treating it as foul play until proved otherwise. I have asked Dr Abercrombie to send for the police, and I have specifically requested plain clothes officers if they are available.”
“Could hy see him?” asked von Luftschiff.
“If you wish, although I'm not certain what good it will do,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “You're not a doctor, I suppose.”
“No. But hy vos in de Army. Hy know about tings like eschcape routes. If somevun killed him, ve need to know how dey got in und out.”
“That's sensible,” Mrs Chatterjee conceded, standing up. “I must admit it baffles me. When he was killed, there were only three other people in the building. I was in here, Dr Abercrombie was in his office next door, and Mr Jones, who is our bursar, was in his office, which is opposite Dr Abercrombie's and next to my late husband's. Dr Abercrombie certainly had the means to kill someone, but he could have had no possible motive, and in any case I'm now quite sure he didn't do it. If he had, he would simply have put the death down to natural causes and signed the death certificate, and nobody would have been any the wiser. As it was, he said outright that he couldn't establish a cause of death and that an inquest might be needed. He would never have said that if he had just murdered my husband.”
Alice nodded. “I thought the same. What about Mr Jones? I noticed he slipped away about the time you went into your husband's office.”
“Mr Jones keeps himself to himself, and won't hang around where he's not needed,” replied Mrs Chatterjee. “This was clearly a situation for a doctor, not a bursar. So the fact that he didn't stay around isn't suspicious in itself. Nonetheless, I expect the police will want to talk to him.”
“Hy afraid dey probably vant to talk to hyu too,” said von Luftschiff. “Sorry, but hyu need to be prepared for dat.”
Mrs Chatterjee nodded. “Yes, Herr von Luftschiff. I'm aware of that, but I do appreciate the spirit in which you said that. All I can say is that I didn't kill him. I had no reason to. We were quite happy together.” She paused. “Come this way.”
Von Luftschiff inspected the office thoroughly, leaving the body respectfully alone. Trying to find the cause of death was not his territory; that would be for the doctors and the police. He went over and rattled the window, carefully using the tip of a claw to avoid leaving confusing fingerprints.
“Dey certainly didn't get in or out dis vay,” he observed. “Is pretty vell schtuck. Hy could open it, but hy don't tink a human could.”
“I may take you up on that later,” said Mrs Chatterjee, “but please don't do anything to it now. The police will want to see it as it was.”
“Hy know. Don't vorry. Could hy see Mr Yones' office, please?”
“Of course.” Mrs Chatterjee walked back into the corridor and tapped on the bursar's door.
“Yes?” he called from within.
“This is Mrs Chatterjee. Herr von Luftschiff would like to look at your office for a moment.”
Jones went to the door and opened it abruptly. “He can see it if he likes, madam, but I can assure you I am not hiding anything. Am I to understand that there is something suspicious about the unfortunate death of your husband? I hope nobody is attempting to implicate me in this tragic event.”
“Schtop talking like a book,” said von Luftschiff. “All ve doing at de moment is asking a few qvestions vot have got to be asked. Even if ve find someting wrong in hyu office, dat doesn't necessarily incriminate hyu. Hyu don't look like hyu got de guts to kill somevun anyvay.”
Not entirely sure whether that worked out as a compliment or an insult on balance, the bursar subsided into silence. Von Luftschiff strode past him into the office. “Vell, look at dat,” he said, sliding up the window. “Dis vindow opens no problem. Und it's on de far side of de building from de schtalls, same as Mr Chatterjee's. If somevun had schlipped out by dis vindow vhile hyu vere all in de odder office, nobody vould have seen dem.”
“I wasn't in there very long,” the bursar pointed out. “When I realised there was nothing I could do, I came straight back in here. I have got work to do, you understand.”
“And it doesn't answer the question of how they got in,” said Alice. “Presumably, Mr Jones, you were sitting in here for quite a while before the disturbance.”
“How dey got in is not so impawtent,” replied von Luftschiff. “Dey could yust have valked in de usual vay, unless hyu normally keep de main door locked. Dey could have been in dere talking to him for a vhile.” He paused, thinking. “It rained a lot yesterday. Der ground vill schtill be nize und soft. If dere are any footprints under de vindow, or if somevun been trying to cover dem up, de police vill find dem.”
“And if there aren't?” asked Mrs Chatterjee.
“Den at least ve no vorse bevildered dan ve vere,” replied von Luftschiff pragmatically.
The three of them returned to Mrs Chatterjee's office. “Well,” she said, as they all sat down again. “One thing, I'm afraid, is pretty clear. Mr Wooster is going to have to be informed.”
“Have you got a safe direct way to do that, or should I ask Charles and Hilde?” asked Alice. “I hope you'll forgive my asking, madam, but I'm somewhat hazy about communication protocols at the moment.”
“I have, but in the circumstances I think it might be better if you could ask Charles and Hilde,” Mrs Chatterjee decided. “Everything is very busy here at the moment, and I can't just slip out to send a telegram. But if you don't mind, I would like to see one or both of them personally with the reply. It's not that I doubt who you are, but if any questions are asked later I should prefer to be quite certain I'm covered.”
Alice nodded. “Understood. And that won't be difficult. They've both expressed an interest in coming to see the circus.”
“Good,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “And will you be coming too?”
Von Luftschiff grinned. “Try und schtop us! It looks goot.”
“Well, that's reassuring,” said the ringmistress, managing a little smile. “Tell me something, Herr von Luftschiff, if you wouldn't mind. I will confess I don't know a great deal about the Jägerkin. How strong are you, exactly?”
“Vell,” said von Luftschiff, “hyu got a schtrong voman vot can lift a horse, und dat's impressive for a human. Hy schtronger dan dat.”
“That could be quite useful,” mused Mrs Chatterjee. “If we catch the person responsible, we may need to subdue them.”
“Hy goot at subduing,” von Luftschiff assured her. “Ven hy subdue somevun, dey schtay subdued.”
“But he doesn't hurt them,” Alice put in. “Not intentionally, anyway. He's much gentler than he looks. When he first came here, someone kidnapped him and he accidentally broke a guard's wrist because he didn't know his own strength. He apologised and splinted it for him.”
Mrs Chatterjee raised her eyebrows. “Now that certainly is something I didn't previously know about Jägers,” she said.
“To be fair, Herr von Luftschiff is a little unusual,” said Alice.
Von Luftschiff sighed. “Hyu know vot? Hy fed up vit everyvun saying hy unusual. Hy yust me. Hyu take me as hy be or hyu leave me. Miss Alice is right; hy don't hurt people if hy can help it. Hy don't see vy dat makes me some kind of freak.”
“I didn't mean...” Alice began.
He held up a hand. “No. Hy know hyu didn't. Hyu alvays been goot to me. But everyvun else, except Charles und Hilde, dey go all boggle-eyed. Anyvun vould tink dat yust because hy look like dis, hy got to be some kind of big schtupid violent oaf. Anyvun vould tink dat vas vot pipple vanted.”
“I'm sorry,” said Mrs Chatterjee, with unusual humility. “I should have known better. I work with all kinds of people in the circus, all the time, and I know as well as anyone that you can't tell anything about their character from what they look like. I shouldn't have taken all the stories so seriously.”
“No vorries. But hy got to ask. Hyu got a circus, hyu travel all over de place. Vy haven't hyu met any odder Jägers?”
“I don't know,” she admitted. “I've seen them sometimes in some of the towns, but not to talk to. I don't know whether or not any of them have been to the circus. When you're concentrating on keeping all the acts running smoothly, you don't tend to notice individuals in the audience.”
“Hy meant vorking for de circus,” von Luftschiff persisted. “Ve all very schtrong. A lot of us are goot at odder tings. Ve live a long time. Ve got loads of time to practise und get really goot.”
Mrs Chatterjee frowned. “That's actually a very interesting question,” she said. “And I have to confess I don't know the answer. All I can say is that I've never been approached by a Jäger wanting a job.”
Von Luftschiff shook his head. “Dat's kind of veird. Oh vell. Vot hyu vere saying earlier – hyu need somevun subdued, hyu yust give me a shout, hy subdue dem. Only first of all ve got to find de person vot needs subduing, und dat may not be so easy.” He paused. “Vot about de tings Miss Alice came to collect? Dey schtill dere?”
“Yes. I saw the bag still under his desk. I don't think it's been touched. Excuse me one moment, and I'll go and fetch it.”
The bag in question proved to be one of the ordinary large brown paper variety, the sort that Alice might have been given if she had bought some embroidered linen at one of the stalls. It contained what looked like a perfectly regular small pistol in a case, together with an instruction manual, some small wooden boxes of ammunition, and a large bulky envelope with a wax seal. Mrs Chatterjee insisted on examining the seal closely to ensure that nobody had tampered with it, and returned it only when she was quite satisfied of this.
“It's just a pistol,” said Alice. “I could have got one of those anywhere. Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?”
Mrs Chatterjee smiled. “Because it's not just a pistol. We've all got one. It's spark modified. Those boxes all contain different types of ammunition. That's why it needs the instruction manual.”
“I've never seen Charles or Hilde use theirs,” said Alice.
“Different branch. They're sparks. Sparks tend to... create their own weapons.”
“Und odder tings,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “Hy mean, don't get me wrong. Most of dem are pretty goot. But de new butler...” He shook his head meaningfully. “Hy hope to gootness it found its vay back from de laundry.”
* * * * *
When Alice and von Luftschiff arrived home, they found Charles in the parlour with his head swathed in bandages, but otherwise looking reasonably chirpy. There was no sign of either Hilde or Fitzroy.
“Oh, hallo,” said Charles. “I was just wondering when you'd be back. Everything go all right?”
“Not exactly,” Alice replied. “It looks very much as though someone's killed Mr Chatterjee. Mrs Chatterjee sends her compliments and asks if you would inform Mr Wooster as a matter of urgency.”
Charles leapt from his chair. “Great Scott!”
“Yes, that was more or less what I thought when I found him,” said Alice. “We don't know exactly how he died. Even the circus doctor can't work that out. But he clearly died very suddenly, and we're all extremely suspicious about the timing.”
“Nothing obvious, then?”
“Not a mark on him, as far as I could see.” She looked to von Luftschiff for confirmation, and he nodded gravely.
“Oh dear. How is Mrs Chatterjee bearing up?”
“Remarkably well, but then a ringmistress has to be pretty tough. Anyway, what happened to you? Did you fall off?”
“Not exactly fall, as such,” Charles replied. “It was more that I had a rather unfortunate encounter with a horse who apparently wasn't used to velocipedes. Thankfully I was much less damaged than I looked. I bled quite disturbingly, but it was all on the surface.”
“Scalp vounds are like dat,” said von Luftschiff. “Hope hyu saw a doctor anyvay. Concussion can be nasty.”
“I did. Apparently I'm all right. I'd have been surprised if I hadn't been. I fell into a hawthorn bush. These are scratches, not bashes.”
“Good to hear it,” said Alice. “Where's Hilde?”
“Er... I believe she's still trying to reason with Fitzroy,” replied Charles, uncomfortably.
“Say no more,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “She got more patience vit him dan hy have. Hyu vell enough to send a telegram, or hyu vant me to go und find her?”
“I'm well enough. I'm perfectly fine except for the scratches, some of which are quite ugly. I'll just get my hat and then I'll walk down to the post office – probably best not to get back in the saddle today. By the way, have the police been called?”
“Ja,” said von Luftschiff.
“Good. I'll put that in the telegram, then. Oh, and Alice, did you still get your things?”
Alice held up the bag. “All in here. Mrs Chatterjee checked it for me and made sure everything was in order. It doesn't look as though anything's been touched.”
“Well, that's something, at least,” said Charles. “If they'd been stolen, it wouldn't have been the end of the world, but it would still have been quite awkward.”
“Maybe, but it does also make the motive for the murder – if it was murder, which I think we've got to assume it was – a great deal less obvious,” Alice observed. “It clearly wasn't someone who was out to stop me getting the items.”
Charles stroked his chin. “Well, as a matter of fact, we can't entirely rule that out,” he said. “You see, a married person can't join the Service without the full agreement and co-operation of their spouse. Sometimes, that means that both partners end up as active members, like Hilde and myself. Other times, one partner does all the Service work, but the other one acts as a back-up if something goes disastrously wrong. This isn't generally known, for obvious reasons. Mr Chatterjee joined with his wife's full knowledge and consent, but she was already far too busy to be anything other than a passive back-up agent. Whoever killed her husband probably had no idea that she was involved at all.”
“Dat makes sense,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu couldn't have got de tings if Mrs Chatterjee hadn't known vhere dey vere. Dey vere out of sight behind de desk. Somevun could have known who hyu vere und vy hyu needed to see Mr Chatterjee, but dey might have tought hyu'd never get de tings if he vos dead.”
“Killing him seems a bit unnecessary, though, if that's the reason,” Alice objected. “There must be all sorts of ways of preventing a package getting from A to B without having to do murder. Besides, if they didn't know Mrs Chatterjee was an agent, they could have tampered with it.”
“Well,” said Charles decisively, “I'm going out. The first thing we've got to do is alert Mr Wooster, who's not going to be at all happy about losing another agent in such a short time, but he'll be even less happy if he doesn't find out straight away.”
“Hyu sure hyu schtill vant dis career?” asked von Luftschiff, as Charles went to put his hat on.
Alice nodded. “Yes. Someone's got to do it, after all. Anyway, it's interesting work.”
“Ven hyu not getting murdered,” said von Luftschiff.
“Well, there's that. But Mr Wooster's been doing it for a long time, and he hasn't been murdered, so it's not inevitable.”
Charles had been out of the house for about ten minutes when Hilde stormed into the parlour looking uncharacteristically cross. “Darling, if you don't...” she began, then realised that she had the wrong audience. “Oh. Sorry. Where's Charles?”
“Out sending a telegram,” replied Alice. “I'm afraid something very serious has happened.” She gave Hilde a brief run-down of the afternoon's events, with von Luftschiff nodding in agreement and occasionally adding minor details.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Hilde. “How terrible. Poor Mrs Chatterjee! And I was thinking we had more than enough happening over here. It was nothing by comparison.”
“Ve saw Charles' bandages,” said von Luftschiff. “He told us vot happened. Good ting he did fall into a hawtorn bush. Could have been a lot vorse oddervise.”
“Well, and not just that,” said Hilde. “I'm afraid Fitzroy is gibbering. I've been trying to soothe him for an hour, but I've finally had enough. I came in here to tell Charles that if he didn't do something, I was going to disassemble Fitzroy altogether and rebuild him from scratch. It's not a nice thing to have to do to an intelligent clank, but I'm not at all sure this one is fixable in any other way.”
Von Luftschiff rolled his eyes. Alice said, “Why is he gibbering? What happened? He was more or less all right when I last saw him, which was on the way to the laundry.”
“That's what I've been trying to work out, Alice. The most I can tell is that something he saw or heard on the way home put the fears into his gears. Whatever it was, he's absolutely useless for his original purpose as things stand.”
“Hyu vant me to bash him on der head und see if dat resets his vorkings?” asked von Luftschiff hopefully. “Hy could do dat.”
“I've got a better idea,” said Alice. “Why don't we take him to the circus?”
Von Luftschiff stared at her. “Vot?!”
“Well,” Alice explained, “I once remember reading a book by this very learned professor who said that the way we treat insanity doesn't work. And you can hardly argue with that; of all the people who are sent to lunatic asylums, very few are ever released again. Well, she argues that when people go insane, what they're doing is retreating into another world because this world is too hard for them to cope with.”
“Actually,” said von Luftschiff slowly, “she not got a bad point dere. Hy could easily have gone crazy myself if hy hadn't happened to take der potion.”
“Right,” said Alice. “So what she thinks we ought to do is be especially kind to insane people, to help to encourage them back into the real world. She says it doesn't always work, because sometimes they've gone too far into their own world to come back, but sometimes it can, and even a low success rate is better than what we've got at the moment. And if people, then why not clanks?”
“H'mm,” said von Luftschiff. “Vell, ja. Dere's kind, und den dere's taking de damn ting to de circus. Vot if it's frightened of horses?”
“Then at the very least we'll find that out,” said Hilde. “At the moment, we've no idea what's the matter. If we do take him to the circus, we'll be able to keep an eye on him. If he enjoys it, that's good and it will probably help, but if he finds something he's scared of, then we'll be able to tell immediately.”
“Is a clank,” von Luftschiff objected. “He got veapons, right? Vot if he fires on de audience? Is too dangerous.”
“He had weapons, you mean,” Hilde replied. “I've already found and deactivated all of them for exactly that reason. I'm not having him fire on some innocent bystander because something in his addled sprockets is telling him they're planning to kill us.”
“Vell,” said von Luftschiff, “is up to hyu vhether hyu take it or not, but if hyu do und it schtarts going out of control or hurting anyvun, hy schmash it so goot hyu going to need to bring de bits home in a bag.”
“That's fair enough,” agreed Hilde. “We don't want him causing any trouble either. But I do think Alice has a good point. I think we should at least try the circus and see if it helps at all.”
“Schtill seems a drastic vay of being kind,” said von Luftschiff. “Couldn't ve maybe try someting else in de meantime? Hy mean, vot does it like?”
“That's actually a really good question,” said Alice.
“Well,” said Hilde, “clanks are always built to enjoy doing their job. Except that Fitzroy can't do his job at the moment because he's too... far into his other world, I suppose, if this psychologist is correct. I wonder if there are little bits of it he could do?”
“I think we need to ask Charles when he gets back,” said Alice. “After all, he built Fitzroy in the first place.”
Hilde nodded. “Yes. I'm not even sure anything's getting through to him at the moment. Charles might at least know how to make him understand a simple order.”
“Und for now, is high time hy schtarted on de dinner,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu getting chops, und hy having a cashew schnitzel. A big vun. Vit all dat valking, hy hungry.”
He was just getting up to go to the kitchen when Charles returned. “Oh, there you are, darling!” exclaimed Hilde. “I've just been told the news. Isn't it dreadful? I hope we can find something useful to do for poor Mrs Chatterjee.”
“Helping to bring her husband's killer to justice would be top of the list,” Charles replied, “but at the moment I don't even know where we'd start with that. Although I suppose it mightn't hurt to send Ashmole over to the circus to see if there's any information he can pick up.”
“I did wonder about that,” said Hilde, “but it's a very big circus, and we don't even know whether or not the killer is part of it. Ashmole would need a stroke of luck.”
“I would say it was more likely than not that the killer is part of the circus,” replied Charles. “They knew exactly where to find Mr Chatterjee in a temporary set-up, and, assuming it wasn't Mr Jones, they also knew how to disappear afterwards. And if it actually was Mr Jones, then obviously he's part of the circus anyway.”
“I'm not going to rule him out,” said Alice thoughtfully, “but I'd be surprised if it turned out to be Mr Jones. Herr von Luftschiff said he didn't look as though he had the guts to kill someone, but I read him differently. I got the impression that all he really cares about is his accounts. He might kill someone if they messed up his ledgers, but I can't see him bothering to do it for any other reason.”
“Ja. Vell, I don't tink hyu need me here,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy going to go und grill tings.”
“Oh, Charles,” said Hilde, as von Luftschiff finally left the room, “I'd very much like a word with you about Fitzroy. Well, several words, which may possibly include 'spanner', for instance.”
Charles pulled his long face. “Oh dear.”
There was a tap on the door. Von Luftschiff, who happened to be the nearest, answered it. It was a small girl with a telegram. Possibly she had been among those running errands at the circus earlier, because she showed no sign of surprise or fear at the sight of von Luftschiff.
“Telegram for Mr Charles Greenwood, sir,” she announced.
“Ho, goot! Danke. Charles, hy tink hyu got hyu reply.”
“My word, that was quick,” said Charles, hurrying to the door. He tipped the child and quickly opened the telegram as von Luftschiff closed the door again.
“What does he say?” asked Hilde.
“He's coming up on the next train,” Charles replied. “Murder is obviously always serious, but I must admit I'm still surprised. It never occurred to me that he'd come himself.”
“The next train! That'll be the sleeper, by now. He'll get here in the morning. Does he say if he's going to arrive at Kendal or Oxenholme?”
“It'll have to be Oxenholme first, come what may,” said Charles. “Kendal is on the branch line. After dinner, I'll take Bertha up to Oxenholme and find out what time the sleeper arrives in the morning. He hasn't specifically asked to be picked up, but I think we should.”
“It'll be good to meet him at last,” said Alice. “Though it's a real shame about the circumstances.”
“I think you two should come with me to get him,” suggested Charles. “You're in the best position to answer his questions, and Bertha's a nice private place to ask them.”
“When you say with you, darling,” said Hilde with a smile, “does that not perhaps depend on exactly what time the sleeper arrives at Oxenholme? I'm sure you won't want to go if it's too early.”
“Ah. Yes,” agreed Charles. “With whichever of us happens to be driving, then.”
* * * * *
In the end, it was Hilde, since it transpired that the sleeper arrived just after half past five. Alice bowed out. She said there were morning people and morning people, and half past five was still night as far as she was concerned. Having said that, she would have gone if von Luftschiff had been likely to have similar objections, but he often got up early in any case. Jägers did not seem to need as much sleep as humans.
So it was Hilde and von Luftschiff who stood on the otherwise deserted platform in the long cool shadows of the early morning, waiting for the London to Glasgow overnight train to come roaring in and shattering the dewy silence. As usual, Hilde was not the most restful company at this time of day. She had woken up with the idea of fitting Fitzroy with an internal zoetrope that he could use to calm himself, and was itching to get back to the workroom so that she could do something about it. In the meantime, she insisted on telling von Luftschiff all about it, and he was feeling decidedly ill-equipped to listen. He could not help feeling that some breakfast would make that at least a little better. A big dish of fried mushrooms and tomatoes, with either a couple of enormous bread rolls or the fried remnants of last night's mashed potato, would be just what the doctor ordered. Oh, and maybe a generous splash of his special sauce. He had created a sauce that was so hot that nobody else in the house would eat it. He, on the other hand, liked to use it liberally, especially at breakfast. He felt it got him off to a good start.
“...and rather than dual visual sensors, which would probably cause more confusion than they would solve, I was considering an input switch that he could control at will,” Hilde was saying.
“Uh. Ja,” said von Luftschiff politely, wondering if adding a couple of onions might not be merely gilding the lily. No, probably not. Onions were good in just about every savoury dish.
There was a deafening whistle, and the night train thundered into the station and screeched to a halt. Porters appeared from whatever back rooms they had been lurking in with pipes and early newspapers, and clouds of steam swirled around the platform. Just a handful of passengers emerged after that dramatic entrance, and Hilde made an instant beeline for one of them.
“Mr Wooster!” she exclaimed. “It's lovely to see you again, but such a pity about the circumstances.”
“Why, Mrs Greenwood! This is a delightful surprise,” said Mr Wooster, shaking hands with her warmly. “I really wasn't expecting you to take the trouble to come and collect me at such an early hour. I was hoping I might be able to get a fly into town.”
“Oh, Bertha's far more comfortable than a fly. And this is Herr von Luftschiff, whom you've heard all about.”
Mr Wooster shook von Luftschiff's clawed hand with an ease that suggested he was perfectly well used to shaking hands with Jägers. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said warmly.
“Hyu too,” said von Luftschiff, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “Er. Hy take hyu luggage?”
“If that's all right,” said Mr Wooster, “but really, I can just as easily ask a porter.”
“Hy schtronger,” von Luftschiff pointed out simply, and that was the end of the matter.
He loaded Mr Wooster's luggage into the lower compartment, then helped him up into the vehicle. “Hyu know Bertha?” he asked. “Hyu can pedal if hyu vant, but hy don't suppose hyu do vant at dis time of de morning. No problem, vhichever vay. She got schteam too.”
Mr Wooster smiled. “Oh yes, I know Bertha, though she's changed quite a lot since I saw her last. I think I won't pedal, if that's all right.”
“Very sensible. Is tiring on trains.” Von Luftschiff clambered in behind him as Hilde climbed more decorously up to the driving seat. “Do dey give hyu breakfast on de train?”
“Sadly not. I believe breakfast starts at Carlisle.”
“Hilde!” called von Luftschiff. “Hyu hear dat? Mister Vooster needs some breakfast. Hyu mind if hy offer to cook him some?”
“By all means,” Hilde called back. “It'll be better than anything he'll get elsewhere.”
“Goot! Danke.” He turned back to Mr Wooster. “Hyu vant to come to us for breakfast? It vill be me cooking it, und hy not bad, even if hy do say so myself.”
Hilde laughed from above. “He's being modest, Mr Wooster. Herr von Luftschiff is an outstanding cook.”
“I would certainly not say no to that,” said Mr Wooster. “Many thanks to you both.”
“Vhere hyu schtaying?” asked von Luftschiff, as Bertha hissed into life and started rattling down the steep hill towards the town.
“The Shakespeare. It's fairly central. I wired them last night to ask for a room. I've stayed there once before.”
“Ho ja. Been in dere a couple of times. Dey do a goot beer.”
Mr Wooster nodded approvingly. “Good. Now, I'm sorry to get down to business quite so quickly and unceremoniously, but I'm afraid I need to be brought up to date on yesterday's tragic events. All I know at the moment is that Mr Chatterjee is dead, foul play is suspected, the police have been called, and you and Miss Davenport were in the vicinity when it happened.”
“Is all true so far,” von Luftschiff confirmed, and launched into a conscientious account of the details. Mr Wooster listened intently, looking increasingly grave. When the Jäger had finished speaking, he sighed.
“I hold myself entirely to blame for this,” he said. “I have suspected for a while that there was something untoward going on at that circus, but I didn't pay enough attention to it. I even thought that it might be something minor enough for Miss Davenport, untrained as she is, to look into. And now a good man is dead through my carelessness.”
“So dat's vy hyu came here hyuself?” asked von Luftschiff sympathetically.
“Naturally. It was the very least I could have done.”
“Vell,” said von Luftschiff, “de vay hy see it, hyu a ridiculously busy person. Hyu can't be expected to keep an eye on everyting. Is very sad, but hy tink hyu being too hard on hyuself.”
“It's good of you to say so, Herr von Luftschiff, and it's certainly true that I'm extremely busy. There simply aren't enough agents at the moment, and recent events haven't helped with that. Even so, I am responsible for people's lives. If someone in my team is killed, I have failed.”
Von Luftschiff considered this. Then he said bluntly, “Hyu a goot man. But hyu yust Mister Vooster. Hyu not Gott.”
There was a startled pause. Then Mr Wooster smiled rather sadly, and said, “Wise Jäger.”
“Hy yust tell it like it is. Hyu tink schtraighter ven hyu got a goot breakfast in hyu. Und in a vhile, Miss Alice vill be up und hyu can meet her. She is really nize. Und she got goot brains.”
“So I understand,” said Mr Wooster.
“Und der vill be Charles, but don't expect any sense out of him till der coffee is ready.” Von Luftschiff paused. “Und dere's a clank.”
Mr Wooster raised a well-bred eyebrow. “You said that in an 'honesty compels me to admit' sort of voice. What's wrong with the clank?”
“Vot's right vit der clank?” countered von Luftschiff heavily. “Vorst ting Charles ever invented. Is mad as a hatter.”
“The clank is mad?”
“Ja. Dat's vot hy saying. Der clank is schcared of every damn ting und now is so far gone it can't even put a sentence togedder.” Von Luftschiff sighed. “It vos supposed to be a butler.”
“Well, to be fair, he did manage to buttle a little at first,” called Hilde from aloft.
“Dat didn't last long, did it?” replied von Luftschiff remorselessly. “Charles built it on Vednesday, it started vorrying itself silly about etiquette schtraight avay, und after it vent to de laundry yesterday it came back schtark schtaring mad. Und in betveen der vos de phobias about schtairs und tings.”
“Very odd,” said Mr Wooster. “He is usually brilliant.”
“Hy not saying anyting against Charles,” said von Luftschiff. “Charles is a goot schpark. As far as hy know, der clank is fine schtructurally. Hy tink it yust vent mad all on its own.”
They reached the house, where Ashmole was already out and industriously clipping the front lawn. He did this by flying nose down and whirring his rotary blades over the grass. Hilde noted Mr Wooster's faintly raised eyebrow.
“Yes, I know, Mr Wooster,” she said, “but nobody's about at this time of day, and none of us likes cutting the grass. He'll be finished very soon, then he'll go round the back and he can take as long as he wants there. Nobody will see him.”
“Und he qvicker dan anyvun else,” added von Luftschiff. “Und he doesn't get a bad back.”
Mr Wooster smiled. “I'm just glad to see you've still got him. I've always liked that clank. How long has he been able to fly?”
“Charles arranged that during the Worthington incident,” replied Hilde. “If you recall, in the official report...”
“Oh yes. Of course.”
“Come in and make yourself at home,” said Hilde. “It was a little chilly first thing, so I got a fire going in the parlour; it should be warm enough in there now, but the fire should still be smouldering, so do give it a good poke if you're cold.”
“Und hy vill have breakfast ready yust as soon as hy can,” von Luftschiff promised. “Dere vill be plenty of choice. Breakfast is not very formal in dis house.”
“Thank you very much,” said Mr Wooster.
“Hyu need any of hyu luggage or should ve yust leave it in Bertha?”
“I think it's fine where it is. Thank you.”
Breakfast was indeed not very formal. It was also plentiful. As well as his contemplated vegetarian fry-up, von Luftschiff had also laid on a steaming bowl of kedgeree, devilled kidneys (a favourite of Charles'), scrambled eggs, toast, muffins and all the usual accoutrements. Alice wandered in about halfway through looking quite alert, and Charles arrived about ten minutes later looking as though he had had about an hour's sleep. This, as it turned out, was not quite true. He had had two. It all came, he explained, as he ladled out kidneys on automatic, of having had a really good idea just after eleven the previous night.
“You knew Mr Wooster was going to be here, dear,” said Hilde, with faint reproach.
“Well, yes, I did, but I was wondering if poor Mr Chatterjee had been poisoned,” Charles replied. “And that got me thinking that I might be able to use molecular vibrational signatures in an alternating Tannenbaum field to detect what sort of poison it was. Only, as it turns out, those vibrational signatures aren't actually unique, which I was able to prove by example, and I'm going to need to write that up at some point as it completely invalidates the hypothetical underpinnings of the work of Kriegsdenkmal and Wolkenkratzer on... er... oh. Coffee. Yes. Thank you, Herr von Luftschiff. I need that.”
After breakfast, Mr Wooster decided that he would like to go and drop his luggage off at the Shakespeare and then go straight up to the circus, in the hope that he would be able to have a serious conversation with Mrs Chatterjee before the stalls and sideshows opened to the public and everything got too busy. “Would you mind coming with me, Herr von Luftschiff?” he asked. “I'm going to have to produce my official identity documents to get in, but in the interests of discretion I'd rather not have to tell them I want to talk to Mrs Chatterjee in person. She will be under quite enough stress at the moment without rumours of an official interrogation going round her circus. So I suggest we just go in without giving a reason, and then you can take me straight to her office.”
“Ja. Is a goot idea,” replied von Luftschiff.
“I'll drive you as far as the Shakespeare,” offered Hilde. “And Charles, dear, I really think you ought to go back to bed for a few hours.”
“I'll just have some more coffee,” replied Charles.
Hilde sighed. “On your own head be it. I won't be long.”
At the Shakespeare, von Luftschiff briskly unloaded the luggage and then helped to carry it upstairs. Mr Wooster had a room at the front, looking out over Highgate; it was small, but it smelt fresh and looked clean and comfortable. Once everything was inside, von Luftschiff and Mr Wooster set out on foot for the show field, arriving a little after eight. Mr Wooster produced his official papers, and they were admitted without question, as he had expected.
“Good,” he said. “Although I notice the man on the gate is curious, so we had perhaps better wander about the place a little until he gets bored.”
“Ve can easily get out of his sight,” said von Luftschiff. “If ve go und vander among dose big tents over dere, ve soon lose him.”
“Then we'll do that.”
From the general commotion that was going on, it appeared that the big tents in question were being used for rehearsal purposes. There were people leading horses in and out of the tents, people running to and fro with equipment, someone shouting about needing an urgent repair to her costume, various musicians practising different tunes in different tents, and a certain amount of general yelling and swearing.
“Now,” said von Luftschiff. “He probably tink ve gone into vun of dese tents. Hyu go over dere. See dat vhite vooden building? Is dat vun. Der door is round de odder side from de vindow. Hy don't suppose hyu need me, so hy yust hang around here. Hyu never know. Hy might hear someting useful.”
“All right. Thank you, Herr von Luftschiff.”
Von Luftschiff wandered around thoughtfully for a while, trying to work out who was doing what in each tent without actually intruding. This was not such a difficult task on the whole, since there were so many people coming and going all the time. Everything smelt of canvas and damp grass and grease paint and sweaty humans and...
...and... what? Really?
He sniffed the air. It was faint, but there could be no mistaking it. A Jäger's sense of smell is not easily deceived.
He followed the scent, his pace quickening as it grew stronger. It took him into one of the tents, one of the smaller ones in the group, on the edge of the cluster. He pushed aside the flap, and found himself face to face with Strong Arm Sally, who was standing on a mat surrounded by a number of improbably large dumbbells.
“Who are you, sir, and how dare you barge in like this?” she demanded.
Von Luftschiff looked her up and down with increasing astonishment.
“Hy von Luftschiff,” he replied. “Und hy sorry. Hy didn't mean to schtartle hyu. But hyu make-up is a vork of art.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Sally crossly.
“Hyu a Jäger,” replied von Luftschiff bluntly. “Yust like me. But hyu look human. Is amazing. Und hyu de first of de Jägerkin hy have met since hy been in dis country, so hy hope hyu pardon me if hy get a bit emotional.”
“I am not a Jäger!” she hissed.
Von Luftschiff shook his head. “Hy don't know vy hyu hiding, but hyu secret is safe vit me. Hy vouldn't schplit on vun of my own. Listen, schveethot. Hyu can make hyuself up so not even Mrs Chatterjee knows who hyu really are, but hyu can't hide de Jäger scent. Not from anodder Jäger.”
“Oh,” said Sally. She subsided onto a camp stool nearby.
Von Luftschiff had not been invited to sit down, but it seemed politer to do that than to stand towering over her. He settled down cross-legged on the mat. “Und hyu got de tok down to a fine art, too,” he said. “Hy don't tink hy ever going to lose my accent.”
“You don't need to,” replied Sally bitterly. “It's all very well for you. You can just go round being yourself.”
“Is vot hy do best,” said von Luftschiff philosophically. “So vy can't hyu?”
“Because Baron Wulfenbach thinks I killed his lady friend, and I can't prove I didn't,” Sally replied. “And Baron Wulfenbach is one human you really don't want after you.”
“Baron Vulfenbach is a schpark. He got all sorts of time travel schtuff,” said von Luftschiff. “He could find out himself who killed de lady.”
“I wish he would,” said Sally. “Then perhaps I'd find out, too.”
“Doesn't seem fair hyu should have to pretend to be human all de time,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy mean, notting against humans, a lot of dem are really nize. But is a big schtrain being somevun hyu not all de time.”
“You can say that again,” said Sally ruefully. “But what else could I do? If I hadn't happened to meet Ernest at Mamma Gkika's, I'd probably be facing a combination of dangerous science and Bangladesh Dupree by now.”
“Ernest?”
“That's right. He was running away too, although that was because he was wanted for stealing. He's from London originally. We got talking, and when I said I needed to get away, he suggested we should come over here and join a circus. He's an outstandingly talented make-up artist, so the idea was that he would sign up as that, and I'd sign up as a strong woman after he'd made me up to look human. To be honest, apart from the constant pretence, it's not such a bad life. I've got friends here, I earn a decent living, and Ernest really appreciates me. He says I keep him steady. He knows I don't like him stealing. I'm a sort of mother to him now.”
“Hy suppose hyu von't be able to do it for ever,” said von Luftschiff thoughtfully. “Ven hyu don't get older like de odders, dey vill schtart asking qvestions.”
“No, but by that time I expect my scent will have gone cold and I can just go and lose myself among the local Jägers.” She smiled. “I suppose then I'll have to get the accent back.”
“Hy don't know. Hy not met any of dem yet. But everyvun says dey're here.”
“They are. Not so many in the towns, but they're around all right. I keep away from them at the moment, so they don't recognise me.”
“Is sad,” said von Luftschiff.
“Even sadder if I have to deal with the Baron, though,” replied Sally pragmatically. “Although I must admit, I'm worried about what's going to happen tonight.”
“Vy? Dey say hyu can lift a horse, but hyu got to be able to lift a whole lot more dan dat.”
“Of course I can, but that's not the point,” said Sally. “Did you not know? Mrs Chatterjee has been arrested!”
Von Luftschiff stared at her. “VOT?!”
“Last night. And Mr Chatterjee is dead, so everyone's saying she killed him. I don't believe a word of that, myself. You've only got to see them together. She'd never have killed him.”
Von Luftschiff delivered himself of a string of graphic oaths in German which seriously risked cracking Sally's make-up. “I do speak German, Herr von Luftschiff,” she informed him with dignity. “My real name is Saliske.”
“Ho. Sorry. Is yust dat... Excuse me. Hy gotta go. Back as soon as hy can, hokay? Hy von't let hyu down. Promise.”
Von Luftschiff sprinted to the wooden office building at top speed, but Mr Wooster was already gone. Von Luftschiff cursed again; they had probably just managed to miss each other among the rehearsal tents. He ran back and searched, but he could find no sign of the agent.
He had almost given up on his search when he spotted a familiar face: Dr Abercrombie, hurrying towards him between the tents. “Oh, there you are, Herr von Luftschiff!” exclaimed the doctor. “I've been looking for you. Mr Wooster asked me to give you a message.”
“Hy already heard de bad news,” said von Luftschiff grimly. “De police, dey must be schtupid.”
“Wrong, I'm certain, but not stupid,” said the doctor. “They could only go by the evidence they had. They looked at Mr Jones' window, and they could find nothing suggesting that anyone had got out that way. They were satisfied that I couldn't have killed him, and they also decided that Miss Davenport was innocent, because she immediately raised the alarm when she found that something was wrong. They will no doubt want to talk to her in case she has any additional evidence, but they are quite satisfied that if she had killed Mr Chatterjee she would have simply left quietly, rather than drawing attention to her presence. That, to their minds, left Mrs Chatterjee and Mr Jones, and I'm afraid they arrested Mrs Chatterjee as the more likely of the two suspects. She does, after all, stand to inherit everything.”
“Hy see vot hyu mean,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu don't tink she killed him, do hyu?”
“Absolutely not. And neither does Mr Wooster, which is where his message comes in. He asked me to tell you that he has gone to collect Miss Davenport and take her up to the police station urgently. Apparently he and Miss Davenport between them have some additional evidence which he believes will clear Mrs Chatterjee.”
Von Luftschiff nodded. “Ja. Hy tink dey have. Did he leave any instructions?”
“No. He just wanted you to know where he'd gone.”
“Hokay. Danke, Herr Doctor. In dat case... hy yust going to hang around here for a liddle vhile. Hy need to tink.”
* * * * *
The doorbell clanged frantically. Hilde hurried to answer it, and found a dishevelled and somewhat out of breath Ardsley Wooster standing on the step.
“Sorry to impose on you again, Mrs Greenwood,” he panted. “I've more or less run down here from the show field. Is Miss Davenport available?”
“I believe she's studying at the moment, but I can call her,” replied Hilde. “What on earth is wrong?”
“They've arrested Mrs Chatterjee.”
“What?! That's dreadful!”
“Yes, but it's understandable, since they don't have all the evidence. When you call Miss Davenport, would you also mind asking her to bring all the things she collected from the circus yesterday?”
“Certainly. Just one moment. Please do come in while you're waiting.”
Hilde bustled off upstairs, and in a few minutes returned with Alice in tow. “Did I hear that right, Mr Wooster?” she asked. “They've really arrested Mrs Chatterjee?”
“They have, and I need you to help me get her out,” said Mr Wooster.
“Coming!” exclaimed Alice. “I've got all the things here.”
“Would you like a lift?” asked Hilde.
“If it's not too much trouble,” said Mr Wooster. “The police station is quite a walk from here.”
“It's no trouble at all,” Hilde assured him. “I was just going to take Bertha out to do some shopping anyway. We seem to be out of mushrooms again.”
Alice laughed. “We should grow them in the cellar. I'm not sure there are enough mushrooms in town for Herr von Luftschiff and his breakfasts. Seriously, though, he does do some wonderful things with them.”
“He is a very good cook,” said Mr Wooster. “Sometimes, you know, I do wonder if it's possible to have the spark for other things, not just inventing. Like painting. Or, perhaps, cooking, even.”
“Well, he does come out with some weird things sometimes,” said Alice. “I suppose you didn't try his special sauce?”
“No. He warned me it was very spicy.”
“That's an understatement. I have no idea what's in it, but I tried it once because I thought he had to be exaggerating. He wasn't. I had to drink a whole pint of milk and eat two bananas before I stopped seeing stars.”
They hurried out to where Bertha was parked, and Hilde drove them up to the police station. “I really should get Mrs Greenwood some flowers or something, after all this ferrying around,” said Mr Wooster, as Bertha rattled off again in the direction of the town centre. “Do you know if there's anything she particularly likes?”
“Brass cogs, size fifteen over five-eighths,” replied Alice promptly, as they entered the police station. “She says you just can't get them here. She's thinking of driving down to Lancaster to see if she can pick any up there.”
“Ah. Right. Noted.”
It was rather dim inside the police station, since the windows were narrow and not especially clean. An officer sat behind a long oak counter with a little wooden wedge in front of her, engraved with the words “SERGEANT HORNE”. She was writing rather desultorily in a large leather-bound record book, and she looked bored.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” said Mr Wooster politely. “We've come about the Chatterjee case. May we speak to someone who's involved with that?”
Sergeant Horne looked up. “Certainly. You can speak to me. My colleague and I arrested Mrs Chatterjee last night.”
“Ah, good. That makes things simpler,” said Mr Wooster. “Well, my name is Ardsley Wooster, and this is Miss Alice Davenport. If you recall, Miss Davenport was the person who originally raised the alarm over Mr Chatterjee.”
The sergeant began to look interested. “Ah! We were going to call on you later for a statement, miss. Thank you for saving us the trouble.”
“Yes, you can certainly have a statement,” said Alice, in a tone of voice which silently added “and then some”.
Mr Wooster took out his identification papers and put them down in front of the sergeant. “That,” he said, “explains who I am, and now I shall have to explain who Miss Davenport is. She has no official papers as yet, because she is just about to embark on her training as an agent. That was why I sent her to see Mr Chatterjee.”
“Wait,” said Sergeant Horne. “You're going a little too fast for me, sir. I have no problem with your identification, and I understand about Miss Davenport, but I don't see where Mr Chatterjee comes into all this.”
“Because he was one of our agents, and so is his wife,” replied Mr Wooster patiently. “I sent Miss Davenport to collect certain items from Mr Chatterjee. He died a few moments before he was able to hand them over. However, Mrs Chatterjee, who is not an active agent but whose role was to back him up in case of emergency, knew where the items were and handed them over.”
“And I received them,” added Alice. “Here they are. Mr Wooster has checked that everything is present and nothing has been tampered with.”
The sergeant looked into the bag and frowned. “Yes,” she said, “but what has this to do with the murder case?”
“Can't you see it has everything to do with it?” demanded Alice. “Look at the timing. I ask to see Mr Chatterjee and give my name, in the hearing of probably a dozen people. There's no secret about that, because if anyone challenges me I've been told to say I've got an audition. A little girl takes me to the office building, goes in, comes out, and tells me he'll see me. He's obviously still alive at that point. The child doesn't say if there's anyone else in there with him, but she wouldn't see that as relevant. I don't need to know if there's someone else there; I just need to know if he'll see me. I walk in there, knock on the door, and there's no reply. I call his name. Nothing. I go in and he's slumped over his desk, either dead or dying. This is nothing to do with Mrs Chatterjee. Someone at the circus knew I was coming, they knew why I was coming, and they wanted to stop me getting these things for some reason. I don't know what it was all about. Maybe they had someone else they wanted to pass off as me, or something. But they didn't know that Mrs Chatterjee was also an agent, so she was able to give me the things and I got them after all.”
“Also,” said Mr Wooster, “did you hear a door open or close?”
“When I was outside, you mean? No. I didn't think of that. Apart from Mr Chatterjee's door, of course. The child went in, she knocked on Mr Chatterjee's door, it was opened, and when she came out of the building she left it open. I suppose she reasoned that she didn't have to close it behind her, since I was just about to go in.”
“Those are old doors,” Mr Wooster observed. “I noticed that myself when I was talking to Dr Abercrombie earlier. They've travelled a lot. They've got damp. They're warped. It would take quite a lot of skill to open and close one without making any sound.”
“I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous,” said the sergeant. “We know that Dr Abercrombie didn't kill him, and we also know that you didn't kill him, miss, for similar reasons. You raised the initial alarm, and Dr Abercrombie was unable to identify a cause of death and therefore suggested that an inquest would be necessary. The window in Mr Chatterjee's office is stuck, so nobody could have got in or out that way. Nobody could have got in or out through the door without passing you. The window in Mrs Chatterjee's office opens normally, but anyone escaping that way while she was in her husband's office would have been seen from the main entrance. We did check for footprints anyway, and found nothing. We also found nothing under Mr Jones' window, which would have been the only other means of exit. The window at the end of the corridor is too small to use.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Therefore, the murderer had to have been in the building when you arrived, and the only two remaining possibilities are Mrs Chatterjee and Mr Jones. And Mr Jones stands to gain nothing from Mr Chatterjee's death, and in fact was even at risk of losing his job. Mrs Chatterjee has admitted herself that she wanted to replace him because she thought he was getting too old to do his job.”
“I'd say that was a simple factual statement, not an admission,” said Mr Wooster.
“It clears him, though,” replied the sergeant. “We've talked to him. He clearly lives for his job.”
“Has it not occurred to you, madam,” said Mr Wooster, “that Mrs Chatterjee is an intelligent woman? Had she wanted to kill her husband, why would she have done so in circumstances where she would immediately figure as the prime suspect, when she could have done so inconspicuously on the road at any time? And, having been arrested, do you not think she would have found a way to throw suspicion on someone else, most probably Mr Jones? If she were really guilty, do you think she would give you a piece of information that she must know would clear the next most likely suspect?”
“We don't do psychology here, sir,” replied the officer, with strained patience. “We just do evidence. I totally understand you want to help your agent and I'm not going to blame you for it, but it won't wash. We've charged her, and she'll stand trial at the next Assizes.”
“This is scandalous!” Alice exploded. Mr Wooster laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“Keep your temper, Miss Davenport,” he said gently. “I'm afraid losing it won't help our cause. Very well, Sergeant. If that's how it is, you leave us with only one alternative. We shall have to find the real murderer and bring them to you.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the sergeant, subsiding into her previous ennui.
Alice was fuming as they walked out into the sunshine. “Why didn't she listen?” she demanded, angrily.
“Because she has her own scenario all worked out, and it is very neat and tidy, and it has made it possible to arrest someone,” replied Mr Wooster. “She's a police officer. Police officers, by the nature of things, see a lot of crimes. They like to get them solved quickly. Unfortunately, quick solutions aren't always the right ones.”
“It's not neat and tidy,” Alice objected. “We showed her where all the cracks were.”
“Yes, but the crucial thing we didn't have was the identity of the real killer,” said Mr Wooster. “I should have realised it would be difficult. Telling someone their theory is wrong always goes down a lot better if you have an alternative theory to put in its place. It doesn't matter how strong your evidence against the original theory is. People don't, on the whole, like a void.”
“I'd prefer a void to a gross miscarriage of justice,” said Alice hotly.
“So would I, but we don't have that option. It was vital that we should find the killer anyway. Now, it's even more so. They'll hang an innocent woman if we don't.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Alice.
“We go back to the circus,” replied Mr Wooster firmly. “That's where the killer is, and that's where we need to be to stand any chance at all of finding them.”
Alice looked at her watch. “They'll be opening the stalls and things to the public soon. We'd better move fast. Although, on the bright side, when they do, perhaps that little girl will show up again. I want to talk to her. I really want to know if she saw anyone else in that office.”
“I'll look out for her. What did she look like?”
“Oh, she'd have been about ten or eleven, quite chubby, with medium brown hair in pigtails. I don't recall much about her face. I think she was wearing a print dress, but for the life of me I can't remember what colour. I mean, she was just a kid running errands. But I'd know her again if I saw her.”
“Did anyone else see her?” asked Mr Wooster. “It might be helpful if they did.”
“Oh! Yes. Herr von Luftschiff did.”
“Now that's very good,” said Mr Wooster. “I left him at the circus, and he may very well still be there. I didn't give him any specific instructions, but I expect he's still keeping his eyes and ears open. We'll see if we can find him, and then we'll ask him to look for her as well.”
“Good idea. By the way, I don't suppose you have any idea who's going to stand in for Mrs Chatterjee tonight?”
“I did ask that,” said Mr Wooster, “but Dr Abercrombie didn't know when I spoke to him. He thinks there's going to be some sort of emergency meeting about it, although he doesn't know the details. Not being a performer, obviously he wasn't invited.”
Alice smiled. “I should think he'd ringmaster as well as anyone, if he really had to. He's a doctor, after all. He's used to dealing with emergencies.”
“But not necessarily in front of a large crowd of people,” said Mr Wooster. “I'd hate to have to do that sort of thing myself. Still, each to their own.”
They were silent for a while, walking naturally in step. Then Alice said, “It's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, isn't it? How many people do you think are involved with the circus?”
“I don't know, but it looks like a lot. Nonetheless, it's not quite as bad as it looks. We're not going to have to question them all. We can narrow it down a little. First of all, we can be pretty certain that the murderer knew your name and the fact that you were coming; they possibly also knew why, although I must admit that the more I think about it, the less sense it makes that they should be so desperate to stop you getting your hands on basic kit that they would be prepared to kill someone for it. It's disproportionate. The worst they could achieve would be to delay things. But they did know who you were, and they knew I'd sent you. It could be that they thought you were a fully-fledged agent, and they were aware of something Mr Chatterjee knew that they wanted to prevent him telling you. That could easily have been their identity.”
“That does make a lot more sense than trying to keep the kit out of my hands,” Alice agreed.
“Yes. It's not the only possible hypothesis, but it's a better one, at least. So we're dealing with someone who is probably quite close to the Chatterjees, because they've clearly been in a position to intercept at least some important communications. That's not going to be the whole circus.”
Alice nodded. “Dr Abercrombie would know the people we need to start with. He seems to be a friend of the family, as well as the circus doctor.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr Wooster. “Although I don't mind telling you he would be my first suspect if he hadn't refused to sign the death certificate. He's very close to the Chatterjees as you say, he's extremely bright and resourceful, and he's the sort of person I would instinctively choose as an undercover agent. And if my instinct says that about him, then it's quite possible that someone else's might also have done so in the past.”
“But he can't be the killer!” said Alice, bewildered.
“No, he can't. Although that doesn't necessarily mean he's nothing more than he appears. Don't mistake me; I like the doctor. But if any information about either you or me turns up in an unexpected place after we've caught the killer, he's the person I shall quietly put under surveillance.”
Alice flashed him a glance. “Don't you trust anyone?”
“Generally not anyone I don't know personally, the exceptions being, of course, the people who can be thoroughly vouched for by those I do know personally. It's something of a drag, but it's also one of the reasons why I'm still alive.”
“That must be the worst part of the job,” said Alice.
“It is,” he admitted. “But the flip side of it is that once I do trust you, you have a friend for life.”
* * * * *
“Back again?” said Sally. She was no longer even making any pretence of rehearsing her act. After all, she hardly needed to. Practising feats of strength was for humans.
“Ja. Hy got us some coffee.” Von Luftschiff handed over a paper cup with a lid; it steamed promisingly. “Hy don't know if hyu like sugar, so hy got dem to give it to me separately. Here hyu go.” He held out three sugar lumps wrapped in a twist of paper.
“That's really kind of you. I was just thinking of going to get something myself. How on earth did you persuade them to sell it to you? We're not open for business yet.”
Von Luftschiff grinned broadly. “Hy got de man on de gate to confirm dat hy came in vit de man vit de impawtent official papers. Dat convinced dem.”
Sally gaped. “Did you?”
“Ho ja. But is fine. Hyu safe. He not after hyu. Vell, not unless hyu killed Mister Chatterjee, und hy don't suppose hyu did. Whoever killed him, dey vos preddy subtle, und no offence, but ve Jägers, ve definitely not dat.”
“Was that why you ran off so suddenly? To tell the official man that Mrs Chatterjee had been arrested?”
“Ja. But he already knew. He found out from de doctor.”
Sally frowned. “Are you some kind of agent?”
“Me? No. Hy yust vork for a couple of schparks. But dis official man, he's a goot friend of deirs.”
“Right. But you're involved in the investigation, all the same? You're with this man?”
“Ja. Sort of by accident.”
Sally made up her mind. “Good. Then I can talk to you, and maybe you'll listen. The police wouldn't.”
“Hyu can talk to me any time hyu like,” von Luftschiff assured her. “Hy mean, don't get me wrong. Hy not trying to chat hyu up. Is yust really goot to talk to anodder Jäger, even if hyu don't look like vun.”
“And I must admit I'm glad to have someone I can talk to without having to pretend,” said Sally. “I mean, obviously there's Ernest, but he's not quite the same. He's got a different perspective. He doesn't mean it nastily, but there's no getting away from the fact that he thinks human is the best thing to be. And he's also terribly pleased with himself because he can pass me off as human. Which, to be fair, he's got every right to be; as you say, this make-up is an amazing job. Even so, it does get to me a little sometimes. He's not proud of me. He's proud of his own creation.”
Von Luftschiff nodded sympathetically and took a large sip of his coffee. “Blech!” he said. “Dis tastes like boot polish smells. Hy better tell Charles not to drink it.”
“Charles? Is he the man you came in with?”
“No. He vun of de schparks hy vork for. He likes coffee in a really big vay. It helps him vit de inventing.”
“I don't suppose this stuff will,” Sally agreed. “It is pretty dire. But it's the best we can do on the move, and people drink it. They get thirsty.”
Von Luftschiff shrugged. “Hy not sure hy qvite dat tirsty,” he said, putting it to one side. “Now, vot vos it hyu vanted to talk about?”
“Well, Ernest, really,” she admitted. “I'm worried he's stealing again, and I'm afraid his boyfriend is putting him up to it. You see, Ernest and I share a tent, because we're friends, and it's the worst-kept secret in the circus that he likes men. About six months ago he started seeing Reggie. That's Little Reggie, not Big Reggie. Big Reggie is a bit of a Puritan; it's not two men that bothers him, it's two people who aren't married. But I'm digressing. I think Little Reggie is a problem.”
“Vot makes hyu tink dat?” asked von Luftschiff.
“Sometimes I find papers and things in our tent, and when I ask Ernest about them, he doesn't seem to know what they are,” she explained. “I mean, it used to be that he was just a thief. That's bad enough, but at least it's straightforward. He'd steal money, jewellery, anything he could sell. But now sometimes there's this stuff and I'm sure he's stolen it, but he doesn't know what it is he's stolen. That suggests to me that he's been told to steal it by someone else.”
“Vot sort of papers?”
“Oh, letters, bills, things like that. I do try not to read them, because they don't belong to me, but when you're picking them up it can be hard not to. I've never seen anything in them that was obviously important. Even so, they shouldn't be in our tent.”
“Hyu sure he schtole dem? Somevun didn't give dem to him?”
“Not absolutely certain, but fairly sure. When I find anything like that, he always acts the way he did when I found him with stolen property.” She paused. “Odd thing about Ernest. I don't think he really wants to be a thief. I think it's a sort of compulsion, with him. On the evening we first met, he stole someone's ring, but then he gave it back. It was a cheap ring, so he couldn't have sold it, and he knew it was only a cheap ring when he stole it. He said he just wanted to see if he could do it. You know, steal a ring right off someone's finger without their noticing.”
“He sounds clever,” said von Luftschiff.
“Yes, but only in certain ways. I think he keeps his brains in his fingers. He's not conventionally bright at all – not good at thinking ahead or weighing the possible consequences of his actions. But if you want some dexterous craft work doing, he's got a tremendous gift.”
“Or if hyu vant someting schtolen,” mused von Luftschiff.
“Unfortunately, yes. He's got that tendency, which he does try to control but not always successfully, and he's rather easily manipulated. I think Reggie is pulling his strings. To be honest, it's a shame he's not with Big Reggie. Not that he would be, because Big Reggie is strictly women only, but he's honest and he's got that firmness of character that I think Ernest needs.”
“But it's yust a suspicion?” asked von Luftschiff. “Hyu don't know for certain?”
“I don't,” Sally admitted. “But the papers weren't turning up in our tent before Ernest got involved with Reggie. That's why I think he may have something to do with it.”
“Vell. Hy can kind of see vy de police veren't interested. Dat's not a lot to go on. But hy tink it may be vorth following up.”
“What are you planning to do?” asked Sally.
“Hy might yust have a liddle chat vit Reggie,” said von Luftschiff.
“This may not be a good time,” Sally warned him. “He's not likely to be in a good mood at the moment. There's going to be a meeting after lunch to decide who deputises for Mrs Chatterjee tonight; usually, you see, Mr Chatterjee would do it if she really couldn't. And most people are saying it's likely to be Big Reggie, and if it is, then they won't be able to do their act and Little Reggie will be stuck on the sidelines.”
“H'mm,” said von Luftschiff. “Vhere do hy find him?”
“Right now, probably in the make-up tent distracting Ernest,” replied Sally. “You'll have seen it. It's the one with the big patch just by the entrance.”
“Hy tink hy go in dere und look schtupid,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu can learn a lot by yust schtanding around looking schtupid.”
Sally grinned, showing her fangs behind the carefully constructed dental façade she was wearing. “You're right about that,” she said. “Good luck, Herr von Luftschiff.” She paused. “Don't you have another name?”
“Hy did,” von Luftschiff admitted, “but hy don't now.”
“Why ever not?”
“Hy a new Jäger. Hyu de first odder Jäger hy ever met, like hy said. Hy don't have a Jäger name. So hy yust go by von Luftschiff until hy get vun.”
“Would you... would you like me to give you a name?” asked Sally, shyly. “I know it's a rather presumptuous thing to ask, but you do need one, and I'm here, so...”
“Hy'd really like dat,” said von Luftschiff. “Dat vould be a very kind ting.”
“You've been kind to me too. You've let me be myself. That's more than it sounds. And you brought me coffee, which isn't a big thing but it was still very sweet of you.”
“But der coffee vos horrible.”
“You didn't know that. And it's the thought that counts.” She looked at him, considering. “Now, let's see. If you're going to let me give you a name, it's got to be the right one.”
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The silence was heavy with thought. Finally, abruptly, she said, “Ottokar.”
Von Luftschiff beamed. “Dat is a vonderful name!”
“I'm really glad you like it! I should have hated to give you a name you weren't comfortable with.”
“No. Is perfect. Is yust der right name. Now hy go und tell all my friends hy be Ottokar.”
“But you won't tell them how you got the name?” She was anxious again.
“Hy not going to forget yust because hy all excited. Hy yust tell dem hy met anodder Jäger in der crowd und ve had a liddle chat. Anyvay, is true. Hyu vere in der crowd. Hy don't have to tell dem hyu vere in a tent in der crowd.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
“Hyu velcome. Now, hy go und find der make-up tent.”
The make-up tent turned out to contain Ernest, a young woman who was being made up, a very short man with a rather overblown cravat who had to be Little Reggie, and a fourth party in a striped dress whose function on the scene was not immediately apparent. It became more so when she produced a notebook. “May I take your name, sir?” she asked.
“No,” replied von Luftschiff. “Hy only yust got it.”
“I... er... beg your pardon?”
“Hy don't vork for de circus. Hy a guest. Got some friends here. Und hyu are, vot? Some kind of yournalist?”
“Yes. My name's Julia Braithwaite. I'm from the local paper. I'm covering the murder story. If you won't give your name...”
“You shouldn't be in this tent anyway,” grumbled Little Reggie. “It's private. Go on, get off with you.”
“No need to tok like dat,” said von Luftschiff placidly, secure in the knowledge that any attempt by Little Reggie to throw him out of the tent would end up in nothing worse than Little Reggie looking like a fool. “So, hyu covering der murder, eh? Vouldn't hyu be better to tok to der police?”
“Oh, I've already done that,” said Miss Braithwaite earnestly, “but I want some local colour. You know. Reactions on the ground.”
“H'mm. Hyu seen de building vhere de murder vos committed?”
“No,” she said, with interest.
“Hokay. Hy show hyu. Come out here.” He stepped outside the tent, followed by the intrigued journalist. “Hyu see dere, betveen de tents? Dat vhite building? Dat's de place.”
“Gosh! Thank you very much, Mr... er...”
“Hyu velcome,” said von Luftschiff, and stepped smartly back into the tent. He grinned.
“Dere,” he said. “Dat gets rid of her. She looked like she vos disturbing hyu.”
“She was, rather,” admitted Little Reggie, slowly. “Now, who the hell are you?”
“Me? Hy a friend of Sally's.” He nodded to Ernest. “She says hyu her great friend, und hyu really, really goot at make-up. So hy asked if hyu'd mind if hy came to vatch. She didn't know if hyu'd mind, but she told me vhere hyu'd be.” He gave his most ingratiating smile. “Hyu mind? Hy love vatching experts.”
“Oh, well,” said Ernest. “Yes, that's fine.”
“You still haven't told us your name,” said Little Reggie, dourly.
“Sorry. Is Ottokar.” He addressed the young woman in the make-up chair. “Hyu hokay vit me being here?”
“Yes, it's all right,” she replied. She did not seem to be concerned about von Luftschiff's appearance; she had, however, looked relieved at the tactful removal of the journalist, so presumably that had won her over.
“Und hyu,” said von Luftschiff, looking at Reggie. “Hyu do make-up too?”
“No. I'm one of the performers. One of the Two Reginalds, to be exact.”
“Oh, is goot! Hy coming to see de circus tonight.”
“I may not be performing,” said Little Reggie, sourly. “After yesterday's shenanigans, I'm afraid it looks very much as though the other Reginald is going to have to stand in for Mrs Chatterjee, which will mean we can't do our act. I really don't see why one of the clowns can't do it. We have plenty. One wouldn't be missed.”
“They all work together, though,” Ernest pointed out gently. “They don't have time to rehearse how their act is going to work with one fewer.”
“Gammon and spinach,” grumbled Reggie. “All they do is throw themselves around and do funny walks. Oh, and William's got his stilts and Clara's got her unicycle. Right.”
“I think you're underestimating them a little,” said Ernest diffidently.
“You betcha,” said the lady in the chair. “Takes a lot of skill, clowning.”
“Well, I'm amazed to hear you say that, Rose, since you're a trapeze artiste,” said Reggie. “You could do anything they do, but they couldn't do half what you do.”
“I could do anything you do, sure enough,” Rose retorted. Reggie glowered at her.
Von Luftschiff considered. There was obviously no way he could question Reggie here. For the moment, things were at an impasse, and he might as well watch the master artist at work while keeping an eye on his quarry. He cast about for a seat, and noticed one of the ubiquitous camp stools over to one side of the tent, next to a large trunk of what appeared to be costumes.
“Hyu mind if hy sit down?” he asked, politely.
“By all means,” said Ernest. “Go ahead.”
Von Luftschiff settled himself on the stool, and as he did so, his gaze fell for a moment on the trunk. Something snagged it. It took his conscious mind a few seconds to catch up with his subconscious and understand exactly what it was that he was looking at. The moment he did so, he looked quickly away so that he would not be caught staring.
Now, he thought, what's the quickest way to find Mr Wooster?
* * * * *
“You'd think he'd be easy enough to spot,” said Alice. “I mean, there can't be too many green gentlemen wandering around in a shako.”
“It would be easier from the air,” replied Mr Wooster. “A pity we don't have something that flies.”
Alice nodded. “Ashmole would be really useful here. Although it's quite possible he could be in one of the tents, I suppose.”
There was a voice at Mr Wooster's elbow. “Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr Ardsley Wooster?”
“I am,” said Mr Wooster, looking down. There was a small boy holding a telegram. “Thank you.” He handed the child sixpence, waited until he had run off in the direction of the pie stall, and opened it.
“Ah,” he said, permitting himself a small grin. “As I thought. Thank you, Baron.”
Alice blinked at him. “Baron? You don't mean Baron Wulfenbach, do you? And if so, what on earth has he got to do with it?”
“Oh, nothing, directly. But we are currently working with the Baron, at least as far as the Other is concerned. It's what you might call an informal alliance. So last night I asked the Baron an honest question, and today he returns an honest answer. Let us go and talk to his agent.”
“You... guessed... he had an agent in this circus?”
Mr Wooster chuckled. “Well, after all, we do. Circuses are an extremely convenient way to move things around inconspicuously. And if we have an agent, a few other parties' agents generally also turn up eventually. It was likely that the Baron had someone here, keeping an eye on our people.”
“You don't think the Baron's agent killed Mr Chatterjee, though, do you?” asked Alice, horrified. “I mean, if we're supposed to be informally working together...”
“Of course not! That's the very last thing she would do. The Baron would have her hide if she did something like that. No. I told the Baron what happened, and he is of the same mind as I am. There is another agent in the circus, someone the Baron's agent has suspected for a while, but she has no actual proof. The Baron thinks the third agent is working for the Other. I am inclined to agree with him.” He paused. “The Baron also advised me to be extremely careful. When Klaus von Wulfenbach says something of that nature, one listens.”
“Perhaps I ought to read my instruction manual again,” said Alice grimly. “I went through it a few times last night, but it's going to take a while before everything comes automatically.”
“It does,” said Mr Wooster. “You're bright, but we still don't expect you to take everything in over one evening. It takes practice. For now, though, I think I would recommend loading Chamber 1 with smoke pellets, Chamber 2 with stun charges, and Chamber 3 with ordinary old-fashioned non-spark lead bullets.”
“Does it matter about the order of the chambers?” asked Alice. “Because that's what I've got in there at the moment, except it's not in that order.”
“You'll go far,” said Mr Wooster, with approval.
He stopped a passer-by, asked a question Alice could not hear, and received some directions in response. “Thank you,” he said. “This way, Miss Davenport.”
They almost bumped into Strong Arm Sally, who was just leaving her tent. Mr Wooster smiled, and held up his official papers. “Ardsley Wooster at your service, madam,” he said politely, “and this is Miss Alice Davenport.”
“Come in,” she said. “I was rather expecting you.”
They did. “I'm afraid I have only one seat,” she said, apologetically.
“I can stand,” said Mr Wooster. “We won't be here long. I have a telegram from the Baron, if you should wish to see it.”
She shook her head. “No, that's perfectly all right. I was hoping you might come and see me yourself.”
“Myself?”
“Yes. I have already met your friend Herr von Luftschiff. I trusted him far enough to let him know whom I suspected, intending that he should tell you. I don't have enough back-up to find out anything concrete against this man, but when I discovered you were here, I took the initiative. I had no time to ask the Baron, but since I believe we are dealing with the Other, I was certain he would approve.”
“You didn't tell him you worked for the Baron, then?” asked Mr Wooster.
“No. He said he wasn't an agent himself. I don't know whether that was true or false, but it was all I had to go by, so I erred on the side of caution. I was sorry to have to lie to him. He's an honest Jäger.”
“He is indeed not an agent, although I'm starting to think I may have to see if I can do something to change that,” replied Mr Wooster. “Where is Herr von Luftschiff now?”
“I don't know,” said Sally. “He left me about an hour ago. He was going to the make-up tent.”
Alice grinned.
“I expect he had a very good reason for that,” said Mr Wooster.
“Oh, he did,” replied Sally. Briefly, she explained to them what she had already told von Luftschiff.
Mr Wooster listened carefully. Then he asked, “This meeting to choose someone to stand in for Mrs Chatterjee – what time is it happening?”
“Half past one,” replied Sally. “In the Big Top. I was just going out to get some lunch first.”
“Would questions be asked if you were to slip out of the meeting for a few minutes at some point?”
“Oh no. Nature calls sometimes.”
“Good. Miss Davenport, I'd like you to hang around outside the Big Top during the meeting. That shouldn't be too much of a chore, since the sideshows will all be in full swing by that point. Miss... er...”
“Just Sally,” said Sally, with a smile.
“Miss Sally,” continued Mr Wooster, “I'd like you to keep an eye on Little Reggie for me. If he fails to attend the meeting, or if he leaves it for more than a few minutes, please slip out and attract Miss Davenport's attention. You don't have to say anything to her, just ensure that she sees you outside the tent. Miss Davenport, if you discover that Little Reggie is not in the meeting, find him and discreetly track him. Don't approach him too closely. We just need to know his movements at this stage. Remember, he may not be the Other's agent, but if he is, he's extremely dangerous.”
“Do you think Reggie killed Mr Chatterjee?” asked Alice.
“I think the Other's agent killed him,” replied Mr Wooster. “The thing I need to establish is whether or not Reggie is the same person.”
“I don't understand why the Other's agent would risk exposure like that, whether or not it's Reggie,” said Sally. “That's been puzzling me. I mean, yes, I do realise that the Other is trying to wreck our intelligence systems, but if you're going to do away with an agent, surely you don't signal to everyone that you're doing it because they're an agent? You make it look like an ordinary murder, if you've absolutely got to do it.”
“You think very much like your boss,” said Mr Wooster. He handed Sally the telegram.
She looked at him, brows furrowed. “I don't understand.”
“That was because I sprang it on you. If you had had as much time to think as the Baron, you might well have come to the same conclusion as he did.”
“What conclusion?”
“The key is in the last three words. 'Be very careful'. Baron Wulfenbach, as you are obviously aware, does not pad his telegrams with unnecessary verbiage, and he also has a tendency to credit everyone else with intelligence similar to his. I am not sure I am fully worthy of such a compliment, but I did work it out.”
Light dawned on Alice. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “So you're the real target.”
“Yes. We are dealing with someone who is dangerous enough, and callous enough, to kill a medium-level agent in front of a low-level agent in the full hope and expectation of bringing a high-level agent onto the scene and into their sights. I had been very puzzled about the motive, but the Baron has made it clear in three words.”
“Good Lord,” said Alice, appalled. “So we should never have sent for you at all!”
“Oh no. You did the right thing.” Mr Wooster smiled. “Sometimes, the best thing one can do is walk very carefully into a trap and steal the bait. With your help, that is what I'm planning.”
“And Herr von Luftschiff, wherever he is at the moment,” said Alice.
“Indeed, and I have no doubt that he's doing something useful, which may include having lunch. A Jäger thinks most clearly on a full stomach, just like everyone else.”
“I hope he can find something,” said Alice. “He's a vegetarian. Everything here seems to be meat pies and sausages.”
“There is a pub across the road,” said Sally. “I expect he can get some cauliflower cheese.”
“Pro tip,” said Alice. “Don't say that phrase in his hearing. Long story.”
“Very well; I'll remember that. And, since we're on the subject of lunch...”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mr Wooster. “You need to go and have some before the meeting. And we should probably do the same. It's been good to talk to you, Miss Sally.”
“You too, both of you.”
“Shall we try the make-up tent?” asked Alice, as they walked out into the sunshine.
“I doubt he'll still be there by now,” replied Mr Wooster. “I think our best bet is to do what I suggested and find some lunch. And we had better not linger too close to any stall unless we can see underneath it, nor to any tent. There is a reasonable probability that there is a very small, compact person out to kill me who can hide in a confined space, and is probably using a poisoned knife or darts. I don't see that we need make his task easy for him.”
“On the bright side, at least he'll be easy to spot in the crowd if he ventures into the open,” said Alice. “A dwarf is conspicuous.”
“Possibly,” said Mr Wooster thoughtfully. “Well, wherever he is, I don't propose to let him stop us eating. What do you fancy?”
“Would you think me terribly common if I said fish and chips?” asked Alice. “I've seen the pies. They look like mountains of stodge to me.”
“Fish and chips sounds like a perfectly reasonable lunch,” Mr Wooster assured her. “Let's go and get some.”
They were standing eating it, well clear of anywhere Little Reggie might be able to conceal himself, when Alice suddenly said, “Oh look, there's Herr von Luftschiff over there!”
“Good!” said Mr Wooster. “I was hoping he'd turn up sooner rather than later.” He peered through the crowds. “H'mm. He doesn't amble like that without a reason. I suspect he's keeping an eye on someone.”
“Reggie?”
“Could be. We don't know.”
Alice looked. “I can't see any dwarf. Maybe he's following the make-up man.”
“Yes, I can certainly see a point in getting him alone and asking him a few pertinent questions,” said Mr Wooster. “I don't know what he looks like, though, so I'm not sure.”
“Sally could have told us,” said Alice.
“She could, but it's hardly advisable for us to be seen standing around talking to her in the open. It's entirely possible that the Other's agent doesn't know about her. The Chatterjees didn't.”
“H'mm,” said Alice. “Incidentally, do you think she's really very strong, or do you think she's got some kind of spark devices?”
“That we may never know,” replied Mr Wooster, and added with a smile, “and I think it would be a little impolite to ask.”
Alice finished her meal, wiped her hands carefully on the napkin provided with it, and tossed it into the nearest waste bin along with the wrapper. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed. “There's that little girl again. I'm sure it's the same one.”
“Which one?”
“The chubby one in the blue flower print frock. She's coming this way. Excellent!”
“And so is Herr von Luftschiff,” said Mr Wooster. “Miss Davenport, I should be greatly obliged if you would go and stand over there and look as though you are trying to make up your mind whether or not to have your fortune told. And have your gun ready.”
Alice was baffled, but she knew better than to waste time asking questions. It was obvious that there was danger. The nature of that danger would no doubt become apparent much faster than she could get Mr Wooster to explain it to her. She went and stood by the fortune-teller's stall, as she had been instructed.
The little girl walked straight up to Mr Wooster. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Are you Mr Ardsley Wooster?”
Von Luftschiff strode up rapidly behind her, putting a huge clawed hand on her shoulder. “Und vy vould hyu vant to know dat?” he asked, conversationally.
“I... I've got a message... It's not for you, sir. You're not supposed to listen. It's private.”
“Ho ja,” said von Luftschiff. “Vould dat be anyting like de message hyu gave Mister Chatterjee de odder day?”
“I don't know what you're talking about! Let go.” The girl squirmed, but it was ineffective; von Luftschiff simply tightened his grip a little, very gently.
The girl's hands moved swiftly. Von Luftschiff was ready. He swung his free hand down in front of her. “Dat schtings,” he complained.
That was all Alice needed. She aimed swiftly, selected the stun charges, and fired. The little girl crumpled into a rather untidy heap, and von Luftschiff stood over her, inspecting the palm of his hand. It had a tiny thorn embedded in it, which he pulled out carefully.
“Hyu can't poison a Jäger,” he observed, to the world at large. “But dis is schtill annoying.”
“And here's what she did it with,” said Alice, picking up a little tube like a pea-shooter from the ground next to the unconscious child. She peered into it gingerly. “Oh, very clever! There's a little lever in it. You could fire one of those darts with a flick of the thumb, and if anyone happened to see it, well, children have pea-shooters, so nobody would think there was anything strange about it.”
Mr Wooster nodded. “About what I expected. So that was how Mr Chatterjee was killed. Keep that thorn safe, Herr von Luftschiff. We'll need to give it to the police. In the meantime, we'd better see if anyone has any calamine lotion.”
“Ottokar,” said von Luftschiff.
“Sorry?”
“Ottokar. Hy got a real Jäger name now.”
“Congratulations!” Mr Wooster turned to the crowd which was rapidly gathering. “No, it's all right, all of you. Everything is completely under control. She fainted. We'll ensure that she sees Dr Abercrombie as soon as possible.” He addressed another small girl. “Please run and find Strong Arm Sally, and tell her Mr Wooster says there's no need to do what was planned earlier.”
Von Luftschiff handed Alice the thorn. “Hyu better look after dis. Hy got to carry Liddle Miss Deadly here, und hy better use both hands.”
“Great Scott,” said Alice. “I'm really slow today. I should have realised much sooner. She's Reggie, isn't she?”
“Hyu bet she's Reggie. Dis is vot hyu can do ven hyu seeing a really goot make-up artist.”
Alice peered at the stunned face. “That is actually really astonishing. You have to look closely to see that she's... he's wearing make-up at all.”
Von Luftschiff nodded. “But he can't hide de fact dat he's more solid dan de average child, und he didn't hide dat frock as vell as he should have done. Hy saw it in de make-up tent, in a box vit some odder costumes. Hy recognised it from de odder day. Dat vos ven hy tvigged.”
He hoisted Little Reggie up in his arms. “Hokay, Mister Vooster. Vhere ve going first?”
* * * * *
The next few hours were, to say the least, somewhat crowded. The first thing they did was to take Reggie over to Dr Abercrombie's office where he could be conveniently searched while still groggy. This produced some small change and a little box containing several more of the tiny thorns, each one individually tucked into a nest of cotton wool. Dr Abercrombie did not have the equipment to analyse the thorns and said so, but he was confident that the police would. By this time, Reggie was starting to come round, but there was not a great deal he could do when covered by a Jäger on one side and an agent with a gun on the other.
“When you're quite ready to walk, we'll go to the police station,” said Mr Wooster. “It will help to dissipate the after-effects. And if you decide you're not up to walking, there are wagons here and I'm sure we can find someone to drive one, in the circumstances.”
“I can most certainly drive a wagon, if need be,” offered the doctor.
But they walked in the end, since Reggie, despite having a headache, had no wish to be any more conspicuous than he had to be. When they arrived, Sergeant Horne had gone off duty, and the engraved wooden wedge on the desk now read “P C TYSON”. P C Tyson was a large, amiable-looking young man with a round face and a slightly too-tight collar.
“Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “And what can I do for you?”
“Ah, good afternoon, Constable,” said Mr Wooster. “We've come about the Chatterjee case.”
“We came this morning and saw your colleague,” added Alice. “We said we'd bring you the real murderer. Well, we have.”
Tyson looked bewildered. “We arrested Mrs Chatterjee last night,” he said.
“Dat vos der problem,” said von Luftschiff. “Look. Hy see vot is going to happen here. Dere is going to be about half an hour of tok vhile everyvun gets unconfused. Hy get bored vit all dat, so vy don't hyu yust let me cut out de tok?” He reached into a pocket and produced a small jar of cold cream and a clean cloth. “Und before anyvun asks, hy borrowed dem from de make-up tent. Hy tought dey might be useful.”
Reggie shied away, but Alice had him covered. “You're not going anywhere,” she said.
“Really, miss, you can't go round threatening little girls...” Tyson began.
“Vot little girl?” retorted von Luftschiff. “Look.” He took a generous dollop of cold cream and wiped it over Reggie's face. “Oh, keep schtill. Hy not going to hurt hyu.”
Before the astonished eyes of the police officer, the “little girl” rapidly transformed into Reggie the dwarf. Von Luftschiff removed his wig as the final flourish, and tossed it onto the counter.
“And these are what we found on him,” said Alice, depositing the pipe and the darts next to the wig. “I suggest that you have someone analyse the poison on the darts and then investigate Mr Chatterjee's body for traces of it. All three of us can testify that he attempted to kill Mr Wooster at about a quarter past one using the same method.”
“But hy schtopped him,” said von Luftschiff proudly. “Hy took de dart in my hand. Hyu can't poison a Jäger.” He held out the hand for inspection; there was now quite a nasty lump around the wound.
Tyson looked defeated. “But does he have a motive?”
“He certainly does,” replied Mr Wooster, “but that will have to go in a statement, and the statement will need to be filed as classified information.” Once more, he produced his identity papers.
In the end, there were quite a lot of statements, since Constable Tyson called the duty sergeant, and the sergeant decided to send for Ernest, Sally and Dr Abercrombie to add their own accounts of the case. Ottokar von Luftschiff got exceedingly bored. But it was all over by about half past four, at which point the duty sergeant finally authorised the release of Mrs Chatterjee on bail. Mr Wooster happily signed the bail warrant.
“We won't be dropping the charges until the inquest has been conducted,” he explained. “I believe, from what you've said and what I've seen here, that the most likely explanation for Mr Chatterjee's death is the one you've presented. But we would be in a bad position if we were to drop the charges without getting medical confirmation of the cause of death. I'm sure you all understand that.”
Mr Wooster nodded. “I'm happy with that. As a matter of courtesy, would you mind sending me a telegram following the result of the inquest? My usual address is on the statement, of course.”
“Certainly, sir. We can do that.”
“And as for you,” said the sergeant, “Reginald Ellwood, I charge you with the murder of Prem Chatterjee, and you are under arrest.”
Constable Tyson coughed respectfully.
“Oh yes. And also the attempted murder of Ardsley Wooster.”
When Mrs Chatterjee was released, wearing an ornate black sari which blended Indian style with Western mourning traditions, there was a spontaneous cheer from the circus folk. “So you caught the real killer after all,” she said.
“Ve vorked as a team,” said von Luftschiff. “Dis is Mister Vooster. He vos in charge.”
“Miss Sally was also very helpful,” said Mr Wooster. “She was very anxious to catch the real killer. I commend her to you.”
Von Luftschiff nodded. “Ja.”
“Loyalty should always be rewarded,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “I shall be raising your wages, Sally.” She turned to Ernest. “And what about you? Where do you fit in?”
Ernest stammered something. “Please don't be hard on him,” said Mr Wooster. “Reggie forced him to do his make-up for him, and also a number of minor thefts. However, the police are quite satisfied that he was acting under duress, and that is why he hasn't been arrested as an accessory.”
Mrs Chatterjee nodded. “All right. I accept that. But I'm going to need a little talk with you on our own later, Ernest. Now that you're no longer under duress I should like you to be honest with me, and the more honest you are, the better it will go for you.”
Ernest swallowed. “Yes, madam.”
“Now. We are going back to the circus. I shall be in the ring tonight, naturally. Before that happens, there will be quite a lot of work to do, especially for you, Ernest. There will be a lot of performers looking for you in an increasing state of panic. You are going to have to pull off something approaching a miracle.”
The make-up artist suddenly looked a lot happier. “That I think I can do, madam.”
“Good. Mr Wooster, Miss Davenport, and Herr von Luftschiff, I am more grateful than I can possibly say. I am eternally in your debt, and I hope you will each accept, as a small token of my gratitude, two ringside tickets valid in perpetuity whenever you wish to attend the circus.”
“Thank you very much,” said Mr Wooster, bowing slightly.
“It is really the very least I can do. I quite probably owe you my life. Give your names at the gate when you come this evening. They will be there for you.”
Once the circus staff had left, Alice said, “Well. That could have got sticky.”
“Schpeaking of vhich,” said von Luftschiff, “hy could yust eat a Chelsea bun. Hy had to have lunch at de pub across de road, und hyu vill never guess vot dey gave me.”
“I suspect I will,” said Alice sympathetically. “Although I think we'd probably better get back home as soon as possible. The show starts at half past seven, so we'll need to have dinner early.”
“Is no hurry. Hy got two big casseroles going in de oven, very schlow. Vun vit meat, vun vit beans.”
“Mr and Mrs Greenwood will be delighted that they get free ringside seats,” said Mr Wooster. “But I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my spare ticket.”
“There's always the clank,” suggested Alice.
“Oh, der clank,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “Vit all de excitement, hy had managed to forget dat de schtupid ting exists. Now hyu go reminding me.”
“Does the clank need a ticket to the circus?” asked Mr Wooster, bemused.
“I think it probably does. For its mental health,” replied Alice firmly.
“Well... I suppose I don't know anyone else round here I could invite...”
“Hyu serious, aren't hyu?” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu actually going to take de clank.”
“Yes,” said Alice. “I am. So there.”
“Hooooo-kay. But hy not sitting next to it. So dere hyuself.”
So it was that, when Bertha rolled up and parked in the street outside the show field a little after seven that evening, there emerged both the Greenwoods, Mr Wooster, Alice, von Luftschiff, and Fitzroy the clank. The latter was still muttering incoherently, but the idea that it was being taken out for an evening's entertainment seemed to have sunk in at least to some extent, and it was noticeably calmer than it had been. They collected their tickets at the gate. Charles started to make a beeline for the coffee stall, but von Luftschiff called him back.
“Hyu don't vant dat stuff,” he warned him. “Believe me. Hy tried it. Is horrible.”
“It's coffee,” said Charles, hopefully.
“Darling,” said Hilde, “you are not going to need to invent anything during the circus. Now come on. If you're thirsty, there's a lemonade stall just there.”
“You don't actually know I'm not going to need to...”
“You are not going to need to. If anything goes wrong, we have some extremely solid protection.”
“What if...?”
“No,” said Hilde firmly. “If Herr von Luftschiff says the coffee is horrible, the coffee is horrible. I will take his word without question on any matter connected with food or drink. And I don't want you up all night with a stomach ache.”
“Hyu mind getting used to calling me Ottokar?” asked von Luftschiff, a little timidly.
“Sorry. Ottokar it is,” said Hilde. “I keep forgetting.”
They entered the great tent and were shown to their seats by an usher, who looked faintly askance at Fitzroy. Fitzroy eyed her back, and said, “Overwhelming gurgle in the knighthood disturbing the pennyroyal.”
The usher processed this, and came to a conclusion. “How many letters?” she asked, deadpan.
“It's not actually a word clue,” said Charles, apologetically. “I'm afraid Fitzroy has what you might call a few issues.”
“A few issues, notting,” muttered von Luftschiff. “Dat clank got a whole damned subscription.”
“You sit that end,” said Alice. “Fitzroy will sit at this end.”
“Amber game of the freak buffalo upon the sudden hay market,” observed Fitzroy.
“I'm sure there's a school of poetry that sounds a bit like that,” said Hilde, sitting down in the middle between Charles and Alice. Fitzroy was next to Charles, and Mr Wooster was on the other side of Alice, with von Luftschiff on the far end.
“Now that's a thought,” said Charles, enthusiastically. “A poetry clank! But I don't really want it to turn out that sort of thing. If I build an actual poetry clank, I shall want it at the very least to be able to turn out a decent sonnet.”
“Why would you actually need a poetry clank, darling?” asked Hilde.
“Oh, I wouldn't. But don't you think it would be fun? I suppose you wouldn't like one for your birthday, would you?”
“It's a very sweet thought, dear, but no, thank you.”
“Ven is hyu birtday?” asked von Luftschiff.
“It's in September. And Charles' is in March.”
“Is goot timing. Means ve all get birtday cake at least vunce every six months. Vot about hyu birtday, Alice?”
“October. What about yours?”
There was a pause.
“Hyu know,” said von Luftschiff, “hy got no idea. Hy can't remember.”
“Well, that's easily solved,” said Mr Wooster. “You can just have an official birthday from now on, like Her Majesty. When would you like it?”
“Hy tink,” said von Luftschiff, after a moment or two, “it ought to be today. Hy yust got my Jäger name. Dat's a big ting. But hy got no time to make a cake today, so maybe ve have der party tomorrow, ja?”
“Sounds like a perfect idea,” said Hilde. “Will you be able to stay for it, Mr Wooster?”
“I think so, as long as it doesn't go on too late,” replied Mr Wooster. “There is some rather urgent business happening in London just at the moment, but I will need to be here tomorrow anyway to tie up a few loose ends. Mrs Chatterjee isn't the only person who needs a long talk with Ernest. I'll have to find out exactly what he does and doesn't know.”
“I feel a bit sorry for Ernest,” said Alice. “It sounds as though Reggie gave him a bad time.”
“Yes, but I think he'll recover all right,” replied Mr Wooster. “He's got Sally to look after him, and she's got her head very well sewn on.”
They continued to chat until a massive drumroll heralded the start of proceedings. The band struck up a march, the curtains between the stands parted, and out rode Mrs Chatterjee on a magnificent grey horse. Tonight she was dazzling in a black salwar kameez heavy with gold zari embroidery and tiny mirrors. Behind her rode all the equestrian performers. As she rode to the centre, the others circled the ring to anticipatory applause. Mrs Chatterjee pulled herself gracefully up so that she was standing in the saddle, and bowed to the audience repeatedly as the horse revolved with delicate little steps. It was clear what she had been doing before she became ringmistress of her own circus.
“Thank you – thank you!” she called in a clear voice, as the band subsided. “It gives me very great pleasure to be here tonight. It's lovely to see you all here, and I hope you all enjoy what we have in store for you. And first of all, our talented equestrians are going to perform the Dance of the Steppes.”
The band launched into something that Mr Wooster correctly identified as Mussorgsky, and the show was under way. Sally came on next, causing much whispered speculation between the Greenwoods regarding what devices she might or might not be using, to the secret amusement of von Luftschiff. He had gathered in passing that she had deceived him in the matter of Baron Wulfenbach, but he did not hold that against her in the slightest. Agents, after all, were obliged to err on the side of caution. Nonetheless, he found it enjoyably ironic that he knew something about her that nobody else here did.
Sally was followed by the trapeze act, then the man with the performing Pomeranians (who spent quite a lot of time running round in elegant figures of eight and jumping over one another at the crossover point); and then there were the clowns. There was the clown on the stilts, and the clown with the unicycle, and a pair of clowns with enormously long shoes doing a sort of comic dance which must have taken incredible skill to avoid falling over each other's feet, and three clowns having an argument in mime involving a number of custard pies, and...
...and two clowns who juggled.
All the clowns were very good and deceptively well co-ordinated, but, for some reason, it was the jugglers who particularly attracted the attention of Fitzroy. Each of the jugglers started with three multi-coloured balls, and the comic part of the performance was that, every now and then, each of them would pretend to try to put the other one off by randomly throwing them an extra ball. The “victim” would then pull an exaggerated cross face, pretend to fumble for a moment, and then deftly incorporate the extra ball into their routine.
They had both got up to five when Fitzroy suddenly stood up with an excited fizzing noise. “What on earth is the matter?” asked Charles.
Fitzroy ignored him, strode towards the barrier, and vaulted over it into the ring. “Gott in Himmel,” said von Luftschiff. “Now vot? Hy told hyu dis vos a bad idea.”
The clank was making straight for the jugglers. There was some consternation in the audience. “I think you ought to do something, dear,” said Hilde.
“Er. Would you happen to have any constructive suggestions?” asked Charles.
Fitzroy stopped and politely held out a hand. The two clowns looked at each other, but if there is one thing a circus clown has to be good at, it is improvisation. The female one did a deliberately overdramatised shrug, and tossed him a ball.
“Thank you,” said Fitzroy. “More?”
The male clown tossed him another. Fitzroy thanked him, and started juggling the two, not a difficult manoeuvre. There was some laughter from the audience.
“Well, he's not actually doing any harm,” said Charles, a little doubtfully.
“No, but...” said Hilde.
The female clown seemed to consider for a moment, then experimentally threw the clank another ball. Fitzroy caught it neatly and brought it in as though he had been juggling all his life. This was starting to get interesting. The male clown threw a fourth, and then a fifth.
“I'm sure I didn't program him to do that,” said Charles, in puzzlement. “I think I'd have remembered.”
“He's really good,” said Alice.
Fitzroy was now juggling seven balls like a pro. The other clowns were all continuing with their acts, but even they were sneaking glances at the clank when they could get away with it. Seven, eight, nine, ten...
“He does look kind of happy,” said Charles.
“Does this sort of thing happen often?” asked Mr Wooster.
“Not really. Although I did once have a clank who... well, no, actually that's quite different, but remind me to tell you later.”
In the end, he got up to sixteen, and was only prevented from going any further by the inconvenient fact that they had run out of coloured balls. The audience applauded wildly. Not surprisingly, they had never seen a clank juggle before. It was with some difficulty that the clowns managed to explain to him that the act was now finished and he needed to stop; he was eventually persuaded, on the understanding that he would be allowed to do some more juggling backstage. He disappeared with his new friends through the curtain, and his old friends all exchanged glances.
“Well,” said Charles, a little stunned.
“There you are, dear! He's not such a failure after all,” said Hilde.
“I knew going to the circus would do him good,” said Alice.
“I wonder what Mrs Chatterjee will think?” said Mr Wooster.
“Hy knew it,” said von Luftschiff. “Mad as a box of frogs. But, hey, is goot if he happy.”
In less capable hands than those of the redoubtable Mrs Chatterjee, the rest of the circus could have turned out somewhat anticlimactic, but the ringmistress took everything in her stride as she always did. The equestrians turned out again before the interval for another complicated set piece, and then the second half opened with none other than Big Reginald, who had pulled a sword dance out of his sleeve, as it were. Whether he had kept it in reserve in case his stage partner was taken ill, or whether he had always had his suspicions of the dwarf and correctly predicted what had actually happened, nobody could tell; but the sword dance was certainly worth watching, and gained some extra impressiveness through being performed by a man who was well over seven feet tall.
Then came the Mighty Pythagoreans, who specialised in some remarkable formation acrobatics, culminating in their famous human pyramid. These were followed by a medley of magicians; at first the ring was full of them, making umbrellas vanish and producing a flurry of white doves and colourful silk scarves from apparently empty top hats. As the tricks became more complex and dramatic, the magical army gradually thinned down, until eventually only one magician was left, who performed the obligatory feat of sawing a gentleman in half. Von Luftschiff thought he recognised the young man who had been hanging the poster, and who had said he was a clown; that was quite likely, but, if so, it was quite impossible to tell which of them he was.
There followed the stunt velocipedists, and then some of the clowns came out a second time. Fitzroy was not among them. These clowns were doing a routine involving a long skipping rope, which was amusing and quite clever.
And then they withdrew, and another clown came on, pushing a wheelbarrow and leading... Fitzroy.
The wheelbarrow was full of green glass bottles. The clown threw three of them to Fitzroy, and the clank obligingly juggled them. Every few minutes, the clown picked up another one and threw it, and it joined the rest in the air. When the tenth one was thrown, the band, inevitably, launched into a spirited rendering of “Ten Green Bottles”, to much laughter and applause. But no green bottle accidentally fell, and Fitzroy got up to twelve in the end before signalling to his new assistant that this was plenty. He juggled them for a while, then let them down one by one, to be collected and returned to the wheelbarrow. As the clown pushed it away, a second clown arrived with a second wheelbarrow, this one containing wooden boomerangs.
A hush fell on the crowd. They had never seen anyone juggle boomerangs before. That was a whole new level of difficulty. Fitzroy calmly picked up the first one, sent it spinning over the heads of a section of the audience, and had the second one off before it returned.
Boomerangs were indeed difficult. He managed only seven of those.
“And now,” boomed Mrs Chatterjee, “the moment you've all been waiting for. I am very proud to introduce the great Madame Vesuvius, Tamer of the Flames!”
The great Madame Vesuvius was actually a scrawny, petite woman, and her figure-hugging outfit, while undoubtedly sensible from the point of view of fire safety, did nothing to help with this. But she had great confidence, flair and poise. Fitzroy did not leave the ring, but stood back politely next to Mrs Chatterjee while Madame Vesuvius performed an increasingly hair-raising selection of fire-breathing exploits.
“Vow,” said von Luftschiff. “Don't try dis at home.”
“You've seen them separately,” called Mrs Chatterjee. “But now, for the first time in history, you are going to see them together. Be amazed at Madame Vesuvius and Fitzroy the Juggling Clank!”
It was fair to say that most of the audience really was amazed. It was not just ringmistress hyperbole. Clowns came running in with torches. Madame Vesuvius lit them with her fiery breath, and they were then thrown to Fitzroy, who juggled them. He threw them quite high, and now and again one of them would go out, enabling Madame Vesuvius to direct a jet of flame into the air in order to relight it. While all this was going on, she still found time to perform some of her own special tricks, of which the most spectacular involved setting a large hoop on fire and skipping with it.
The applause was thunderous. The act led seamlessly into the finale, in which everyone came on a final time to collect the remaining plaudits, and there were plenty for everyone. As the audience got up to leave, Charles said, “Well, darling, I'm not quite sure what we ought to do now.”
“I am,” said Hilde. “I think we should go and find Mrs Chatterjee.”
They found her backstage in the end, exhausted but triumphant. She beamed in turn at Mr Wooster, Alice and von Luftschiff, mopping her brow with the edge of her silk dupatta.
“And to think,” she said, “if it hadn't been for you three, I should still be languishing in a cell. And you must be Mr and Mrs Greenwood? Delighted to meet you in person.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, and Fitzroy belongs to them.”
“But we'd be very happy to sell him,” added Charles quickly, privately thinking that Mrs Chatterjee was constitutionally incapable of languishing, even in a prison cell. “He's obviously so much happier with you than he was with us that it would be terrible not to.”
“Name your price,” said the ringmistress promptly. “He's a revelation.”
“Hyu bet,” muttered von Luftschiff. “Yust don't ever try to use him as a butler.”
“Oh, well, really, he's built out of spare parts,” said Charles. “We don't need much for him. Say ten guineas? That would cover both the parts and the cost of hiring someone temporarily to replace him.”
“I wouldn't rob you,” insisted Mrs Chatterjee. “He may not be worth much to you, but he's gold to me. I'll give you fifty, and I shall still feel I'm getting the better of the deal.”
“That's very generous of you,” said Hilde, “but you should really understand that he wasn't designed as a juggler. Charles built him as a butler originally, and he wasn't good at it.”
“Und dat is an underschtatement,” said von Luftschiff.
“He is what you might possibly call temperamental,” said Charles. “I'm afraid he has irrational fears and tends to talk nonsense at times.”
Mrs Chatterjee raised an eyebrow. “I'm a ringmistress. I have spent my entire life dealing with people who are temperamental. Some of them have irrational fears, and more than a few of them talk nonsense, especially when drunk.”
“Well, if you're sure it's not a problem...” said Hilde.
“It is not the slightest problem. He has an amazing natural talent, never mind whether or not you intended to give it to him. He said something earlier about it being just applied mathematics, although I'm not sure whether or not that counts as nonsense.”
Charles thought about it. “Well, yes, technically he's right, so that does suggest lucidity. But on the other hand, I've never met any other applied mathematician who could juggle, let alone like that.”
“It seems to work for him,” replied Mrs Chatterjee. “And he's obviously extremely happy doing it. I think this way everyone wins.”
“Even hy vin,” said von Luftschiff cheerfully. “Hy don't ever have to show him der vay to der laundry again.”
There was some laughter. Then von Luftschiff said, “Ho! Hy yust remembered. Today is my birtday, und tomorrow hy am having a party. Hy vould like to invite Sally. Vhere is she, please?”
“She'll probably be in her dressing room,” replied Mrs Chatterjee, “but if you wait outside, she should be with you soon enough. It's that way. You'll see her name on the door.”
The word “door” turned out to be something of an exaggeration; the dressing rooms for the major performers consisted of a set of curtained frames (the others having to change in a separate tent and slip in and out via a side entrance). Sally emerged from one of them after a few minutes, looking happy, as she well might. The show had gone down superbly well here.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Ottokar.”
“Ja. Ve yust been talking to Mrs Chatterjee. Hyu probably like to know she buying der clank.”
“I should hope so. He's extraordinary. Where did he learn to juggle like that?”
Von Luftschiff shrugged. “Ve got no clue. Even Charles got no clue, und he built him. Yust someting veird in his gears, hy suppose. Anyvay, hy didn't really come to talk about der clank. Hy came to say is my official birtday today, und hy having a party tomorrow. Vould hyu like to come along?”
Sally smiled. “Official birthday?”
“Ja. Hy forgot ven my original vun vos, und dis is de day hy got my new name, so is as goot a day as any.”
“Well, I'd love to if I can. When and where is it?”
“Is afternoon, so hyu should be able to yoin us. How about ve schtart vit lunch und den go on till about tea time? Und hy write down der address for hyu.” He found a scrap of paper and a pencil in his pocket, and scribbled it down. Hilde had made him a little gadget to help with writing and other finely co-ordinated hand tasks while he was getting used to his claws, but he found he could manage without it now. “Say about half past tvelve?”
“Thank you,” she said. “I'll be delighted to come.” She paused. “Er... who else will be there?”
“Charles und Hilde und Alice und Mister Vooster. Only hyu from de circus.”
“Oh... Mr Wooster.” She took a deep breath. “I probably ought to tell you I wasn't quite honest with you earlier. About the Baron, I mean. I'm not actually running away from him at all. It was just that...”
Von Luftschiff held up a hand. “Hy know. Is all right. Hy'd have done de same in hyu position.”
“You're quite sure you're not an agent?”
“Not alvays. Vot does Mister Vooster say?”
“He says you're not, but I think he'd quite like you to be one.”
“Hy been getting de same impression,” said von Luftschiff.
“I think you'd be good at it, for what that's worth,” said Sally.
“Hy don't know. Is tempting, but hy like vorking for Charles und Hilde. Dey really nize, even if dey a bit veird. Dey schparks. All schparks are a bit veird.”
Sally nodded. “You're not wrong about that. And some of them are quite a lot weird, but we won't go there. Not when we're talking about your birthday party.”
“Hy make a cake,” said von Luftschiff happily. “A big chocolate cake. Is my favourite.”
Sally smiled. “With candles? Actually, do you remember how old you are?”
“Hy been trying to remember dat. Hy tink hy somevhere in my late tventies or early tirties. But is not impawtent now. Is my first birtday as a Jäger. So, yust de vun candle.”
“That's lovely. I don't do birthdays now. I mean, I'm, what, maybe two hundred and thirty? I've lost count. And I've spent more than thirty years of that pretending to be human and having to act like a lady. Well, sort of a lady, at least. Certainly not a Jäger, anyway.” She sighed. “You know what? I'd really love a good fight. Haven't had one since I don't know when.”
Von Luftschiff's eyes gleamed. “Hyu vant a goot fight? Ja. Me too. Hy know a really nize qviet place out in de countryside vhere ve can bash seven bells out of each odder und nobody know. Vy don't ve vander off dere some time und take hyu liddle friend Ernest so he can patch up hyu make-up aftervards?”
“You tempter!” exclaimed Sally happily. “Yes, I think we should definitely arrange that.” She paused.
“You quite sure you're not trying to chat me up?” she enquired, archly.
* * * * *
Alice Davenport walked up the short gravel path to the house, somehow managing to carry a basket with one hand and hold up her umbrella with the other while simultaneously holding her voluminous skirts out of the wet. Despite the rain, it was a warm day and the kitchen window was open; from it, there issued a cheerful tenor voice of a decidedly non-operatic nature, raised in song.
In München steht ein Hofbräuhaus: eins, zwei, g'suffa!
Da läuft so manches Fäßchen aus: eins, zwei, g'suffa!
“Herr von Luftschiff!” Alice called.
“Vot?”
“You're very loud. Do you know you can be heard from the street?”
“Hy don't care. Hy happy. Tonight ve have bese bele olianna for dinner, und hyu und de Greenvoods can have gammon vith it if hyu vant. Is very goot Indian recipe vot hy learnt from Captain Singh in de Army. Very distinctive, not too schpicy, rich varm flavour.”
“That does sound quite welcome,” Alice admitted, fumbling with the door keys. The rain was making her feel a little chilly. A gust of complex, mouthwatering scent eddied from the window; there was definitely cinnamon in it, but the other components were hard to analyse.
“Hy hope hyu like it,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy had de hell of a time finding an aubergine in dis place.” He paused. “Ven hy first wrote down dis recipe, hy had even more trouble. Captain Singh called it brinjal. Nobody had a clue vot dat vas.”
Alice got the front door open with difficulty, and a tall clank bustled up with a reproachful air. “It would have been my pleasure to open the door for Madam,” it said, in a metallic voice.
Alice blinked. “What?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fitzroy. May I take your basket and umbrella?”
Von Luftschiff hurried through from the kitchen, wiping his hands on an entirely inadequate gingham apron. “Charles has yust found a new sort of coffee he likes,” he explained.
“I thought it might be something like that,” said Alice, carefully. “And where are Charles and Hilde at the moment?”
“Charles is in de vorkshop und Hilde has gone for a lie down.”
“Oh dear,” said Alice. “That doesn't sound promising.”
She let Fitzroy relieve her of the umbrella, but not the basket. As the clank went off to find a suitable place for the umbrella to dry, Hilde Greenwood came down the stairs. She was a kind-faced, sensible-looking woman of about fifty, with green eyes and hair of an indeterminate brown which was rolled up into a neat bun.
“Ah,” she said. “Hallo, Alice. I see Charles has just invented a butler.”
“Vell, ve probably needed vun,” observed von Luftschiff.
“Yes, but it's a little disconcerting to have one sprung on you like that,” said Alice. “When I left this house, there was no butler. Now, there's a big metal one that looks as though it's probably got a death ray in its chest.”
“Oh, I expect it has,” said Hilde matter-of-factly. “One can't be too careful.”
Alice sighed inwardly. It was her own fault, she supposed. She had, after all, signed up for this. She had agreed to become an agent in Her Majesty's Special Operations Forces following the untimely death of her father and her subsequent role in helping to bring to justice the person responsible. She had known perfectly well that, until she could be teamed up with the agent who would take personal responsibility for training her, this was going to mean living with a pair of middle-aged sparks and a vegetarian Jägermonster, with all the unpredictability that this would inevitably entail. Even so, right now she was just not in the mood for unexpected robotic manservants.
“Dinner is in about half an hour,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu vant gammon?”
“Yes, please,” replied Alice. “I should like gammon. But right now, I should like to go and change my dress and sit down for a while.”
Fitzroy whirred back into the hall. “Drinks will be served in the parlour,” it announced.
“How about hyu serve mine in de kitchen, Mister Fitzroy?” suggested von Luftschiff. “Hy got to go and fry de gammon.”
“Drinks will be served in the parlour,” repeated Fitzroy, sounding uncertain.
Charles Greenwood appeared from somewhere at the back, just in time to rescue his creation from hierarchical processing failure. “It's all right, Fitzroy,” he said. “Just take Herr von Luftschiff his drink in the kitchen as he asks.” He was small, bald and bouncy, with very bright blue eyes and a wiry build; at the moment he was wearing the oldest, scruffiest clothes in his possession, which was just as well, since he was covered with brass filings and splotches of machine oil.
The clank somehow managed to look dubious, which was quite an achievement for something that could not move most of its face. “Might I venture to suggest that perhaps Sir needs a cook?”
“Hy like cooking!” said von Luftschiff indignantly. “Und now ve got a house for a vhile, hy got de chance. Do hyu have any idea how boring it is in guest houses? Every time hyu tell dem hyu a vegetarian, dey giff hyu cauliflower cheese. Hy schvear, if ve had schtayed in any more of dose guest houses hy vould have turned into a cauliflower.”
“Sir is already green,” observed the clank.
“Whoops,” said Charles. “Sorry about that, Herr von Luftschiff. I think I need to fine-tune him a little.”
“Vot for?” asked von Luftschiff. “Hy not offended. Is true. Hy am green.”
“Well, yes,” said Charles, “but if Fitzroy says that to you, we don't know what he might say to other people.”
“Frankly, I'm feeling a bit green myself,” said Alice. “I'm off upstairs, if nobody minds. I'll see you all at dinner.”
“Und hy got to go und fry de gammon,” said von Luftschiff, departing in the direction of the kitchen.
Alice left the Greenwoods in the hall discussing the finer technical aspects of clank servants, and went up to her room. She had to admit that she agreed wholeheartedly with von Luftschiff about the house, although obviously not for the same reasons. Charles and Hilde were agents of some sort, although not in the branch of the service for which she herself had signed up; this meant that they inevitably had to do a lot of travelling, and this, in turn, meant a succession of inns, boarding houses and hotels, some better, some worse. She, too, had been growing increasingly tired of them. But then a letter had arrived requesting Charles and Hilde to rent a house in the area for a few weeks, and enclosing a cheque for any additional expenses that this might involve, such as a deposit. No reasons were given in the letter, but it seemed the two sparks were entirely used to this. Reasons, in their experience, arrived in due course, when they were needed.
And it was, she reflected as she unpacked the basket, one of the prettiest areas one could hope to be – for want of a better phrase – stuck in. They were in Kendal, an unpretentiously attractive town strung out along both sides of the wide River Kent. A journey of a mere hour or so in Bertha, the Greenwoods' mechanical jalopy, would take them into the heart of the English Lake District, and they had already taken some advantage of this fact and spent a couple of pleasant days in Windermere and Ambleside. It was just a pity she was feeling a little under the weather at the moment. It had started when she was out, and she had a very good idea what was the matter with her; tomorrow she would be fine, or at least a lot better. But tonight, on the strength of current symptoms, she would be retiring early with a warming pan.
She climbed out of her damp gown, hung it on the convenient peg on the door, and inspected the contents of her wardrobe. She had bought a black lace shawl in town and wanted to show it off to best advantage. Normally, Alice was quite decisive, but in her current state it took her a little while to choose between the peach satin and the mauve silk. In the end, a glance in the mirror convinced her that the latter was the better choice. Peach definitely suited her best when she was in the full glow of health.
She was just coming back downstairs when the doorbell rang. Fitzroy went to answer it, and Alice hung back on the stairs to watch the scene. Potentially, this was going to be amusing.
There was a small boy on the doorstep, who stared at Fitzroy and exclaimed, “Blinking 'eck!”
“I have not been taught to parse that statement correctly,” said Fitzroy.
A bewildered silence on both sides followed for a few moments, until the urchin managed to recover the power of speech and started delving in his pocket. “Letter here for a Miss Davenport,” he explained.
“Very good. Thank you,” said Fitzroy.
Alice swept the rest of the way down the stairs as gracefully as she felt she could manage in the circumstances. “I am Miss Davenport,” she said, taking a couple of pennies from her reticule.
The boy handed over the letter and received his tip with mildly astonished gratitude; he had clearly not been expecting more than a penny. He was not to know that if Alice had happened to have a sixpenny piece, she would have been glad to hand it over, because any letter that had managed to find its way to her here was certain to be important. As Fitzroy closed the door, she broke the seal, and she was just taking the letter out of the envelope when there was an almighty clang which caused her to drop both letter and envelope on the carpet.
Von Luftschiff's shaggy, befanged head appeared round the door wearing a distinctly sheepish expression.
“Damn,” he said. “Sorry. Hy dented de dinner gong.”
Hilde came up behind him. “Well, you needn't have hit it quite so hard, Herr von Luftschiff. It's not so big a house that we can't hear you if you just tap it.”
“Hy still don't alvays know my own schtrength,” he said, shaking his head. “Hy got a bit excited.”
“I'm sure we can straighten it out in the workshop,” replied Hilde. “Now, where's Charles?”
“Hy expect he schtill inventing schtuff,” said von Luftschiff. “He says dat coffee is really goot.”
“Inventing or not, he's got to eat,” said Hilde. “Fitzroy, go and get him, will you?”
“Yes, Madam,” replied the clank, and disappeared towards the back of the house.
Alice took advantage of the momentary hiatus to retrieve her letter. She went to the dining room window to read it. It was addressed from London, and written in a firm, neat hand.
“Dear Miss Davenport,” she read, “I fear I have some bad news. Mrs O'Dwyer, who was to have been responsible for your training and development on her return to this country, has sadly met with a fatal accident in Transylvania.”
Spy talk for “killed in action”, thought Alice grimly. She continued to read.
“Obviously for practical reasons it would be better to assign you to a female tutor, and I am looking into this at the moment. However, if I am not able to find a suitable person by 1 August, I shall undertake your tuition myself, since it is not fair to keep you in your current state of limbo any longer than absolutely necessary.”
Can't say fairer than that, thought Alice, who had no objection to being trained by a man if it came to it. She had no need to look at the signature to know who this particular man was, and his reputation had gone ahead of him. There was not the slightest danger that he would conduct himself in any way unbecoming to a gentleman.
“Meanwhile, I am now in a position to explain why you were all asked to remain in Kendal for a while. There are a few items you will need which would have been difficult to send through normal channels, and so I have arranged for you to pick them up from some friends of mine. Mrs Chatterjee's Famous Circus is currently performing in Lancaster, and will be moving up to Kendal within a few days of this letter reaching you. Mr Chatterjee has been entrusted with the items and will be expecting you. Go to the circus and ask to see him; you will probably need to pretend that you have an audition. Be sure to give your full name.”
There was a commotion in the doorway at this point, causing Alice to look up. There was still no sign of Charles, but Fitzroy appeared to be having some kind of nervous breakdown.
“Sir is not able to come to dinner yet,” it was saying. “But Madam ordered me to fetch him.”
“Oh, for gootness' sake,” said von Luftschiff. “Is not absolutely necessary he yoin us. Is necessary he eat. Vy don't hyu yust take him his dinner und den schtand over him und remind him to eat it?”
Fitzroy turned to Hilde. “Is that acceptable, Madam?”
“Yes, it's acceptable,” said Hilde. “And really, Fitzroy, I think I'm going to have to reprogram you a bit myself.”
Alice quickly finished reading her letter.
“While the circus is in town, I can also highly recommend going to see it. The fire eater, in particular, is outstanding. Please write and let me know when you have collected the items, and feel free to include any other observations that may be relevant.”
Interesting phrase there, thought Alice. I wonder what he means by that?
“Your humble and obd't s'vt, ARDSLEY WOOSTER.”
“Hoy, Miss Alice!” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu going to sit down und eat?”
“I am,” said Alice, pocketing the letter. “Sorry. It's from Mr Wooster.”
“Oh, that's good!” exclaimed Hilde, who was already sitting down. “Is it private?”
“No reason you and Charles shouldn't see it,” replied Alice, sitting opposite to her and passing her the letter.
Hilde read it quickly. “A circus? Excellent! Just what we need to distract Charles. I hope it arrives soon. Do please give him our best regards when you reply.”
“With pleasure. I rather hope I do get to train with him, because he does seem very nice. You and Charles always speak so well of him, and he comes across as extremely conscientious.”
“Yes, he's a thoroughly sound young man,” said Hilde. “He also has a very sharp mind. Oh, Herr von Luftschiff, that looks delicious!”
Von Luftschiff grinned broadly, showing all his fangs. “Hy hope so. Hy don't know if hy make it as goot as Captain Singh did, but hy tink it vill be all right.”
It was indeed delicious, and von Luftschiff, in his usual fashion, ate about as much as the other three put together; although, naturally, being a vegetarian he was not eating the gammon, so even if he had not had a hearty Jäger appetite he would have needed to eat more of the Indian dish to make up for it. The main course was followed by lemon meringue pie, to the especial delight of Hilde, since it was a favourite of hers.
“What about Charles?” asked Alice.
“Lemon meringue pie is yust as good cold,” replied von Luftschiff. “He can have it ven he ready. Hy not shouting for dat clank. It vorries too much.”
“It does,” agreed Hilde. “I think I may have to take a look at it myself before breakfast tomorrow morning."
Alice and von Luftschiff exchanged glances. They knew, from occasionally explosive experience, exactly what that meant.
* * * * *
The cart with the posters arrived first, along with half a dozen people to paste them up in various places around the town. Von Luftschiff, who was taking a post-breakfast stroll along the river, found one of them addressing a large tree near the church with a view to finding the best spot to put a nail. He had just pasted one of the posters onto a piece of hardboard to allow it to be hung.
“Hy reckon about dere,” suggested von Luftschiff helpfully, pointing to a suitable spot.
The poster-hanger, a skinny young man with sandy hair and a prominent Adam's apple, glanced round to see who was speaking, and then leapt about a yard, colliding with the tree. Von Luftschiff let out a sigh. He did not always get this kind of reaction in this country, and therefore, somehow, when he did, it always felt a lot worse.
“Hy vos only trying to help,” he said. “Anyvun vould tink hy vos going to bite hyu.”
The man did not look at all convinced. “What are you?” he gasped.
“Hy a Jäger,” replied von Luftschiff proudly. “Hyu dropped hyu poster. Hyu vant me to put it up?” Without waiting for an answer, he retrieved the hammer and nails, which the young man had also dropped in his fright, and then picked up the poster and studied it.
It was an impressive poster. At the top, in big bold capitals with tasteful little curly embellishments here and there, were the words “MRS CHATTERJEE'S FAMOUS CIRCUS”. For the avoidance of all possible doubt, there was an engraving immediately beneath these words showing a woman in ringmistress garb standing in front of a huge circus tent. Below this, somewhat crowded into the available space and set in a variety of sizes and styles: “Your only chance to see the remarkable talents of MADAME VESUVIUS, fire eater extraordinaire! Come and see STRONG ARM SALLY, the woman who can lift a full-grown horse! Marvel at THE GREAT ANTONIO and his PERFORMING POMERANIANS! Don't miss THE MIGHTY PYTHAGOREANS as they bedazzle with their unique combination of acrobatics and mathematics! Be amazed by THE TWO REGINALDS, dwarf and giant! Plus many JUGGLERS, CLOWNS, TRAPEZE ARTISTES, EQUESTRIAN PERFORMERS, MAGICIANS and STUNT VELOCIPEDISTS.” There then followed a panel with the word “Kendal” and a list of dates and times written in by hand.
Von Luftschiff selected a nail, banged it carefully into the tree, and hung the poster on it. “Dat looks like a goot show hyu got,” he said. “Hy definitely coming. Do hyu do anyting in de circus or do hyu yust hang de posters?”
“I... I'm a clown,” stammered the young man.
“Is goot. Hy like clowns. Vell, don't let me schtop hyu. Hyu got lots more posters to hang.” He picked the young man up from the ground, dusted him off, handed him the hammer and nails, and beamed. “Now dat vosn't so bad, vos it? Hy don't know vy hyu frightened of me. Hyu vit a circus. Hy bet hyu see veirder tings dan me every day.”
“Yes, b... b... but it's a circus. It's not real. Thing with you is, you're obviously real.”
“Ho ja. Hyu bet hy real. Personally, hy tink dat's a goot ting.”
Von Luftschiff was normally quite a cheerful soul, but he was a little pensive as he returned to the house. As the reader will already have gathered, he was somewhat atypical for a Jäger. Against a suitable opponent he could fight as well as any of his kind, and enjoy it just as much; but he objected to fighting humans, since he knew they were no match for him, and he found it difficult when they were afraid of him. After all, not so very long ago he had been human himself, and, while he was very happy with the strength and endurance of his new body, he was decidedly ambivalent about the fact that it was now green. It didn't have to be green. Jägers came in a variety of different colours, and a few lucky ones even kept their original skin tone. But green it was, and although he looked good enough in the mirror, not everyone was used to green faces, especially when they had extremely long sharp teeth.
He found Charles reading a newspaper in the parlour. The little spark looked up over the paper. “Oh, hallo, Herr von Luftschiff,” he said. “That was quite a short walk. Are you all right?”
Von Luftschiff sat down rather heavily. “Hy found a man putting up a poster for de circus. It looks goot, but de man vos schcared.”
“What, of you?” asked Charles.
“Vell, it vosn't of de liddle pink elephants,” replied von Luftschiff. “He vos schtone cold sober.”
Charles put down the paper. “Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that.”
Von Luftschiff shrugged. “It happens. But is frustrating. Hy not a monster.”
“No, of course not. You're a kind, thoughtful and intelligent person. Sadly, too many people think they can judge by looks. They should try doing what Hilde and I do. We've encountered some absolutely diabolical villains who looked completely conventional and respectable. If everyone met a few of those, it would change their outlook completely.”
“Vell,” von Luftschiff pointed out, “hy not sure it's safe for everyvun to meet diabolical villains.”
Charles laughed. “That is a very fair point!”
“Is a bit qviet here,” von Luftschiff observed. “Vere are de ladies?”
“Oh, well, Hilde's trying to calm down Fitzroy at the moment. I'm not sure what Alice is doing.”
Von Luftschiff put his head on one side. “Trying to calm him down? Is dat vit psychology or vit a schpanner?”
“Knowing my beloved, it could be either or both,” replied Charles. “I hope she's finished soon, though. I mean, if she's sparking, she might decide to... augment him.”
“He already seems preddy augmented to me,” said von Luftschiff. “Dat reminds me. Veren't hyu going to do someting to Bertha?”
“Oh, we are, but we've got plenty of time to do that,” replied Charles. “We've decided she could do with flight capacity. After that incident with the flying clanks and the time it took us to get the cannon ready, we thought it would be a lot better if we could meet any future aerial threat on its own terms. In particular, they were able to get directly overhead out of range, and if you hadn't been up there standing on the flywheel bashing the daylights out of them with a shovel, I very much doubt we'd be here to tell the tale.”
Von Luftschiff grinned. “Dat vos fun!”
“And in the meantime,” Charles continued, “I've decided to buy a velocipede. Since we're going to be settled for a bit, I'd like to do some riding. The countryside round here is lovely.”
Von Luftschiff looked doubtful. “Ja. Beautiful. But lots of up und down. Hyu sure?”
“Best sort of country for it!” exclaimed Charles, with enthusiasm. “It's certainly hard work pedalling up hills, but it's so much fun coming down. Maybe you could try it? You're so strong, you'd probably find it a breeze.”
“H'mm,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy had a bad experience vit vun of dose tings vunce.”
“But you're a Jäger now,” Charles persisted. “It'll all be different.”
“Vell, hokay. Maybe hy try it,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu going to buy it today?”
“Yes, I think I probably am. Why?”
“Den hyu better go out soon,” replied von Luftschiff. “Hy tink it going to rain again. Is very nize here, but is vet.”
“Then I shall. Would you mind letting Hilde know where I've gone, when you see her?”
“No problem.” Von Luftschiff eyed Charles as he stood up. “If hyu going right now, hyu mind if hy read de paper?”
“Not at all. Although I'm afraid it isn't terribly interesting.”
“De vay hyu live, hy don't suppose it ever is,” replied von Luftschiff, with a grin. “Ven hyu running round catching rogue schparks und veird manifestations, vot's in de paper must seem preddy tame by comparison.”
Charles laughed, and went to put on his hat. Then, suddenly recalling something, he put his head round the door again. “Oh, by the way, does my nose look all right?”
“Hyu nose? It looks yust der same as it alvays does. Vy?”
“Ah. Well, I got a rather large splotch of oil on it last night, and Hilde insisted on having at it with the carbolic soap. It was still looking a little pink when I shaved.”
“No, hyu look fine,” von Luftschiff assured him.
Charles thanked him and left, and von Luftschiff settled down with the paper. Charles had been quite right. Even by the standards of a normal person (whatever exactly that was, von Luftschiff reflected), it was pretty boring. There was a brief notice about the circus, giving dates and times, but since this was journalism rather than advertising copy there were no other details. Apart from that, there was a story about a woman who had been thrown off her horse and landed in a hedge, and appeared to be annoyed rather than seriously injured; a rather pompous editorial about that hoary old chestnut, educational standards; a short and painfully worthy digest by the local Member of Parliament, entitled “This Week in Westminster”; and the usual set of official notices, letters, announcements and advertisements.
A little later, Hilde came in, still wearing her leather work apron. Von Luftschiff put down the paper.
“Hy glad de circus is coming,” he observed. “Hy tink dey need it round here. If hyu believe de paper, all dey ever do is auction sheep.”
Hilde laughed. “Looking at the paper, I suppose that is a fair conclusion. Have you seen Charles?”
“Ho ja. He vent out to buy a velocipede.”
She frowned. “I hope he isn't too long. I'd like him to look at Fitzroy again.”
“Hyu not fixed him, den?”
“Well, yes and no.” Hilde sat down. “That is to say, I've fitted him with lights and a metal detector, but I don't appear to have solved his psychological problems.”
Von Luftschiff shook his head. “Hyu fitted him vit a metal detector? He already vorries about everyting. Is not going to help if he keeps detecting himself.”
“Oh, other metals, obviously. I did set it to ignore his own components, unless they developed any kind of fault.”
“How does he feel about de lights?” asked von Luftschiff.
“I thought he'd be pleased,” admitted Hilde. “But now he's worried about the correct etiquette for using them.”
“Hy tink Charles overdid der formal,” said von Luftschiff. “Vhich is all right, but den hyu got to do plenty of training. Der poor clank can't vork it all out for himself.”
“Well, yes, basically,” said Hilde, with a sigh. “Oh well. The thing is, we've never really had to think about servants before. Usually we're in hotels and it's not a problem, and when we stay anywhere medium-term like this, we're generally so busy that we just hire someone temporarily from an agency. But at the moment we've got time on our hands, and Charles has plenty of coffee, and so I suppose it was always going to happen.”
“Hyu vant to see de paper?” asked von Luftschiff.
“Not really, but thank you for asking. Is there anything about the circus in it?”
“Ja, but not a lot. Hyu vant to know about de circus, hyu can go into town und look at de posters. Dey vere putting dem up ven I vos out.”
“Ah, so it's on its way, then. That's good to hear. Do you know when it'll get here? I suppose they'll need a day or two to set up.”
“Vell, der first show is on Friday night und today is Vednesday, so hy should tink dey vill be here very soon. Maybe today.”
“Do you recall any of the acts?” asked Hilde.
“De fire eater vot Mister Vooster likes is top of de bill,” replied von Luftschiff. “Den dey got a schtrong voman. Dey said she could lift a horse. A horse is not a lot for a Jäger, but is damn goot for a human. Hy vould like to see her. Und some performing dogs, und de usual clowns und yugglers und acrobats und tings. Oh, und two Reginalds, votever dose are.”
Hilde smiled. “Reginald is a name. And wouldn't you be happier if we switched to German?”
“Hy got to be able to schpeak goot English here,” von Luftschiff pointed out. “Hy need de practice.”
“Fair enough. Oh, I know what I was going to ask you. I've got to send an extra load of washing to the laundry because Charles got oil all over himself last night. Is there anything you'd like to go in?”
“Ja. Hy got a couple of handkerchiefs. Hyu vant me to get dem now?”
“No hurry, but if you could have them ready after lunch that would be good. I'll send Fitzroy down with them. I don't think he's going to have too many etiquette worries about a trip to the laundry.”
“Dat clank can vorry about anyting,” replied von Luftschiff dourly.
“Well, yes, you have a point, but he's going to have to learn. There's no point in having a clank butler if he can't buttle because of his nerves.” She paused. “Circuits. Whatever. And next time you go upstairs, would you mind tapping on Alice's door and asking her? She got her dark red dress rather wet yesterday, so she might appreciate having it cleaned and ironed.”
“No problem. By de vay, can de clank climb schtairs?”
Hilde looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, technically, yes,” she replied.
“Technically?”
“He, er, seems to be afraid of heights.”
Von Luftschiff heaved a sigh.
“Hy might have known.”
* * * * *
Alice came down for lunch following a hard and very satisfying morning's study. When she had lived with her father, she had been in the habit of attending courses of evening lectures, but it had been impossible to keep to a lecture-based study programme while constantly on the move. So she had considered the various subjects that interested her, chosen European history as the one likely to be of most immediate use, and bought some good books. At first she had kept to her original habit of working in the evening, but it soon became clear that she studied better in the morning, and therefore this was what she did when she had the opportunity.
By complete contrast, she now descended to a scene in which everyone was talking at once. Hilde was standing near the bottom of the stairs, explaining to Fitzroy how to get to the laundry, what to do once he got there, and how nice and simple it all was. Charles had just come in and still had his hat on, and was chattering away excitedly to a bemused-looking von Luftschiff about gear ratios.
The Jäger was the first to notice her. “Ho, Miss Alice,” he said. “Vot sort of sandviches hyu fancy? Hy about to make lunch. Is also a cold meat pie und some salad, so hyu might yust vant dose.”
“I think cold meat pie and salad will be fine for me, thanks,” Alice replied. “Charles, what on earth have you invented this time?”
“Oh, not invented,” said Charles earnestly. “Bought. I've bought a velocipede. Do come and have a look!”
“But I dare say you will be making improvements,” said Hilde.
“Oh, almost certainly. In fact, as I was riding it home I had an idea for making it amphibious. It would be quite useful to be able to ride across the river.”
“There are bridges,” Hilde pointed out.
“Well, you never know,” said Charles. “They tell me it floods sometimes.”
“But, Madam,” said Fitzroy plaintively, “suppose I get lost?”
Von Luftschiff swung round to face the clank. “Hyu,” he said, with emphasis, “making me annoyed.” He looked at Hilde. “Hy vote hyu send Ashmole to show him de vay. Ashmole got more sense in vun of his revolving blades dan dis clank got altogether.”
“That's an excellent idea, Herr von Luftschiff, but unfortunately Ashmole is under repair at the moment,” said Hilde. Ashmole was the Greenwoods' spy clank, a resourceful little gadget which had played a significant role in the defeat of the last villain they had encountered. “That's what I was doing earlier this morning. He's developed a tendency to go in circles.”
Von Luftschiff sighed. “Ho-kay. Now hyu listen to me, clank. Hy show hyu de vay dis time, but only because hy don't vant to have to vaste time looking for hyu if hyu get lost. Hyu can find hyu own vay back. Is not a big town.”
Charles was frowning. “I really need to make a few more adjustments, I'm afraid. But then there's the velocipede... oh, yes, do come and look at the velocipede, everyone!”
Everyone trooped out politely to look at the velocipede, which was currently leaning against the wall under the parlour window. To Alice it looked pretty much identical to every other example of its kind she had ever seen, but Charles went into considerable detail about how it was the latest model and had a number of fascinating technical features.
That was the thing with sparks, Alice decided. Even when they bored you, at least they bored you in such a way that you could tell they would actually be really interesting if only you had the faintest idea what on earth they were on about. They were not, for instance, anything like Augustus Bennett, the young man to whom her father had once introduced her in the hope of a possible match. Augustus had been very rich, rather stupid, and thunderously boring. He had mainly talked about himself. Sparks, on the other hand, rarely did this; the Greenwoods had to be coaxed into doing so. They always had much more fascinating things to talk about.
“...and, you see, it would be the easiest thing in the world to insert an extra gear wheel here,” Charles was saying, beaming all over his face. “That way, you see, you could double up the gear mechanism, and that obviously more than doubles the actual number of gears you can obtain, because...”
“Hy go and make lunch,” said von Luftschiff to nobody in particular, and wandered indoors. Alice could hardly blame him. He was far from stupid, but this must be going as far over his head as hers.
“I think that's a good idea,” said Hilde diplomatically. “That is a lovely velocipede, darling, and I'm sure you're going to have a wonderful time both riding it and tinkering with it, but you also need to eat.”
“I could take some sandwiches into the workroom,” Charles suggested.
“You had your dinner in there last night, dear, and I do like to see you at meals sometimes. Just to remind me we're still married.” Hilde smiled affectionately. “Come on in.”
“Well, you were late for breakfast because of Ashmole...”
“Only late, dear. I didn't miss it altogether.”
Suppressing a grin, Alice followed them into the house. Hilde could be just as bad as Charles, and she had the grace to be well aware of it; but there was an important difference. Hilde was a morning person. She tended to wake up buzzing with ideas and start implementing them before breakfast, but by mid-afternoon she started to flag a little, and she rarely, if ever, sparked in the evening. Consequently, Hilde always got a good night's sleep, unless she happened to be disturbed by her husband. Charles, however, was entirely the opposite. He was usually rather dazed in the morning, and never started sparking properly until he was well caffeinated. This meant that he could often spark well into the evening, and sometimes, when at work on a major invention, he would stay up all night. It was probably due to this biorhythmical quirk that Hilde generally came across as a great deal more practical than Charles. She never had sleep deprivation to contend with.
Lunch was good, but then it always was. Von Luftschiff had the kind of determination in the kitchen that one can probably only get by being a vegetarian with a very large appetite in a time and place that does not cater particularly well for vegetarians. Not that he had any qualms about feeding those who were more omnivorous; Alice had no complaints at all regarding the meat pie.
“If you're going to take Fitzroy to the laundry,” she said to him after lunch, “I might walk with you, if you don't mind. I should think the circus will have set up by now, or at least set up enough for me to be able to see Mr Chatterjee.”
“Ja, dat vould be fine. Und perhaps hy vill yoin hyu ven hy have taken der schtupid clank vhere he needs to go. Hy vould like to look round.”
Charles looked slightly pained. “Fitzroy isn't actually stupid,” he protested. “He just has a few glitches.”
“If de glitches schtop him using his brain properly, dat makes him schtupid,” replied von Luftschiff. “Sorry. Hy got to tell it like it is.”
Finding no answer to this, Charles contented himself with pulling his long face; but it was not long before he thought of something else he wanted to do to the velocipede, and immediately perked up again. “Are you ready?” asked Alice.
“Ja, pretty much. If der clank is,” said von Luftschiff, looking none too favourably in the general direction of Fitzroy.
The circus was on the show field, at the extreme northern end of the town. The laundry was in the same general direction, but up one of the side roads; on the other hand, von Luftschiff walked faster than Alice, so unless anything went seriously wrong he would probably catch her up before she reached the circus. And so, as it turned out, he did, still making exasperated noises about the “schtupid clank”.
“What has Fitzroy done now?” asked Alice.
“Oh,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “Ve met a dog. It seems he schcared of dose too. Hy don't know vot he isn't schcared of.”
Alice could not restrain a chuckle. “I'm afraid he's not one of Charles' better inventions. He probably hadn't had enough coffee.”
“De principle is goot,” said von Luftschiff. “A mechanical servant, hokay, great idea. Is yust dat dis particular vun is terrible.”
“I wouldn't quite say terrible,” Alice demurred. “He's all right if you want a plate of biscuits in the parlour.”
“Hy should tink Ashmole could do dat,” replied von Luftschiff. “Ho vell. If he gets lost going home, Charles can go und find him on his new velocipede. Hy done my bit.”
They walked a little further in silence, and then Alice said, “You know, perhaps you're being just a little hard on Fitzroy. I know he's a drip, and that annoys you because you're very brave. But then it's easy for you to be very brave. You're strong and tough. You don't have to be afraid of anything much.”
“Ho ja. But not so long ago, hy vas human. Hy remember vell enough vot it vos like to be schcared.” He shook his head, reminiscing. “Hy vos schcared most of de time. But den, hy had someting to be schcared about. Ven hyu got armies of clanks vot are completely out of control, und verevolves und revenants und Gott only knows vot else, hyu got goot reason to be schcared. Dat clank got notting like dat to vorry about. Dat's vot bugs me.”
Alice thought about this for a few moments. Then she said, “Maybe he could learn not to be scared. I mean, some people are afraid of you when they first see you, but usually they learn.”
Von Luftschiff sighed. “Not alvays. Anyvay, hyu veren't afraid ven hyu first saw me. Hyu didn't have to learn.”
“Well, no, but I think I would have been if I'd seen you before I heard your voice,” Alice admitted. “And then I'd have had to realise later that you're a decent person.”
“Hy don't tink dat clank vill learn not to be schcared of me,” said von Luftschiff dourly. “Hy probably de vun ting he got goot reason to be schcared of.”
“You wouldn't hurt him, though,” said Alice.
“Ach nein. But hy might have to shout at him.”
The circus was now in full view. Although the Big Top itself was well and truly closed, a fact advertised by a large painted sign and backed up by a couple of burly guards with impressive biceps and even more impressive moustaches, there was a great deal else going on, and it was clear that parts of the show field were not only open for business but already doing a brisk trade. Rows of stalls lined the route from the gate to the Big Top, and behind the right-hand group of stalls there was a cluster of smaller tents, wagons, caravans and temporary wooden buildings. Among the crowds darted a motley assortment of children, who saw the arrival of the circus not only as the most exciting thing that had happened in months, but also a heaven-sent opportunity to make a tidy profit running errands and carrying messages. Alice thought she recognised the boy who had come to the door with the letter the previous day.
“Hoo!” exclaimed von Luftschiff. “Hy going to look at dat schtall vhile hyu go und see Mister Chatterjee. Look at all dat schtuff!”
Alice grinned. There was a good selection of leatherwork; true to his vegetarian principles, von Luftschiff did not use leather if he could get an alternative, but there was nothing else available for footwear and very little for belts and sheaths. But it was clearly the knives that had really caught his eye. Someone connected with the circus had quite a talent for metalwork.
“Have fun,” smiled Alice. “I'd better see if I can catch the eye of one of those kids... ah, it seems I already have,” she added, as a chubby little girl appeared at her side. “Hallo. My name is Miss Alice Davenport, and I need to see Mr Chatterjee. Can you take me to him, please?”
The child bobbed a hasty curtsey. “Yes, miss. This way.”
Alice followed the little girl between the stalls and as far as the door of one of the temporary buildings. “His office is in here,” said the child importantly, “but he's very busy at the moment. Please wait outside, miss, and I'll go and ask if he can see you.”
Alice thanked her and waited. A few minutes later, her guide re-emerged. “It's all right, miss,” she announced. “He'll see you. When you go in, there's a corridor with four doors in it, and it's the end one on the right.”
Alice duly handed over the expected tip, and the child scampered off in search of more work. The building smelt of paint, with a musty note of underlying mildew, and the doors had pasteboard signs attached to them, all curling at the edges and written in badly faded ink. Alice wasted no time trying to decipher them, but walked straight to the office where she had been directed. The door was ajar, so she took hold of the doorknob in order to knock on it.
There was no response. Puzzled, she tried again, a little louder. Perhaps Mr Chatterjee's hearing was not good. Still getting no response, she tried a third time, and when that met with an equal lack of success, she said, “Mr Chatterjee?”
Silence.
Alice pushed the door open and strode in, then stopped short as she took in the scene in front of her. A man, presumably Mr Chatterjee, was slumped motionless over a desk covered in papers. She lifted his hand. It dropped back onto the desk with a dull thud.
She edged, with some difficulty, into the confined space behind him, put both hands firmly on his shoulders, and shook him. Nothing happened. She picked up the limp hand again and checked for a pulse.
There was none.
Alice rushed back out into the corridor and banged as hard as she could on all three of the remaining doors. Three astonished figures emerged from them. One of them, without question, was Mrs Chatterjee, a majestic-looking lady who was currently resplendent in an orange sari. The other two were a tall youngish man with precarious eyeglasses and an elderly man with very bushy white eyebrows.
“What's going on?” demanded Mrs Chatterjee. “And who are you?”
“I'm Alice Davenport,” Alice replied. “I've just been in to see your husband, but something's badly wrong. Do you have a doctor travelling with you?”
“Yes,” said the man with the precarious eyeglasses. “Me. I'm Dr Abercrombie.”
“Well, then, for goodness' sake go and attend to Mr Chatterjee,” said Alice. “He hasn't got a pulse. I have no idea what's the matter, but if that child is anything to go by, he was perfectly fine just a few minutes ago.” She turned to the elderly gentleman. “And you are...?”
“Jones,” he replied, a little querulously. “I'm the bursar.”
Mrs Chatterjee swept past Alice and the doctor. “I'm sure there's nothing at all to get into such a panic about,” she declared. “I expect it's nothing more than his usual trouble. You're not in any branch of the medical profession, are you, Miss Davenport? It isn't always easy to find someone's pulse... oh.” She tailed off, her hand around her husband's wrist, her face suddenly all concern.
“Usual trouble?” asked Alice, as Dr Abercrombie hurried past her.
“Epilepsy. But he doesn't look as though he's just had a seizure. Everything would be much more disordered.”
The doctor gently and tactfully moved Mrs Chatterjee away, and made a careful examination of his patient. When he looked up, his face was grave.
“Mrs Chatterjee,” he said, “I'm very sorry to tell you that the news is bad.”
Mrs Chatterjee was too dark to go pale, as such, but she did turn a very unpleasant colour. “He... isn't, is he?”
“I'm afraid so. Perhaps you'd better sit down, as I'm afraid I've got a little more that I have to tell you, and it won't be very nice.”
The ringmistress sat down heavily on the only other chair in the room. “I don't see what you could possibly have to tell me that could be any worse,” she said.
“Well, you see, I can't establish a cause of death,” explained Dr Abercrombie, as gently as he could manage. “I am absolutely satisfied that he did not suffer an epileptic seizure. Both the state of his papers and Miss Davenport's testimony rule that out. That means I'm not able to sign his death certificate at present. I suggest we call in another doctor to see if two heads may be better than one, but if that doesn't work, there will have to be an inquest.”
Mrs Chatterjee was silent for a moment with her head bowed, but she held herself together royally. One did not become ringmistress of a famous circus by going under when disaster struck. “Miss Davenport's testimony,” she repeated, thoughtfully. “Perhaps Miss Davenport would like to repeat it, so that we all have it clear in our minds?”
“Certainly,” said Alice. “But, before I start, may I ask if my name is already familiar to you, madam?”
“It is.”
Alice nodded, taking a deep breath. “Good. Well then, I asked one of the children to take me to see your husband. She brought me to the main door of this building and asked me to wait outside while she went to see if he would be able to see me. She said he was very busy. She was inside for only a few minutes, then she came out and said he could see me. She told me which was his door, I gave her a few pennies, and she skipped off into the crowd. When I went in, all the doors were closed except for his, which was ajar. I knocked three times but got no answer, so I called his name. There was still no answer, so I went in and found him as you see him.”
“And the child?” asked Mrs Chatterjee.
“I would like to speak to her again,” replied Alice, “but I think it will be no more than a formality. She can have been no more than ten or eleven. If a child of that age had seen anything out of the ordinary, she would have come running out in a panic, but she came out quite normally. She had evidently just been speaking to him. What I would really like to find out from her is whether or not there was anyone else in the office when she saw him.”
“If there was,” said the doctor, “it could only have been one of us. You would have seen anyone who came out of the building.”
Alice automatically glanced at the window. It was doubtful it would even open, and it certainly showed no signs that it had been opened recently. “That's true,” she agreed.
“You suspect foul play?” asked Mrs Chatterjee sharply.
“I'm afraid I can't rule it out, madam,” replied Alice. “If it wasn't foul play, it was a most extraordinary coincidence.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Chatterjee slowly.
She considered for a few moments, then turned to Dr Abercrombie. “I think we shall skip the second doctor and move straight to the inquest,” she said. “If there's any possibility of foul play, I want it investigated as soon as possible. I'm leaving you in charge of all the arrangements. Get the police in, and be as discreet about it as you can. I want plain clothes officers, if they're in any way willing to send them. I don't want any members of the public to panic, and I most certainly do not want anyone from the papers getting hold of the story, at least until we leave this town. The show must go on. That is our first consideration.”
Dr Abercrombie nodded understandingly. “Of course, madam. You may rely on me.”
“And I would like to talk to you in my office,” continued Mrs Chatterjee, turning to Alice.
“With the greatest of pleasure, madam,” Alice replied, “but first of all I need to send for my colleague. I think he will be very helpful.”
“Oh, you have someone with you? Excellent. Send for him by all means.”
“One moment,” said Alice, and hurried to the exit, where she hailed the nearest passing child.
“Go and find my friend Herr von Luftschiff and bring him here at once,” she instructed. “You'll probably find him near the stall that sells knives and leatherwork. He is quite tall, with dark hair and a shako hat. And he's green. You can't miss him.”
The child stared at her. “Green?”
“Yes, green. Don't just stand there goggling. Go and get him – now!”
* * * * *
Von Luftschiff contemplated the knife in his hand with enormous satisfaction. Unlike his continental kin, he was not happy to carry a sword about in public, since in this much more tranquil land it looked more like a threat than self-defence. But sometimes self-defence was needed, especially when travelling with the Greenwoods, and to this end it was sometimes handy to have some edged weapons. He had bought a set of small throwing knives and this one, which was basically a dagger. Not just any old dagger, though. It was better than anything he'd had in the Army, back in his human days. The balance was perfect, and there was some really beautiful metalwork on the hilt. It also had a wooden sheath, painstakingly inlaid around the top with brass and mother-of-pearl and ringed with brass bands to provide insurance against splitting.
It had been quite expensive, of course. But von Luftschiff could afford it, and he never objected to parting with good money for good craftwork. Someone who could make a knife like that deserved to make a decent living.
He was abruptly shaken from his reverie by a small child who almost barrelled straight into him. “Mr von Lupship?” he demanded.
“Close,” said von Luftschiff, sheathing the knife. “Vot hyu vant?”
“There's a lady wants you, sir, right now. Over there.”
“A lady in a green dress und a black hat vid a feather?”
The child nodded. “Come on!”
“Hokay. Hyu run, hy follow.”
Within a few seconds he was at the door of the temporary building, where Alice was waiting for him. She thanked the child and pressed a tip into his hand, but her face was worried, and von Luftschiff noticed immediately. “Vot's wrong?” he asked. “Hyu need me to confirm hyu identity or someting?”
“It's rather worse than that,” replied Alice, after satisfying herself that the child had run off out of earshot. “Mr Chatterjee is dead.”
Von Luftschiff gaped. “Vot?!”
“You'd better come in and see for yourself. Cause of death unknown; time of death, disturbingly recent. And we've got to go and talk to the widow, who is handling the situation remarkably well, but if I'm any judge at all she's going to have a good cry when she's finished the immediate arrangements and can get a few minutes on her own.”
Alice led him into the building. Mrs Chatterjee came out of her office, and stopped in her tracks. “Who,” she demanded, “are you?”
“Ah,” said Alice. “You were expecting Charles Greenwood, yes? This is Herr von Luftschiff, the Greenwoods' assistant.”
“Hyu vant Charles, hy can get him if hyu like,” offered von Luftschiff.
“I don't know about any Herr von Luftschiff,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “Nor, indeed, any Jäger of any description.”
“Hy telling hyu, hy can get Charles. Und Hilde if hyu need her,” von Luftschiff repeated.
“He can,” said Alice firmly. “And in the meantime, I can vouch for him a hundred per cent. I suppose you're aware of the matter of Mr Worthington?”
“Not in detail,” replied Mrs Chatterjee slowly, “but yes, I have heard that there was a situation involving that gentleman.”
“No gentleman. He killed my father,” said Alice. “Herr von Luftschiff helped to bring the scoundrel to justice. It's your circus, madam, and even more than that it was your husband, and in every case but this I'm more than happy to defer to your judgement; but if you won't see Herr von Luftschiff, you won't see either of us.”
“A spirited girl,” said Mrs Chatterjee, with something like approval. “I begin to understand a great deal. Very well. Come in, both of you.”
They entered the office, which was only barely less cramped than that of her late husband, especially since it had one more chair. This meant that both von Luftschiff and Alice could take up Mrs Chatterjee's offer of a seat.
“If hyu vill excuse me,” said von Luftschiff, “hy am not fully vot hyu might call up to date. All hy know is dat der poor yentleman is dead. Hy very sorry to hear dat, but hy don't underschtand how he died.”
“Neither does anyone at the moment,” replied the widow, grimly. “Not even our doctor, who is normally very good. Consequently, given the suspicious nature of the timing, I'm treating it as foul play until proved otherwise. I have asked Dr Abercrombie to send for the police, and I have specifically requested plain clothes officers if they are available.”
“Could hy see him?” asked von Luftschiff.
“If you wish, although I'm not certain what good it will do,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “You're not a doctor, I suppose.”
“No. But hy vos in de Army. Hy know about tings like eschcape routes. If somevun killed him, ve need to know how dey got in und out.”
“That's sensible,” Mrs Chatterjee conceded, standing up. “I must admit it baffles me. When he was killed, there were only three other people in the building. I was in here, Dr Abercrombie was in his office next door, and Mr Jones, who is our bursar, was in his office, which is opposite Dr Abercrombie's and next to my late husband's. Dr Abercrombie certainly had the means to kill someone, but he could have had no possible motive, and in any case I'm now quite sure he didn't do it. If he had, he would simply have put the death down to natural causes and signed the death certificate, and nobody would have been any the wiser. As it was, he said outright that he couldn't establish a cause of death and that an inquest might be needed. He would never have said that if he had just murdered my husband.”
Alice nodded. “I thought the same. What about Mr Jones? I noticed he slipped away about the time you went into your husband's office.”
“Mr Jones keeps himself to himself, and won't hang around where he's not needed,” replied Mrs Chatterjee. “This was clearly a situation for a doctor, not a bursar. So the fact that he didn't stay around isn't suspicious in itself. Nonetheless, I expect the police will want to talk to him.”
“Hy afraid dey probably vant to talk to hyu too,” said von Luftschiff. “Sorry, but hyu need to be prepared for dat.”
Mrs Chatterjee nodded. “Yes, Herr von Luftschiff. I'm aware of that, but I do appreciate the spirit in which you said that. All I can say is that I didn't kill him. I had no reason to. We were quite happy together.” She paused. “Come this way.”
Von Luftschiff inspected the office thoroughly, leaving the body respectfully alone. Trying to find the cause of death was not his territory; that would be for the doctors and the police. He went over and rattled the window, carefully using the tip of a claw to avoid leaving confusing fingerprints.
“Dey certainly didn't get in or out dis vay,” he observed. “Is pretty vell schtuck. Hy could open it, but hy don't tink a human could.”
“I may take you up on that later,” said Mrs Chatterjee, “but please don't do anything to it now. The police will want to see it as it was.”
“Hy know. Don't vorry. Could hy see Mr Yones' office, please?”
“Of course.” Mrs Chatterjee walked back into the corridor and tapped on the bursar's door.
“Yes?” he called from within.
“This is Mrs Chatterjee. Herr von Luftschiff would like to look at your office for a moment.”
Jones went to the door and opened it abruptly. “He can see it if he likes, madam, but I can assure you I am not hiding anything. Am I to understand that there is something suspicious about the unfortunate death of your husband? I hope nobody is attempting to implicate me in this tragic event.”
“Schtop talking like a book,” said von Luftschiff. “All ve doing at de moment is asking a few qvestions vot have got to be asked. Even if ve find someting wrong in hyu office, dat doesn't necessarily incriminate hyu. Hyu don't look like hyu got de guts to kill somevun anyvay.”
Not entirely sure whether that worked out as a compliment or an insult on balance, the bursar subsided into silence. Von Luftschiff strode past him into the office. “Vell, look at dat,” he said, sliding up the window. “Dis vindow opens no problem. Und it's on de far side of de building from de schtalls, same as Mr Chatterjee's. If somevun had schlipped out by dis vindow vhile hyu vere all in de odder office, nobody vould have seen dem.”
“I wasn't in there very long,” the bursar pointed out. “When I realised there was nothing I could do, I came straight back in here. I have got work to do, you understand.”
“And it doesn't answer the question of how they got in,” said Alice. “Presumably, Mr Jones, you were sitting in here for quite a while before the disturbance.”
“How dey got in is not so impawtent,” replied von Luftschiff. “Dey could yust have valked in de usual vay, unless hyu normally keep de main door locked. Dey could have been in dere talking to him for a vhile.” He paused, thinking. “It rained a lot yesterday. Der ground vill schtill be nize und soft. If dere are any footprints under de vindow, or if somevun been trying to cover dem up, de police vill find dem.”
“And if there aren't?” asked Mrs Chatterjee.
“Den at least ve no vorse bevildered dan ve vere,” replied von Luftschiff pragmatically.
The three of them returned to Mrs Chatterjee's office. “Well,” she said, as they all sat down again. “One thing, I'm afraid, is pretty clear. Mr Wooster is going to have to be informed.”
“Have you got a safe direct way to do that, or should I ask Charles and Hilde?” asked Alice. “I hope you'll forgive my asking, madam, but I'm somewhat hazy about communication protocols at the moment.”
“I have, but in the circumstances I think it might be better if you could ask Charles and Hilde,” Mrs Chatterjee decided. “Everything is very busy here at the moment, and I can't just slip out to send a telegram. But if you don't mind, I would like to see one or both of them personally with the reply. It's not that I doubt who you are, but if any questions are asked later I should prefer to be quite certain I'm covered.”
Alice nodded. “Understood. And that won't be difficult. They've both expressed an interest in coming to see the circus.”
“Good,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “And will you be coming too?”
Von Luftschiff grinned. “Try und schtop us! It looks goot.”
“Well, that's reassuring,” said the ringmistress, managing a little smile. “Tell me something, Herr von Luftschiff, if you wouldn't mind. I will confess I don't know a great deal about the Jägerkin. How strong are you, exactly?”
“Vell,” said von Luftschiff, “hyu got a schtrong voman vot can lift a horse, und dat's impressive for a human. Hy schtronger dan dat.”
“That could be quite useful,” mused Mrs Chatterjee. “If we catch the person responsible, we may need to subdue them.”
“Hy goot at subduing,” von Luftschiff assured her. “Ven hy subdue somevun, dey schtay subdued.”
“But he doesn't hurt them,” Alice put in. “Not intentionally, anyway. He's much gentler than he looks. When he first came here, someone kidnapped him and he accidentally broke a guard's wrist because he didn't know his own strength. He apologised and splinted it for him.”
Mrs Chatterjee raised her eyebrows. “Now that certainly is something I didn't previously know about Jägers,” she said.
“To be fair, Herr von Luftschiff is a little unusual,” said Alice.
Von Luftschiff sighed. “Hyu know vot? Hy fed up vit everyvun saying hy unusual. Hy yust me. Hyu take me as hy be or hyu leave me. Miss Alice is right; hy don't hurt people if hy can help it. Hy don't see vy dat makes me some kind of freak.”
“I didn't mean...” Alice began.
He held up a hand. “No. Hy know hyu didn't. Hyu alvays been goot to me. But everyvun else, except Charles und Hilde, dey go all boggle-eyed. Anyvun vould tink dat yust because hy look like dis, hy got to be some kind of big schtupid violent oaf. Anyvun vould tink dat vas vot pipple vanted.”
“I'm sorry,” said Mrs Chatterjee, with unusual humility. “I should have known better. I work with all kinds of people in the circus, all the time, and I know as well as anyone that you can't tell anything about their character from what they look like. I shouldn't have taken all the stories so seriously.”
“No vorries. But hy got to ask. Hyu got a circus, hyu travel all over de place. Vy haven't hyu met any odder Jägers?”
“I don't know,” she admitted. “I've seen them sometimes in some of the towns, but not to talk to. I don't know whether or not any of them have been to the circus. When you're concentrating on keeping all the acts running smoothly, you don't tend to notice individuals in the audience.”
“Hy meant vorking for de circus,” von Luftschiff persisted. “Ve all very schtrong. A lot of us are goot at odder tings. Ve live a long time. Ve got loads of time to practise und get really goot.”
Mrs Chatterjee frowned. “That's actually a very interesting question,” she said. “And I have to confess I don't know the answer. All I can say is that I've never been approached by a Jäger wanting a job.”
Von Luftschiff shook his head. “Dat's kind of veird. Oh vell. Vot hyu vere saying earlier – hyu need somevun subdued, hyu yust give me a shout, hy subdue dem. Only first of all ve got to find de person vot needs subduing, und dat may not be so easy.” He paused. “Vot about de tings Miss Alice came to collect? Dey schtill dere?”
“Yes. I saw the bag still under his desk. I don't think it's been touched. Excuse me one moment, and I'll go and fetch it.”
The bag in question proved to be one of the ordinary large brown paper variety, the sort that Alice might have been given if she had bought some embroidered linen at one of the stalls. It contained what looked like a perfectly regular small pistol in a case, together with an instruction manual, some small wooden boxes of ammunition, and a large bulky envelope with a wax seal. Mrs Chatterjee insisted on examining the seal closely to ensure that nobody had tampered with it, and returned it only when she was quite satisfied of this.
“It's just a pistol,” said Alice. “I could have got one of those anywhere. Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?”
Mrs Chatterjee smiled. “Because it's not just a pistol. We've all got one. It's spark modified. Those boxes all contain different types of ammunition. That's why it needs the instruction manual.”
“I've never seen Charles or Hilde use theirs,” said Alice.
“Different branch. They're sparks. Sparks tend to... create their own weapons.”
“Und odder tings,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “Hy mean, don't get me wrong. Most of dem are pretty goot. But de new butler...” He shook his head meaningfully. “Hy hope to gootness it found its vay back from de laundry.”
* * * * *
When Alice and von Luftschiff arrived home, they found Charles in the parlour with his head swathed in bandages, but otherwise looking reasonably chirpy. There was no sign of either Hilde or Fitzroy.
“Oh, hallo,” said Charles. “I was just wondering when you'd be back. Everything go all right?”
“Not exactly,” Alice replied. “It looks very much as though someone's killed Mr Chatterjee. Mrs Chatterjee sends her compliments and asks if you would inform Mr Wooster as a matter of urgency.”
Charles leapt from his chair. “Great Scott!”
“Yes, that was more or less what I thought when I found him,” said Alice. “We don't know exactly how he died. Even the circus doctor can't work that out. But he clearly died very suddenly, and we're all extremely suspicious about the timing.”
“Nothing obvious, then?”
“Not a mark on him, as far as I could see.” She looked to von Luftschiff for confirmation, and he nodded gravely.
“Oh dear. How is Mrs Chatterjee bearing up?”
“Remarkably well, but then a ringmistress has to be pretty tough. Anyway, what happened to you? Did you fall off?”
“Not exactly fall, as such,” Charles replied. “It was more that I had a rather unfortunate encounter with a horse who apparently wasn't used to velocipedes. Thankfully I was much less damaged than I looked. I bled quite disturbingly, but it was all on the surface.”
“Scalp vounds are like dat,” said von Luftschiff. “Hope hyu saw a doctor anyvay. Concussion can be nasty.”
“I did. Apparently I'm all right. I'd have been surprised if I hadn't been. I fell into a hawthorn bush. These are scratches, not bashes.”
“Good to hear it,” said Alice. “Where's Hilde?”
“Er... I believe she's still trying to reason with Fitzroy,” replied Charles, uncomfortably.
“Say no more,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “She got more patience vit him dan hy have. Hyu vell enough to send a telegram, or hyu vant me to go und find her?”
“I'm well enough. I'm perfectly fine except for the scratches, some of which are quite ugly. I'll just get my hat and then I'll walk down to the post office – probably best not to get back in the saddle today. By the way, have the police been called?”
“Ja,” said von Luftschiff.
“Good. I'll put that in the telegram, then. Oh, and Alice, did you still get your things?”
Alice held up the bag. “All in here. Mrs Chatterjee checked it for me and made sure everything was in order. It doesn't look as though anything's been touched.”
“Well, that's something, at least,” said Charles. “If they'd been stolen, it wouldn't have been the end of the world, but it would still have been quite awkward.”
“Maybe, but it does also make the motive for the murder – if it was murder, which I think we've got to assume it was – a great deal less obvious,” Alice observed. “It clearly wasn't someone who was out to stop me getting the items.”
Charles stroked his chin. “Well, as a matter of fact, we can't entirely rule that out,” he said. “You see, a married person can't join the Service without the full agreement and co-operation of their spouse. Sometimes, that means that both partners end up as active members, like Hilde and myself. Other times, one partner does all the Service work, but the other one acts as a back-up if something goes disastrously wrong. This isn't generally known, for obvious reasons. Mr Chatterjee joined with his wife's full knowledge and consent, but she was already far too busy to be anything other than a passive back-up agent. Whoever killed her husband probably had no idea that she was involved at all.”
“Dat makes sense,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu couldn't have got de tings if Mrs Chatterjee hadn't known vhere dey vere. Dey vere out of sight behind de desk. Somevun could have known who hyu vere und vy hyu needed to see Mr Chatterjee, but dey might have tought hyu'd never get de tings if he vos dead.”
“Killing him seems a bit unnecessary, though, if that's the reason,” Alice objected. “There must be all sorts of ways of preventing a package getting from A to B without having to do murder. Besides, if they didn't know Mrs Chatterjee was an agent, they could have tampered with it.”
“Well,” said Charles decisively, “I'm going out. The first thing we've got to do is alert Mr Wooster, who's not going to be at all happy about losing another agent in such a short time, but he'll be even less happy if he doesn't find out straight away.”
“Hyu sure hyu schtill vant dis career?” asked von Luftschiff, as Charles went to put his hat on.
Alice nodded. “Yes. Someone's got to do it, after all. Anyway, it's interesting work.”
“Ven hyu not getting murdered,” said von Luftschiff.
“Well, there's that. But Mr Wooster's been doing it for a long time, and he hasn't been murdered, so it's not inevitable.”
Charles had been out of the house for about ten minutes when Hilde stormed into the parlour looking uncharacteristically cross. “Darling, if you don't...” she began, then realised that she had the wrong audience. “Oh. Sorry. Where's Charles?”
“Out sending a telegram,” replied Alice. “I'm afraid something very serious has happened.” She gave Hilde a brief run-down of the afternoon's events, with von Luftschiff nodding in agreement and occasionally adding minor details.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Hilde. “How terrible. Poor Mrs Chatterjee! And I was thinking we had more than enough happening over here. It was nothing by comparison.”
“Ve saw Charles' bandages,” said von Luftschiff. “He told us vot happened. Good ting he did fall into a hawtorn bush. Could have been a lot vorse oddervise.”
“Well, and not just that,” said Hilde. “I'm afraid Fitzroy is gibbering. I've been trying to soothe him for an hour, but I've finally had enough. I came in here to tell Charles that if he didn't do something, I was going to disassemble Fitzroy altogether and rebuild him from scratch. It's not a nice thing to have to do to an intelligent clank, but I'm not at all sure this one is fixable in any other way.”
Von Luftschiff rolled his eyes. Alice said, “Why is he gibbering? What happened? He was more or less all right when I last saw him, which was on the way to the laundry.”
“That's what I've been trying to work out, Alice. The most I can tell is that something he saw or heard on the way home put the fears into his gears. Whatever it was, he's absolutely useless for his original purpose as things stand.”
“Hyu vant me to bash him on der head und see if dat resets his vorkings?” asked von Luftschiff hopefully. “Hy could do dat.”
“I've got a better idea,” said Alice. “Why don't we take him to the circus?”
Von Luftschiff stared at her. “Vot?!”
“Well,” Alice explained, “I once remember reading a book by this very learned professor who said that the way we treat insanity doesn't work. And you can hardly argue with that; of all the people who are sent to lunatic asylums, very few are ever released again. Well, she argues that when people go insane, what they're doing is retreating into another world because this world is too hard for them to cope with.”
“Actually,” said von Luftschiff slowly, “she not got a bad point dere. Hy could easily have gone crazy myself if hy hadn't happened to take der potion.”
“Right,” said Alice. “So what she thinks we ought to do is be especially kind to insane people, to help to encourage them back into the real world. She says it doesn't always work, because sometimes they've gone too far into their own world to come back, but sometimes it can, and even a low success rate is better than what we've got at the moment. And if people, then why not clanks?”
“H'mm,” said von Luftschiff. “Vell, ja. Dere's kind, und den dere's taking de damn ting to de circus. Vot if it's frightened of horses?”
“Then at the very least we'll find that out,” said Hilde. “At the moment, we've no idea what's the matter. If we do take him to the circus, we'll be able to keep an eye on him. If he enjoys it, that's good and it will probably help, but if he finds something he's scared of, then we'll be able to tell immediately.”
“Is a clank,” von Luftschiff objected. “He got veapons, right? Vot if he fires on de audience? Is too dangerous.”
“He had weapons, you mean,” Hilde replied. “I've already found and deactivated all of them for exactly that reason. I'm not having him fire on some innocent bystander because something in his addled sprockets is telling him they're planning to kill us.”
“Vell,” said von Luftschiff, “is up to hyu vhether hyu take it or not, but if hyu do und it schtarts going out of control or hurting anyvun, hy schmash it so goot hyu going to need to bring de bits home in a bag.”
“That's fair enough,” agreed Hilde. “We don't want him causing any trouble either. But I do think Alice has a good point. I think we should at least try the circus and see if it helps at all.”
“Schtill seems a drastic vay of being kind,” said von Luftschiff. “Couldn't ve maybe try someting else in de meantime? Hy mean, vot does it like?”
“That's actually a really good question,” said Alice.
“Well,” said Hilde, “clanks are always built to enjoy doing their job. Except that Fitzroy can't do his job at the moment because he's too... far into his other world, I suppose, if this psychologist is correct. I wonder if there are little bits of it he could do?”
“I think we need to ask Charles when he gets back,” said Alice. “After all, he built Fitzroy in the first place.”
Hilde nodded. “Yes. I'm not even sure anything's getting through to him at the moment. Charles might at least know how to make him understand a simple order.”
“Und for now, is high time hy schtarted on de dinner,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu getting chops, und hy having a cashew schnitzel. A big vun. Vit all dat valking, hy hungry.”
He was just getting up to go to the kitchen when Charles returned. “Oh, there you are, darling!” exclaimed Hilde. “I've just been told the news. Isn't it dreadful? I hope we can find something useful to do for poor Mrs Chatterjee.”
“Helping to bring her husband's killer to justice would be top of the list,” Charles replied, “but at the moment I don't even know where we'd start with that. Although I suppose it mightn't hurt to send Ashmole over to the circus to see if there's any information he can pick up.”
“I did wonder about that,” said Hilde, “but it's a very big circus, and we don't even know whether or not the killer is part of it. Ashmole would need a stroke of luck.”
“I would say it was more likely than not that the killer is part of the circus,” replied Charles. “They knew exactly where to find Mr Chatterjee in a temporary set-up, and, assuming it wasn't Mr Jones, they also knew how to disappear afterwards. And if it actually was Mr Jones, then obviously he's part of the circus anyway.”
“I'm not going to rule him out,” said Alice thoughtfully, “but I'd be surprised if it turned out to be Mr Jones. Herr von Luftschiff said he didn't look as though he had the guts to kill someone, but I read him differently. I got the impression that all he really cares about is his accounts. He might kill someone if they messed up his ledgers, but I can't see him bothering to do it for any other reason.”
“Ja. Vell, I don't tink hyu need me here,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy going to go und grill tings.”
“Oh, Charles,” said Hilde, as von Luftschiff finally left the room, “I'd very much like a word with you about Fitzroy. Well, several words, which may possibly include 'spanner', for instance.”
Charles pulled his long face. “Oh dear.”
There was a tap on the door. Von Luftschiff, who happened to be the nearest, answered it. It was a small girl with a telegram. Possibly she had been among those running errands at the circus earlier, because she showed no sign of surprise or fear at the sight of von Luftschiff.
“Telegram for Mr Charles Greenwood, sir,” she announced.
“Ho, goot! Danke. Charles, hy tink hyu got hyu reply.”
“My word, that was quick,” said Charles, hurrying to the door. He tipped the child and quickly opened the telegram as von Luftschiff closed the door again.
“What does he say?” asked Hilde.
“He's coming up on the next train,” Charles replied. “Murder is obviously always serious, but I must admit I'm still surprised. It never occurred to me that he'd come himself.”
“The next train! That'll be the sleeper, by now. He'll get here in the morning. Does he say if he's going to arrive at Kendal or Oxenholme?”
“It'll have to be Oxenholme first, come what may,” said Charles. “Kendal is on the branch line. After dinner, I'll take Bertha up to Oxenholme and find out what time the sleeper arrives in the morning. He hasn't specifically asked to be picked up, but I think we should.”
“It'll be good to meet him at last,” said Alice. “Though it's a real shame about the circumstances.”
“I think you two should come with me to get him,” suggested Charles. “You're in the best position to answer his questions, and Bertha's a nice private place to ask them.”
“When you say with you, darling,” said Hilde with a smile, “does that not perhaps depend on exactly what time the sleeper arrives at Oxenholme? I'm sure you won't want to go if it's too early.”
“Ah. Yes,” agreed Charles. “With whichever of us happens to be driving, then.”
* * * * *
In the end, it was Hilde, since it transpired that the sleeper arrived just after half past five. Alice bowed out. She said there were morning people and morning people, and half past five was still night as far as she was concerned. Having said that, she would have gone if von Luftschiff had been likely to have similar objections, but he often got up early in any case. Jägers did not seem to need as much sleep as humans.
So it was Hilde and von Luftschiff who stood on the otherwise deserted platform in the long cool shadows of the early morning, waiting for the London to Glasgow overnight train to come roaring in and shattering the dewy silence. As usual, Hilde was not the most restful company at this time of day. She had woken up with the idea of fitting Fitzroy with an internal zoetrope that he could use to calm himself, and was itching to get back to the workroom so that she could do something about it. In the meantime, she insisted on telling von Luftschiff all about it, and he was feeling decidedly ill-equipped to listen. He could not help feeling that some breakfast would make that at least a little better. A big dish of fried mushrooms and tomatoes, with either a couple of enormous bread rolls or the fried remnants of last night's mashed potato, would be just what the doctor ordered. Oh, and maybe a generous splash of his special sauce. He had created a sauce that was so hot that nobody else in the house would eat it. He, on the other hand, liked to use it liberally, especially at breakfast. He felt it got him off to a good start.
“...and rather than dual visual sensors, which would probably cause more confusion than they would solve, I was considering an input switch that he could control at will,” Hilde was saying.
“Uh. Ja,” said von Luftschiff politely, wondering if adding a couple of onions might not be merely gilding the lily. No, probably not. Onions were good in just about every savoury dish.
There was a deafening whistle, and the night train thundered into the station and screeched to a halt. Porters appeared from whatever back rooms they had been lurking in with pipes and early newspapers, and clouds of steam swirled around the platform. Just a handful of passengers emerged after that dramatic entrance, and Hilde made an instant beeline for one of them.
“Mr Wooster!” she exclaimed. “It's lovely to see you again, but such a pity about the circumstances.”
“Why, Mrs Greenwood! This is a delightful surprise,” said Mr Wooster, shaking hands with her warmly. “I really wasn't expecting you to take the trouble to come and collect me at such an early hour. I was hoping I might be able to get a fly into town.”
“Oh, Bertha's far more comfortable than a fly. And this is Herr von Luftschiff, whom you've heard all about.”
Mr Wooster shook von Luftschiff's clawed hand with an ease that suggested he was perfectly well used to shaking hands with Jägers. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said warmly.
“Hyu too,” said von Luftschiff, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “Er. Hy take hyu luggage?”
“If that's all right,” said Mr Wooster, “but really, I can just as easily ask a porter.”
“Hy schtronger,” von Luftschiff pointed out simply, and that was the end of the matter.
He loaded Mr Wooster's luggage into the lower compartment, then helped him up into the vehicle. “Hyu know Bertha?” he asked. “Hyu can pedal if hyu vant, but hy don't suppose hyu do vant at dis time of de morning. No problem, vhichever vay. She got schteam too.”
Mr Wooster smiled. “Oh yes, I know Bertha, though she's changed quite a lot since I saw her last. I think I won't pedal, if that's all right.”
“Very sensible. Is tiring on trains.” Von Luftschiff clambered in behind him as Hilde climbed more decorously up to the driving seat. “Do dey give hyu breakfast on de train?”
“Sadly not. I believe breakfast starts at Carlisle.”
“Hilde!” called von Luftschiff. “Hyu hear dat? Mister Vooster needs some breakfast. Hyu mind if hy offer to cook him some?”
“By all means,” Hilde called back. “It'll be better than anything he'll get elsewhere.”
“Goot! Danke.” He turned back to Mr Wooster. “Hyu vant to come to us for breakfast? It vill be me cooking it, und hy not bad, even if hy do say so myself.”
Hilde laughed from above. “He's being modest, Mr Wooster. Herr von Luftschiff is an outstanding cook.”
“I would certainly not say no to that,” said Mr Wooster. “Many thanks to you both.”
“Vhere hyu schtaying?” asked von Luftschiff, as Bertha hissed into life and started rattling down the steep hill towards the town.
“The Shakespeare. It's fairly central. I wired them last night to ask for a room. I've stayed there once before.”
“Ho ja. Been in dere a couple of times. Dey do a goot beer.”
Mr Wooster nodded approvingly. “Good. Now, I'm sorry to get down to business quite so quickly and unceremoniously, but I'm afraid I need to be brought up to date on yesterday's tragic events. All I know at the moment is that Mr Chatterjee is dead, foul play is suspected, the police have been called, and you and Miss Davenport were in the vicinity when it happened.”
“Is all true so far,” von Luftschiff confirmed, and launched into a conscientious account of the details. Mr Wooster listened intently, looking increasingly grave. When the Jäger had finished speaking, he sighed.
“I hold myself entirely to blame for this,” he said. “I have suspected for a while that there was something untoward going on at that circus, but I didn't pay enough attention to it. I even thought that it might be something minor enough for Miss Davenport, untrained as she is, to look into. And now a good man is dead through my carelessness.”
“So dat's vy hyu came here hyuself?” asked von Luftschiff sympathetically.
“Naturally. It was the very least I could have done.”
“Vell,” said von Luftschiff, “de vay hy see it, hyu a ridiculously busy person. Hyu can't be expected to keep an eye on everyting. Is very sad, but hy tink hyu being too hard on hyuself.”
“It's good of you to say so, Herr von Luftschiff, and it's certainly true that I'm extremely busy. There simply aren't enough agents at the moment, and recent events haven't helped with that. Even so, I am responsible for people's lives. If someone in my team is killed, I have failed.”
Von Luftschiff considered this. Then he said bluntly, “Hyu a goot man. But hyu yust Mister Vooster. Hyu not Gott.”
There was a startled pause. Then Mr Wooster smiled rather sadly, and said, “Wise Jäger.”
“Hy yust tell it like it is. Hyu tink schtraighter ven hyu got a goot breakfast in hyu. Und in a vhile, Miss Alice vill be up und hyu can meet her. She is really nize. Und she got goot brains.”
“So I understand,” said Mr Wooster.
“Und der vill be Charles, but don't expect any sense out of him till der coffee is ready.” Von Luftschiff paused. “Und dere's a clank.”
Mr Wooster raised a well-bred eyebrow. “You said that in an 'honesty compels me to admit' sort of voice. What's wrong with the clank?”
“Vot's right vit der clank?” countered von Luftschiff heavily. “Vorst ting Charles ever invented. Is mad as a hatter.”
“The clank is mad?”
“Ja. Dat's vot hy saying. Der clank is schcared of every damn ting und now is so far gone it can't even put a sentence togedder.” Von Luftschiff sighed. “It vos supposed to be a butler.”
“Well, to be fair, he did manage to buttle a little at first,” called Hilde from aloft.
“Dat didn't last long, did it?” replied von Luftschiff remorselessly. “Charles built it on Vednesday, it started vorrying itself silly about etiquette schtraight avay, und after it vent to de laundry yesterday it came back schtark schtaring mad. Und in betveen der vos de phobias about schtairs und tings.”
“Very odd,” said Mr Wooster. “He is usually brilliant.”
“Hy not saying anyting against Charles,” said von Luftschiff. “Charles is a goot schpark. As far as hy know, der clank is fine schtructurally. Hy tink it yust vent mad all on its own.”
They reached the house, where Ashmole was already out and industriously clipping the front lawn. He did this by flying nose down and whirring his rotary blades over the grass. Hilde noted Mr Wooster's faintly raised eyebrow.
“Yes, I know, Mr Wooster,” she said, “but nobody's about at this time of day, and none of us likes cutting the grass. He'll be finished very soon, then he'll go round the back and he can take as long as he wants there. Nobody will see him.”
“Und he qvicker dan anyvun else,” added von Luftschiff. “Und he doesn't get a bad back.”
Mr Wooster smiled. “I'm just glad to see you've still got him. I've always liked that clank. How long has he been able to fly?”
“Charles arranged that during the Worthington incident,” replied Hilde. “If you recall, in the official report...”
“Oh yes. Of course.”
“Come in and make yourself at home,” said Hilde. “It was a little chilly first thing, so I got a fire going in the parlour; it should be warm enough in there now, but the fire should still be smouldering, so do give it a good poke if you're cold.”
“Und hy vill have breakfast ready yust as soon as hy can,” von Luftschiff promised. “Dere vill be plenty of choice. Breakfast is not very formal in dis house.”
“Thank you very much,” said Mr Wooster.
“Hyu need any of hyu luggage or should ve yust leave it in Bertha?”
“I think it's fine where it is. Thank you.”
Breakfast was indeed not very formal. It was also plentiful. As well as his contemplated vegetarian fry-up, von Luftschiff had also laid on a steaming bowl of kedgeree, devilled kidneys (a favourite of Charles'), scrambled eggs, toast, muffins and all the usual accoutrements. Alice wandered in about halfway through looking quite alert, and Charles arrived about ten minutes later looking as though he had had about an hour's sleep. This, as it turned out, was not quite true. He had had two. It all came, he explained, as he ladled out kidneys on automatic, of having had a really good idea just after eleven the previous night.
“You knew Mr Wooster was going to be here, dear,” said Hilde, with faint reproach.
“Well, yes, I did, but I was wondering if poor Mr Chatterjee had been poisoned,” Charles replied. “And that got me thinking that I might be able to use molecular vibrational signatures in an alternating Tannenbaum field to detect what sort of poison it was. Only, as it turns out, those vibrational signatures aren't actually unique, which I was able to prove by example, and I'm going to need to write that up at some point as it completely invalidates the hypothetical underpinnings of the work of Kriegsdenkmal and Wolkenkratzer on... er... oh. Coffee. Yes. Thank you, Herr von Luftschiff. I need that.”
After breakfast, Mr Wooster decided that he would like to go and drop his luggage off at the Shakespeare and then go straight up to the circus, in the hope that he would be able to have a serious conversation with Mrs Chatterjee before the stalls and sideshows opened to the public and everything got too busy. “Would you mind coming with me, Herr von Luftschiff?” he asked. “I'm going to have to produce my official identity documents to get in, but in the interests of discretion I'd rather not have to tell them I want to talk to Mrs Chatterjee in person. She will be under quite enough stress at the moment without rumours of an official interrogation going round her circus. So I suggest we just go in without giving a reason, and then you can take me straight to her office.”
“Ja. Is a goot idea,” replied von Luftschiff.
“I'll drive you as far as the Shakespeare,” offered Hilde. “And Charles, dear, I really think you ought to go back to bed for a few hours.”
“I'll just have some more coffee,” replied Charles.
Hilde sighed. “On your own head be it. I won't be long.”
At the Shakespeare, von Luftschiff briskly unloaded the luggage and then helped to carry it upstairs. Mr Wooster had a room at the front, looking out over Highgate; it was small, but it smelt fresh and looked clean and comfortable. Once everything was inside, von Luftschiff and Mr Wooster set out on foot for the show field, arriving a little after eight. Mr Wooster produced his official papers, and they were admitted without question, as he had expected.
“Good,” he said. “Although I notice the man on the gate is curious, so we had perhaps better wander about the place a little until he gets bored.”
“Ve can easily get out of his sight,” said von Luftschiff. “If ve go und vander among dose big tents over dere, ve soon lose him.”
“Then we'll do that.”
From the general commotion that was going on, it appeared that the big tents in question were being used for rehearsal purposes. There were people leading horses in and out of the tents, people running to and fro with equipment, someone shouting about needing an urgent repair to her costume, various musicians practising different tunes in different tents, and a certain amount of general yelling and swearing.
“Now,” said von Luftschiff. “He probably tink ve gone into vun of dese tents. Hyu go over dere. See dat vhite vooden building? Is dat vun. Der door is round de odder side from de vindow. Hy don't suppose hyu need me, so hy yust hang around here. Hyu never know. Hy might hear someting useful.”
“All right. Thank you, Herr von Luftschiff.”
Von Luftschiff wandered around thoughtfully for a while, trying to work out who was doing what in each tent without actually intruding. This was not such a difficult task on the whole, since there were so many people coming and going all the time. Everything smelt of canvas and damp grass and grease paint and sweaty humans and...
...and... what? Really?
He sniffed the air. It was faint, but there could be no mistaking it. A Jäger's sense of smell is not easily deceived.
He followed the scent, his pace quickening as it grew stronger. It took him into one of the tents, one of the smaller ones in the group, on the edge of the cluster. He pushed aside the flap, and found himself face to face with Strong Arm Sally, who was standing on a mat surrounded by a number of improbably large dumbbells.
“Who are you, sir, and how dare you barge in like this?” she demanded.
Von Luftschiff looked her up and down with increasing astonishment.
“Hy von Luftschiff,” he replied. “Und hy sorry. Hy didn't mean to schtartle hyu. But hyu make-up is a vork of art.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Sally crossly.
“Hyu a Jäger,” replied von Luftschiff bluntly. “Yust like me. But hyu look human. Is amazing. Und hyu de first of de Jägerkin hy have met since hy been in dis country, so hy hope hyu pardon me if hy get a bit emotional.”
“I am not a Jäger!” she hissed.
Von Luftschiff shook his head. “Hy don't know vy hyu hiding, but hyu secret is safe vit me. Hy vouldn't schplit on vun of my own. Listen, schveethot. Hyu can make hyuself up so not even Mrs Chatterjee knows who hyu really are, but hyu can't hide de Jäger scent. Not from anodder Jäger.”
“Oh,” said Sally. She subsided onto a camp stool nearby.
Von Luftschiff had not been invited to sit down, but it seemed politer to do that than to stand towering over her. He settled down cross-legged on the mat. “Und hyu got de tok down to a fine art, too,” he said. “Hy don't tink hy ever going to lose my accent.”
“You don't need to,” replied Sally bitterly. “It's all very well for you. You can just go round being yourself.”
“Is vot hy do best,” said von Luftschiff philosophically. “So vy can't hyu?”
“Because Baron Wulfenbach thinks I killed his lady friend, and I can't prove I didn't,” Sally replied. “And Baron Wulfenbach is one human you really don't want after you.”
“Baron Vulfenbach is a schpark. He got all sorts of time travel schtuff,” said von Luftschiff. “He could find out himself who killed de lady.”
“I wish he would,” said Sally. “Then perhaps I'd find out, too.”
“Doesn't seem fair hyu should have to pretend to be human all de time,” said von Luftschiff. “Hy mean, notting against humans, a lot of dem are really nize. But is a big schtrain being somevun hyu not all de time.”
“You can say that again,” said Sally ruefully. “But what else could I do? If I hadn't happened to meet Ernest at Mamma Gkika's, I'd probably be facing a combination of dangerous science and Bangladesh Dupree by now.”
“Ernest?”
“That's right. He was running away too, although that was because he was wanted for stealing. He's from London originally. We got talking, and when I said I needed to get away, he suggested we should come over here and join a circus. He's an outstandingly talented make-up artist, so the idea was that he would sign up as that, and I'd sign up as a strong woman after he'd made me up to look human. To be honest, apart from the constant pretence, it's not such a bad life. I've got friends here, I earn a decent living, and Ernest really appreciates me. He says I keep him steady. He knows I don't like him stealing. I'm a sort of mother to him now.”
“Hy suppose hyu von't be able to do it for ever,” said von Luftschiff thoughtfully. “Ven hyu don't get older like de odders, dey vill schtart asking qvestions.”
“No, but by that time I expect my scent will have gone cold and I can just go and lose myself among the local Jägers.” She smiled. “I suppose then I'll have to get the accent back.”
“Hy don't know. Hy not met any of dem yet. But everyvun says dey're here.”
“They are. Not so many in the towns, but they're around all right. I keep away from them at the moment, so they don't recognise me.”
“Is sad,” said von Luftschiff.
“Even sadder if I have to deal with the Baron, though,” replied Sally pragmatically. “Although I must admit, I'm worried about what's going to happen tonight.”
“Vy? Dey say hyu can lift a horse, but hyu got to be able to lift a whole lot more dan dat.”
“Of course I can, but that's not the point,” said Sally. “Did you not know? Mrs Chatterjee has been arrested!”
Von Luftschiff stared at her. “VOT?!”
“Last night. And Mr Chatterjee is dead, so everyone's saying she killed him. I don't believe a word of that, myself. You've only got to see them together. She'd never have killed him.”
Von Luftschiff delivered himself of a string of graphic oaths in German which seriously risked cracking Sally's make-up. “I do speak German, Herr von Luftschiff,” she informed him with dignity. “My real name is Saliske.”
“Ho. Sorry. Is yust dat... Excuse me. Hy gotta go. Back as soon as hy can, hokay? Hy von't let hyu down. Promise.”
Von Luftschiff sprinted to the wooden office building at top speed, but Mr Wooster was already gone. Von Luftschiff cursed again; they had probably just managed to miss each other among the rehearsal tents. He ran back and searched, but he could find no sign of the agent.
He had almost given up on his search when he spotted a familiar face: Dr Abercrombie, hurrying towards him between the tents. “Oh, there you are, Herr von Luftschiff!” exclaimed the doctor. “I've been looking for you. Mr Wooster asked me to give you a message.”
“Hy already heard de bad news,” said von Luftschiff grimly. “De police, dey must be schtupid.”
“Wrong, I'm certain, but not stupid,” said the doctor. “They could only go by the evidence they had. They looked at Mr Jones' window, and they could find nothing suggesting that anyone had got out that way. They were satisfied that I couldn't have killed him, and they also decided that Miss Davenport was innocent, because she immediately raised the alarm when she found that something was wrong. They will no doubt want to talk to her in case she has any additional evidence, but they are quite satisfied that if she had killed Mr Chatterjee she would have simply left quietly, rather than drawing attention to her presence. That, to their minds, left Mrs Chatterjee and Mr Jones, and I'm afraid they arrested Mrs Chatterjee as the more likely of the two suspects. She does, after all, stand to inherit everything.”
“Hy see vot hyu mean,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu don't tink she killed him, do hyu?”
“Absolutely not. And neither does Mr Wooster, which is where his message comes in. He asked me to tell you that he has gone to collect Miss Davenport and take her up to the police station urgently. Apparently he and Miss Davenport between them have some additional evidence which he believes will clear Mrs Chatterjee.”
Von Luftschiff nodded. “Ja. Hy tink dey have. Did he leave any instructions?”
“No. He just wanted you to know where he'd gone.”
“Hokay. Danke, Herr Doctor. In dat case... hy yust going to hang around here for a liddle vhile. Hy need to tink.”
* * * * *
The doorbell clanged frantically. Hilde hurried to answer it, and found a dishevelled and somewhat out of breath Ardsley Wooster standing on the step.
“Sorry to impose on you again, Mrs Greenwood,” he panted. “I've more or less run down here from the show field. Is Miss Davenport available?”
“I believe she's studying at the moment, but I can call her,” replied Hilde. “What on earth is wrong?”
“They've arrested Mrs Chatterjee.”
“What?! That's dreadful!”
“Yes, but it's understandable, since they don't have all the evidence. When you call Miss Davenport, would you also mind asking her to bring all the things she collected from the circus yesterday?”
“Certainly. Just one moment. Please do come in while you're waiting.”
Hilde bustled off upstairs, and in a few minutes returned with Alice in tow. “Did I hear that right, Mr Wooster?” she asked. “They've really arrested Mrs Chatterjee?”
“They have, and I need you to help me get her out,” said Mr Wooster.
“Coming!” exclaimed Alice. “I've got all the things here.”
“Would you like a lift?” asked Hilde.
“If it's not too much trouble,” said Mr Wooster. “The police station is quite a walk from here.”
“It's no trouble at all,” Hilde assured him. “I was just going to take Bertha out to do some shopping anyway. We seem to be out of mushrooms again.”
Alice laughed. “We should grow them in the cellar. I'm not sure there are enough mushrooms in town for Herr von Luftschiff and his breakfasts. Seriously, though, he does do some wonderful things with them.”
“He is a very good cook,” said Mr Wooster. “Sometimes, you know, I do wonder if it's possible to have the spark for other things, not just inventing. Like painting. Or, perhaps, cooking, even.”
“Well, he does come out with some weird things sometimes,” said Alice. “I suppose you didn't try his special sauce?”
“No. He warned me it was very spicy.”
“That's an understatement. I have no idea what's in it, but I tried it once because I thought he had to be exaggerating. He wasn't. I had to drink a whole pint of milk and eat two bananas before I stopped seeing stars.”
They hurried out to where Bertha was parked, and Hilde drove them up to the police station. “I really should get Mrs Greenwood some flowers or something, after all this ferrying around,” said Mr Wooster, as Bertha rattled off again in the direction of the town centre. “Do you know if there's anything she particularly likes?”
“Brass cogs, size fifteen over five-eighths,” replied Alice promptly, as they entered the police station. “She says you just can't get them here. She's thinking of driving down to Lancaster to see if she can pick any up there.”
“Ah. Right. Noted.”
It was rather dim inside the police station, since the windows were narrow and not especially clean. An officer sat behind a long oak counter with a little wooden wedge in front of her, engraved with the words “SERGEANT HORNE”. She was writing rather desultorily in a large leather-bound record book, and she looked bored.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” said Mr Wooster politely. “We've come about the Chatterjee case. May we speak to someone who's involved with that?”
Sergeant Horne looked up. “Certainly. You can speak to me. My colleague and I arrested Mrs Chatterjee last night.”
“Ah, good. That makes things simpler,” said Mr Wooster. “Well, my name is Ardsley Wooster, and this is Miss Alice Davenport. If you recall, Miss Davenport was the person who originally raised the alarm over Mr Chatterjee.”
The sergeant began to look interested. “Ah! We were going to call on you later for a statement, miss. Thank you for saving us the trouble.”
“Yes, you can certainly have a statement,” said Alice, in a tone of voice which silently added “and then some”.
Mr Wooster took out his identification papers and put them down in front of the sergeant. “That,” he said, “explains who I am, and now I shall have to explain who Miss Davenport is. She has no official papers as yet, because she is just about to embark on her training as an agent. That was why I sent her to see Mr Chatterjee.”
“Wait,” said Sergeant Horne. “You're going a little too fast for me, sir. I have no problem with your identification, and I understand about Miss Davenport, but I don't see where Mr Chatterjee comes into all this.”
“Because he was one of our agents, and so is his wife,” replied Mr Wooster patiently. “I sent Miss Davenport to collect certain items from Mr Chatterjee. He died a few moments before he was able to hand them over. However, Mrs Chatterjee, who is not an active agent but whose role was to back him up in case of emergency, knew where the items were and handed them over.”
“And I received them,” added Alice. “Here they are. Mr Wooster has checked that everything is present and nothing has been tampered with.”
The sergeant looked into the bag and frowned. “Yes,” she said, “but what has this to do with the murder case?”
“Can't you see it has everything to do with it?” demanded Alice. “Look at the timing. I ask to see Mr Chatterjee and give my name, in the hearing of probably a dozen people. There's no secret about that, because if anyone challenges me I've been told to say I've got an audition. A little girl takes me to the office building, goes in, comes out, and tells me he'll see me. He's obviously still alive at that point. The child doesn't say if there's anyone else in there with him, but she wouldn't see that as relevant. I don't need to know if there's someone else there; I just need to know if he'll see me. I walk in there, knock on the door, and there's no reply. I call his name. Nothing. I go in and he's slumped over his desk, either dead or dying. This is nothing to do with Mrs Chatterjee. Someone at the circus knew I was coming, they knew why I was coming, and they wanted to stop me getting these things for some reason. I don't know what it was all about. Maybe they had someone else they wanted to pass off as me, or something. But they didn't know that Mrs Chatterjee was also an agent, so she was able to give me the things and I got them after all.”
“Also,” said Mr Wooster, “did you hear a door open or close?”
“When I was outside, you mean? No. I didn't think of that. Apart from Mr Chatterjee's door, of course. The child went in, she knocked on Mr Chatterjee's door, it was opened, and when she came out of the building she left it open. I suppose she reasoned that she didn't have to close it behind her, since I was just about to go in.”
“Those are old doors,” Mr Wooster observed. “I noticed that myself when I was talking to Dr Abercrombie earlier. They've travelled a lot. They've got damp. They're warped. It would take quite a lot of skill to open and close one without making any sound.”
“I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous,” said the sergeant. “We know that Dr Abercrombie didn't kill him, and we also know that you didn't kill him, miss, for similar reasons. You raised the initial alarm, and Dr Abercrombie was unable to identify a cause of death and therefore suggested that an inquest would be necessary. The window in Mr Chatterjee's office is stuck, so nobody could have got in or out that way. Nobody could have got in or out through the door without passing you. The window in Mrs Chatterjee's office opens normally, but anyone escaping that way while she was in her husband's office would have been seen from the main entrance. We did check for footprints anyway, and found nothing. We also found nothing under Mr Jones' window, which would have been the only other means of exit. The window at the end of the corridor is too small to use.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Therefore, the murderer had to have been in the building when you arrived, and the only two remaining possibilities are Mrs Chatterjee and Mr Jones. And Mr Jones stands to gain nothing from Mr Chatterjee's death, and in fact was even at risk of losing his job. Mrs Chatterjee has admitted herself that she wanted to replace him because she thought he was getting too old to do his job.”
“I'd say that was a simple factual statement, not an admission,” said Mr Wooster.
“It clears him, though,” replied the sergeant. “We've talked to him. He clearly lives for his job.”
“Has it not occurred to you, madam,” said Mr Wooster, “that Mrs Chatterjee is an intelligent woman? Had she wanted to kill her husband, why would she have done so in circumstances where she would immediately figure as the prime suspect, when she could have done so inconspicuously on the road at any time? And, having been arrested, do you not think she would have found a way to throw suspicion on someone else, most probably Mr Jones? If she were really guilty, do you think she would give you a piece of information that she must know would clear the next most likely suspect?”
“We don't do psychology here, sir,” replied the officer, with strained patience. “We just do evidence. I totally understand you want to help your agent and I'm not going to blame you for it, but it won't wash. We've charged her, and she'll stand trial at the next Assizes.”
“This is scandalous!” Alice exploded. Mr Wooster laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“Keep your temper, Miss Davenport,” he said gently. “I'm afraid losing it won't help our cause. Very well, Sergeant. If that's how it is, you leave us with only one alternative. We shall have to find the real murderer and bring them to you.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the sergeant, subsiding into her previous ennui.
Alice was fuming as they walked out into the sunshine. “Why didn't she listen?” she demanded, angrily.
“Because she has her own scenario all worked out, and it is very neat and tidy, and it has made it possible to arrest someone,” replied Mr Wooster. “She's a police officer. Police officers, by the nature of things, see a lot of crimes. They like to get them solved quickly. Unfortunately, quick solutions aren't always the right ones.”
“It's not neat and tidy,” Alice objected. “We showed her where all the cracks were.”
“Yes, but the crucial thing we didn't have was the identity of the real killer,” said Mr Wooster. “I should have realised it would be difficult. Telling someone their theory is wrong always goes down a lot better if you have an alternative theory to put in its place. It doesn't matter how strong your evidence against the original theory is. People don't, on the whole, like a void.”
“I'd prefer a void to a gross miscarriage of justice,” said Alice hotly.
“So would I, but we don't have that option. It was vital that we should find the killer anyway. Now, it's even more so. They'll hang an innocent woman if we don't.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Alice.
“We go back to the circus,” replied Mr Wooster firmly. “That's where the killer is, and that's where we need to be to stand any chance at all of finding them.”
Alice looked at her watch. “They'll be opening the stalls and things to the public soon. We'd better move fast. Although, on the bright side, when they do, perhaps that little girl will show up again. I want to talk to her. I really want to know if she saw anyone else in that office.”
“I'll look out for her. What did she look like?”
“Oh, she'd have been about ten or eleven, quite chubby, with medium brown hair in pigtails. I don't recall much about her face. I think she was wearing a print dress, but for the life of me I can't remember what colour. I mean, she was just a kid running errands. But I'd know her again if I saw her.”
“Did anyone else see her?” asked Mr Wooster. “It might be helpful if they did.”
“Oh! Yes. Herr von Luftschiff did.”
“Now that's very good,” said Mr Wooster. “I left him at the circus, and he may very well still be there. I didn't give him any specific instructions, but I expect he's still keeping his eyes and ears open. We'll see if we can find him, and then we'll ask him to look for her as well.”
“Good idea. By the way, I don't suppose you have any idea who's going to stand in for Mrs Chatterjee tonight?”
“I did ask that,” said Mr Wooster, “but Dr Abercrombie didn't know when I spoke to him. He thinks there's going to be some sort of emergency meeting about it, although he doesn't know the details. Not being a performer, obviously he wasn't invited.”
Alice smiled. “I should think he'd ringmaster as well as anyone, if he really had to. He's a doctor, after all. He's used to dealing with emergencies.”
“But not necessarily in front of a large crowd of people,” said Mr Wooster. “I'd hate to have to do that sort of thing myself. Still, each to their own.”
They were silent for a while, walking naturally in step. Then Alice said, “It's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, isn't it? How many people do you think are involved with the circus?”
“I don't know, but it looks like a lot. Nonetheless, it's not quite as bad as it looks. We're not going to have to question them all. We can narrow it down a little. First of all, we can be pretty certain that the murderer knew your name and the fact that you were coming; they possibly also knew why, although I must admit that the more I think about it, the less sense it makes that they should be so desperate to stop you getting your hands on basic kit that they would be prepared to kill someone for it. It's disproportionate. The worst they could achieve would be to delay things. But they did know who you were, and they knew I'd sent you. It could be that they thought you were a fully-fledged agent, and they were aware of something Mr Chatterjee knew that they wanted to prevent him telling you. That could easily have been their identity.”
“That does make a lot more sense than trying to keep the kit out of my hands,” Alice agreed.
“Yes. It's not the only possible hypothesis, but it's a better one, at least. So we're dealing with someone who is probably quite close to the Chatterjees, because they've clearly been in a position to intercept at least some important communications. That's not going to be the whole circus.”
Alice nodded. “Dr Abercrombie would know the people we need to start with. He seems to be a friend of the family, as well as the circus doctor.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr Wooster. “Although I don't mind telling you he would be my first suspect if he hadn't refused to sign the death certificate. He's very close to the Chatterjees as you say, he's extremely bright and resourceful, and he's the sort of person I would instinctively choose as an undercover agent. And if my instinct says that about him, then it's quite possible that someone else's might also have done so in the past.”
“But he can't be the killer!” said Alice, bewildered.
“No, he can't. Although that doesn't necessarily mean he's nothing more than he appears. Don't mistake me; I like the doctor. But if any information about either you or me turns up in an unexpected place after we've caught the killer, he's the person I shall quietly put under surveillance.”
Alice flashed him a glance. “Don't you trust anyone?”
“Generally not anyone I don't know personally, the exceptions being, of course, the people who can be thoroughly vouched for by those I do know personally. It's something of a drag, but it's also one of the reasons why I'm still alive.”
“That must be the worst part of the job,” said Alice.
“It is,” he admitted. “But the flip side of it is that once I do trust you, you have a friend for life.”
* * * * *
“Back again?” said Sally. She was no longer even making any pretence of rehearsing her act. After all, she hardly needed to. Practising feats of strength was for humans.
“Ja. Hy got us some coffee.” Von Luftschiff handed over a paper cup with a lid; it steamed promisingly. “Hy don't know if hyu like sugar, so hy got dem to give it to me separately. Here hyu go.” He held out three sugar lumps wrapped in a twist of paper.
“That's really kind of you. I was just thinking of going to get something myself. How on earth did you persuade them to sell it to you? We're not open for business yet.”
Von Luftschiff grinned broadly. “Hy got de man on de gate to confirm dat hy came in vit de man vit de impawtent official papers. Dat convinced dem.”
Sally gaped. “Did you?”
“Ho ja. But is fine. Hyu safe. He not after hyu. Vell, not unless hyu killed Mister Chatterjee, und hy don't suppose hyu did. Whoever killed him, dey vos preddy subtle, und no offence, but ve Jägers, ve definitely not dat.”
“Was that why you ran off so suddenly? To tell the official man that Mrs Chatterjee had been arrested?”
“Ja. But he already knew. He found out from de doctor.”
Sally frowned. “Are you some kind of agent?”
“Me? No. Hy yust vork for a couple of schparks. But dis official man, he's a goot friend of deirs.”
“Right. But you're involved in the investigation, all the same? You're with this man?”
“Ja. Sort of by accident.”
Sally made up her mind. “Good. Then I can talk to you, and maybe you'll listen. The police wouldn't.”
“Hyu can talk to me any time hyu like,” von Luftschiff assured her. “Hy mean, don't get me wrong. Hy not trying to chat hyu up. Is yust really goot to talk to anodder Jäger, even if hyu don't look like vun.”
“And I must admit I'm glad to have someone I can talk to without having to pretend,” said Sally. “I mean, obviously there's Ernest, but he's not quite the same. He's got a different perspective. He doesn't mean it nastily, but there's no getting away from the fact that he thinks human is the best thing to be. And he's also terribly pleased with himself because he can pass me off as human. Which, to be fair, he's got every right to be; as you say, this make-up is an amazing job. Even so, it does get to me a little sometimes. He's not proud of me. He's proud of his own creation.”
Von Luftschiff nodded sympathetically and took a large sip of his coffee. “Blech!” he said. “Dis tastes like boot polish smells. Hy better tell Charles not to drink it.”
“Charles? Is he the man you came in with?”
“No. He vun of de schparks hy vork for. He likes coffee in a really big vay. It helps him vit de inventing.”
“I don't suppose this stuff will,” Sally agreed. “It is pretty dire. But it's the best we can do on the move, and people drink it. They get thirsty.”
Von Luftschiff shrugged. “Hy not sure hy qvite dat tirsty,” he said, putting it to one side. “Now, vot vos it hyu vanted to talk about?”
“Well, Ernest, really,” she admitted. “I'm worried he's stealing again, and I'm afraid his boyfriend is putting him up to it. You see, Ernest and I share a tent, because we're friends, and it's the worst-kept secret in the circus that he likes men. About six months ago he started seeing Reggie. That's Little Reggie, not Big Reggie. Big Reggie is a bit of a Puritan; it's not two men that bothers him, it's two people who aren't married. But I'm digressing. I think Little Reggie is a problem.”
“Vot makes hyu tink dat?” asked von Luftschiff.
“Sometimes I find papers and things in our tent, and when I ask Ernest about them, he doesn't seem to know what they are,” she explained. “I mean, it used to be that he was just a thief. That's bad enough, but at least it's straightforward. He'd steal money, jewellery, anything he could sell. But now sometimes there's this stuff and I'm sure he's stolen it, but he doesn't know what it is he's stolen. That suggests to me that he's been told to steal it by someone else.”
“Vot sort of papers?”
“Oh, letters, bills, things like that. I do try not to read them, because they don't belong to me, but when you're picking them up it can be hard not to. I've never seen anything in them that was obviously important. Even so, they shouldn't be in our tent.”
“Hyu sure he schtole dem? Somevun didn't give dem to him?”
“Not absolutely certain, but fairly sure. When I find anything like that, he always acts the way he did when I found him with stolen property.” She paused. “Odd thing about Ernest. I don't think he really wants to be a thief. I think it's a sort of compulsion, with him. On the evening we first met, he stole someone's ring, but then he gave it back. It was a cheap ring, so he couldn't have sold it, and he knew it was only a cheap ring when he stole it. He said he just wanted to see if he could do it. You know, steal a ring right off someone's finger without their noticing.”
“He sounds clever,” said von Luftschiff.
“Yes, but only in certain ways. I think he keeps his brains in his fingers. He's not conventionally bright at all – not good at thinking ahead or weighing the possible consequences of his actions. But if you want some dexterous craft work doing, he's got a tremendous gift.”
“Or if hyu vant someting schtolen,” mused von Luftschiff.
“Unfortunately, yes. He's got that tendency, which he does try to control but not always successfully, and he's rather easily manipulated. I think Reggie is pulling his strings. To be honest, it's a shame he's not with Big Reggie. Not that he would be, because Big Reggie is strictly women only, but he's honest and he's got that firmness of character that I think Ernest needs.”
“But it's yust a suspicion?” asked von Luftschiff. “Hyu don't know for certain?”
“I don't,” Sally admitted. “But the papers weren't turning up in our tent before Ernest got involved with Reggie. That's why I think he may have something to do with it.”
“Vell. Hy can kind of see vy de police veren't interested. Dat's not a lot to go on. But hy tink it may be vorth following up.”
“What are you planning to do?” asked Sally.
“Hy might yust have a liddle chat vit Reggie,” said von Luftschiff.
“This may not be a good time,” Sally warned him. “He's not likely to be in a good mood at the moment. There's going to be a meeting after lunch to decide who deputises for Mrs Chatterjee tonight; usually, you see, Mr Chatterjee would do it if she really couldn't. And most people are saying it's likely to be Big Reggie, and if it is, then they won't be able to do their act and Little Reggie will be stuck on the sidelines.”
“H'mm,” said von Luftschiff. “Vhere do hy find him?”
“Right now, probably in the make-up tent distracting Ernest,” replied Sally. “You'll have seen it. It's the one with the big patch just by the entrance.”
“Hy tink hy go in dere und look schtupid,” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu can learn a lot by yust schtanding around looking schtupid.”
Sally grinned, showing her fangs behind the carefully constructed dental façade she was wearing. “You're right about that,” she said. “Good luck, Herr von Luftschiff.” She paused. “Don't you have another name?”
“Hy did,” von Luftschiff admitted, “but hy don't now.”
“Why ever not?”
“Hy a new Jäger. Hyu de first odder Jäger hy ever met, like hy said. Hy don't have a Jäger name. So hy yust go by von Luftschiff until hy get vun.”
“Would you... would you like me to give you a name?” asked Sally, shyly. “I know it's a rather presumptuous thing to ask, but you do need one, and I'm here, so...”
“Hy'd really like dat,” said von Luftschiff. “Dat vould be a very kind ting.”
“You've been kind to me too. You've let me be myself. That's more than it sounds. And you brought me coffee, which isn't a big thing but it was still very sweet of you.”
“But der coffee vos horrible.”
“You didn't know that. And it's the thought that counts.” She looked at him, considering. “Now, let's see. If you're going to let me give you a name, it's got to be the right one.”
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The silence was heavy with thought. Finally, abruptly, she said, “Ottokar.”
Von Luftschiff beamed. “Dat is a vonderful name!”
“I'm really glad you like it! I should have hated to give you a name you weren't comfortable with.”
“No. Is perfect. Is yust der right name. Now hy go und tell all my friends hy be Ottokar.”
“But you won't tell them how you got the name?” She was anxious again.
“Hy not going to forget yust because hy all excited. Hy yust tell dem hy met anodder Jäger in der crowd und ve had a liddle chat. Anyvay, is true. Hyu vere in der crowd. Hy don't have to tell dem hyu vere in a tent in der crowd.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
“Hyu velcome. Now, hy go und find der make-up tent.”
The make-up tent turned out to contain Ernest, a young woman who was being made up, a very short man with a rather overblown cravat who had to be Little Reggie, and a fourth party in a striped dress whose function on the scene was not immediately apparent. It became more so when she produced a notebook. “May I take your name, sir?” she asked.
“No,” replied von Luftschiff. “Hy only yust got it.”
“I... er... beg your pardon?”
“Hy don't vork for de circus. Hy a guest. Got some friends here. Und hyu are, vot? Some kind of yournalist?”
“Yes. My name's Julia Braithwaite. I'm from the local paper. I'm covering the murder story. If you won't give your name...”
“You shouldn't be in this tent anyway,” grumbled Little Reggie. “It's private. Go on, get off with you.”
“No need to tok like dat,” said von Luftschiff placidly, secure in the knowledge that any attempt by Little Reggie to throw him out of the tent would end up in nothing worse than Little Reggie looking like a fool. “So, hyu covering der murder, eh? Vouldn't hyu be better to tok to der police?”
“Oh, I've already done that,” said Miss Braithwaite earnestly, “but I want some local colour. You know. Reactions on the ground.”
“H'mm. Hyu seen de building vhere de murder vos committed?”
“No,” she said, with interest.
“Hokay. Hy show hyu. Come out here.” He stepped outside the tent, followed by the intrigued journalist. “Hyu see dere, betveen de tents? Dat vhite building? Dat's de place.”
“Gosh! Thank you very much, Mr... er...”
“Hyu velcome,” said von Luftschiff, and stepped smartly back into the tent. He grinned.
“Dere,” he said. “Dat gets rid of her. She looked like she vos disturbing hyu.”
“She was, rather,” admitted Little Reggie, slowly. “Now, who the hell are you?”
“Me? Hy a friend of Sally's.” He nodded to Ernest. “She says hyu her great friend, und hyu really, really goot at make-up. So hy asked if hyu'd mind if hy came to vatch. She didn't know if hyu'd mind, but she told me vhere hyu'd be.” He gave his most ingratiating smile. “Hyu mind? Hy love vatching experts.”
“Oh, well,” said Ernest. “Yes, that's fine.”
“You still haven't told us your name,” said Little Reggie, dourly.
“Sorry. Is Ottokar.” He addressed the young woman in the make-up chair. “Hyu hokay vit me being here?”
“Yes, it's all right,” she replied. She did not seem to be concerned about von Luftschiff's appearance; she had, however, looked relieved at the tactful removal of the journalist, so presumably that had won her over.
“Und hyu,” said von Luftschiff, looking at Reggie. “Hyu do make-up too?”
“No. I'm one of the performers. One of the Two Reginalds, to be exact.”
“Oh, is goot! Hy coming to see de circus tonight.”
“I may not be performing,” said Little Reggie, sourly. “After yesterday's shenanigans, I'm afraid it looks very much as though the other Reginald is going to have to stand in for Mrs Chatterjee, which will mean we can't do our act. I really don't see why one of the clowns can't do it. We have plenty. One wouldn't be missed.”
“They all work together, though,” Ernest pointed out gently. “They don't have time to rehearse how their act is going to work with one fewer.”
“Gammon and spinach,” grumbled Reggie. “All they do is throw themselves around and do funny walks. Oh, and William's got his stilts and Clara's got her unicycle. Right.”
“I think you're underestimating them a little,” said Ernest diffidently.
“You betcha,” said the lady in the chair. “Takes a lot of skill, clowning.”
“Well, I'm amazed to hear you say that, Rose, since you're a trapeze artiste,” said Reggie. “You could do anything they do, but they couldn't do half what you do.”
“I could do anything you do, sure enough,” Rose retorted. Reggie glowered at her.
Von Luftschiff considered. There was obviously no way he could question Reggie here. For the moment, things were at an impasse, and he might as well watch the master artist at work while keeping an eye on his quarry. He cast about for a seat, and noticed one of the ubiquitous camp stools over to one side of the tent, next to a large trunk of what appeared to be costumes.
“Hyu mind if hy sit down?” he asked, politely.
“By all means,” said Ernest. “Go ahead.”
Von Luftschiff settled himself on the stool, and as he did so, his gaze fell for a moment on the trunk. Something snagged it. It took his conscious mind a few seconds to catch up with his subconscious and understand exactly what it was that he was looking at. The moment he did so, he looked quickly away so that he would not be caught staring.
Now, he thought, what's the quickest way to find Mr Wooster?
* * * * *
“You'd think he'd be easy enough to spot,” said Alice. “I mean, there can't be too many green gentlemen wandering around in a shako.”
“It would be easier from the air,” replied Mr Wooster. “A pity we don't have something that flies.”
Alice nodded. “Ashmole would be really useful here. Although it's quite possible he could be in one of the tents, I suppose.”
There was a voice at Mr Wooster's elbow. “Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr Ardsley Wooster?”
“I am,” said Mr Wooster, looking down. There was a small boy holding a telegram. “Thank you.” He handed the child sixpence, waited until he had run off in the direction of the pie stall, and opened it.
“Ah,” he said, permitting himself a small grin. “As I thought. Thank you, Baron.”
Alice blinked at him. “Baron? You don't mean Baron Wulfenbach, do you? And if so, what on earth has he got to do with it?”
“Oh, nothing, directly. But we are currently working with the Baron, at least as far as the Other is concerned. It's what you might call an informal alliance. So last night I asked the Baron an honest question, and today he returns an honest answer. Let us go and talk to his agent.”
“You... guessed... he had an agent in this circus?”
Mr Wooster chuckled. “Well, after all, we do. Circuses are an extremely convenient way to move things around inconspicuously. And if we have an agent, a few other parties' agents generally also turn up eventually. It was likely that the Baron had someone here, keeping an eye on our people.”
“You don't think the Baron's agent killed Mr Chatterjee, though, do you?” asked Alice, horrified. “I mean, if we're supposed to be informally working together...”
“Of course not! That's the very last thing she would do. The Baron would have her hide if she did something like that. No. I told the Baron what happened, and he is of the same mind as I am. There is another agent in the circus, someone the Baron's agent has suspected for a while, but she has no actual proof. The Baron thinks the third agent is working for the Other. I am inclined to agree with him.” He paused. “The Baron also advised me to be extremely careful. When Klaus von Wulfenbach says something of that nature, one listens.”
“Perhaps I ought to read my instruction manual again,” said Alice grimly. “I went through it a few times last night, but it's going to take a while before everything comes automatically.”
“It does,” said Mr Wooster. “You're bright, but we still don't expect you to take everything in over one evening. It takes practice. For now, though, I think I would recommend loading Chamber 1 with smoke pellets, Chamber 2 with stun charges, and Chamber 3 with ordinary old-fashioned non-spark lead bullets.”
“Does it matter about the order of the chambers?” asked Alice. “Because that's what I've got in there at the moment, except it's not in that order.”
“You'll go far,” said Mr Wooster, with approval.
He stopped a passer-by, asked a question Alice could not hear, and received some directions in response. “Thank you,” he said. “This way, Miss Davenport.”
They almost bumped into Strong Arm Sally, who was just leaving her tent. Mr Wooster smiled, and held up his official papers. “Ardsley Wooster at your service, madam,” he said politely, “and this is Miss Alice Davenport.”
“Come in,” she said. “I was rather expecting you.”
They did. “I'm afraid I have only one seat,” she said, apologetically.
“I can stand,” said Mr Wooster. “We won't be here long. I have a telegram from the Baron, if you should wish to see it.”
She shook her head. “No, that's perfectly all right. I was hoping you might come and see me yourself.”
“Myself?”
“Yes. I have already met your friend Herr von Luftschiff. I trusted him far enough to let him know whom I suspected, intending that he should tell you. I don't have enough back-up to find out anything concrete against this man, but when I discovered you were here, I took the initiative. I had no time to ask the Baron, but since I believe we are dealing with the Other, I was certain he would approve.”
“You didn't tell him you worked for the Baron, then?” asked Mr Wooster.
“No. He said he wasn't an agent himself. I don't know whether that was true or false, but it was all I had to go by, so I erred on the side of caution. I was sorry to have to lie to him. He's an honest Jäger.”
“He is indeed not an agent, although I'm starting to think I may have to see if I can do something to change that,” replied Mr Wooster. “Where is Herr von Luftschiff now?”
“I don't know,” said Sally. “He left me about an hour ago. He was going to the make-up tent.”
Alice grinned.
“I expect he had a very good reason for that,” said Mr Wooster.
“Oh, he did,” replied Sally. Briefly, she explained to them what she had already told von Luftschiff.
Mr Wooster listened carefully. Then he asked, “This meeting to choose someone to stand in for Mrs Chatterjee – what time is it happening?”
“Half past one,” replied Sally. “In the Big Top. I was just going out to get some lunch first.”
“Would questions be asked if you were to slip out of the meeting for a few minutes at some point?”
“Oh no. Nature calls sometimes.”
“Good. Miss Davenport, I'd like you to hang around outside the Big Top during the meeting. That shouldn't be too much of a chore, since the sideshows will all be in full swing by that point. Miss... er...”
“Just Sally,” said Sally, with a smile.
“Miss Sally,” continued Mr Wooster, “I'd like you to keep an eye on Little Reggie for me. If he fails to attend the meeting, or if he leaves it for more than a few minutes, please slip out and attract Miss Davenport's attention. You don't have to say anything to her, just ensure that she sees you outside the tent. Miss Davenport, if you discover that Little Reggie is not in the meeting, find him and discreetly track him. Don't approach him too closely. We just need to know his movements at this stage. Remember, he may not be the Other's agent, but if he is, he's extremely dangerous.”
“Do you think Reggie killed Mr Chatterjee?” asked Alice.
“I think the Other's agent killed him,” replied Mr Wooster. “The thing I need to establish is whether or not Reggie is the same person.”
“I don't understand why the Other's agent would risk exposure like that, whether or not it's Reggie,” said Sally. “That's been puzzling me. I mean, yes, I do realise that the Other is trying to wreck our intelligence systems, but if you're going to do away with an agent, surely you don't signal to everyone that you're doing it because they're an agent? You make it look like an ordinary murder, if you've absolutely got to do it.”
“You think very much like your boss,” said Mr Wooster. He handed Sally the telegram.
She looked at him, brows furrowed. “I don't understand.”
“That was because I sprang it on you. If you had had as much time to think as the Baron, you might well have come to the same conclusion as he did.”
“What conclusion?”
“The key is in the last three words. 'Be very careful'. Baron Wulfenbach, as you are obviously aware, does not pad his telegrams with unnecessary verbiage, and he also has a tendency to credit everyone else with intelligence similar to his. I am not sure I am fully worthy of such a compliment, but I did work it out.”
Light dawned on Alice. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “So you're the real target.”
“Yes. We are dealing with someone who is dangerous enough, and callous enough, to kill a medium-level agent in front of a low-level agent in the full hope and expectation of bringing a high-level agent onto the scene and into their sights. I had been very puzzled about the motive, but the Baron has made it clear in three words.”
“Good Lord,” said Alice, appalled. “So we should never have sent for you at all!”
“Oh no. You did the right thing.” Mr Wooster smiled. “Sometimes, the best thing one can do is walk very carefully into a trap and steal the bait. With your help, that is what I'm planning.”
“And Herr von Luftschiff, wherever he is at the moment,” said Alice.
“Indeed, and I have no doubt that he's doing something useful, which may include having lunch. A Jäger thinks most clearly on a full stomach, just like everyone else.”
“I hope he can find something,” said Alice. “He's a vegetarian. Everything here seems to be meat pies and sausages.”
“There is a pub across the road,” said Sally. “I expect he can get some cauliflower cheese.”
“Pro tip,” said Alice. “Don't say that phrase in his hearing. Long story.”
“Very well; I'll remember that. And, since we're on the subject of lunch...”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mr Wooster. “You need to go and have some before the meeting. And we should probably do the same. It's been good to talk to you, Miss Sally.”
“You too, both of you.”
“Shall we try the make-up tent?” asked Alice, as they walked out into the sunshine.
“I doubt he'll still be there by now,” replied Mr Wooster. “I think our best bet is to do what I suggested and find some lunch. And we had better not linger too close to any stall unless we can see underneath it, nor to any tent. There is a reasonable probability that there is a very small, compact person out to kill me who can hide in a confined space, and is probably using a poisoned knife or darts. I don't see that we need make his task easy for him.”
“On the bright side, at least he'll be easy to spot in the crowd if he ventures into the open,” said Alice. “A dwarf is conspicuous.”
“Possibly,” said Mr Wooster thoughtfully. “Well, wherever he is, I don't propose to let him stop us eating. What do you fancy?”
“Would you think me terribly common if I said fish and chips?” asked Alice. “I've seen the pies. They look like mountains of stodge to me.”
“Fish and chips sounds like a perfectly reasonable lunch,” Mr Wooster assured her. “Let's go and get some.”
They were standing eating it, well clear of anywhere Little Reggie might be able to conceal himself, when Alice suddenly said, “Oh look, there's Herr von Luftschiff over there!”
“Good!” said Mr Wooster. “I was hoping he'd turn up sooner rather than later.” He peered through the crowds. “H'mm. He doesn't amble like that without a reason. I suspect he's keeping an eye on someone.”
“Reggie?”
“Could be. We don't know.”
Alice looked. “I can't see any dwarf. Maybe he's following the make-up man.”
“Yes, I can certainly see a point in getting him alone and asking him a few pertinent questions,” said Mr Wooster. “I don't know what he looks like, though, so I'm not sure.”
“Sally could have told us,” said Alice.
“She could, but it's hardly advisable for us to be seen standing around talking to her in the open. It's entirely possible that the Other's agent doesn't know about her. The Chatterjees didn't.”
“H'mm,” said Alice. “Incidentally, do you think she's really very strong, or do you think she's got some kind of spark devices?”
“That we may never know,” replied Mr Wooster, and added with a smile, “and I think it would be a little impolite to ask.”
Alice finished her meal, wiped her hands carefully on the napkin provided with it, and tossed it into the nearest waste bin along with the wrapper. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed. “There's that little girl again. I'm sure it's the same one.”
“Which one?”
“The chubby one in the blue flower print frock. She's coming this way. Excellent!”
“And so is Herr von Luftschiff,” said Mr Wooster. “Miss Davenport, I should be greatly obliged if you would go and stand over there and look as though you are trying to make up your mind whether or not to have your fortune told. And have your gun ready.”
Alice was baffled, but she knew better than to waste time asking questions. It was obvious that there was danger. The nature of that danger would no doubt become apparent much faster than she could get Mr Wooster to explain it to her. She went and stood by the fortune-teller's stall, as she had been instructed.
The little girl walked straight up to Mr Wooster. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Are you Mr Ardsley Wooster?”
Von Luftschiff strode up rapidly behind her, putting a huge clawed hand on her shoulder. “Und vy vould hyu vant to know dat?” he asked, conversationally.
“I... I've got a message... It's not for you, sir. You're not supposed to listen. It's private.”
“Ho ja,” said von Luftschiff. “Vould dat be anyting like de message hyu gave Mister Chatterjee de odder day?”
“I don't know what you're talking about! Let go.” The girl squirmed, but it was ineffective; von Luftschiff simply tightened his grip a little, very gently.
The girl's hands moved swiftly. Von Luftschiff was ready. He swung his free hand down in front of her. “Dat schtings,” he complained.
That was all Alice needed. She aimed swiftly, selected the stun charges, and fired. The little girl crumpled into a rather untidy heap, and von Luftschiff stood over her, inspecting the palm of his hand. It had a tiny thorn embedded in it, which he pulled out carefully.
“Hyu can't poison a Jäger,” he observed, to the world at large. “But dis is schtill annoying.”
“And here's what she did it with,” said Alice, picking up a little tube like a pea-shooter from the ground next to the unconscious child. She peered into it gingerly. “Oh, very clever! There's a little lever in it. You could fire one of those darts with a flick of the thumb, and if anyone happened to see it, well, children have pea-shooters, so nobody would think there was anything strange about it.”
Mr Wooster nodded. “About what I expected. So that was how Mr Chatterjee was killed. Keep that thorn safe, Herr von Luftschiff. We'll need to give it to the police. In the meantime, we'd better see if anyone has any calamine lotion.”
“Ottokar,” said von Luftschiff.
“Sorry?”
“Ottokar. Hy got a real Jäger name now.”
“Congratulations!” Mr Wooster turned to the crowd which was rapidly gathering. “No, it's all right, all of you. Everything is completely under control. She fainted. We'll ensure that she sees Dr Abercrombie as soon as possible.” He addressed another small girl. “Please run and find Strong Arm Sally, and tell her Mr Wooster says there's no need to do what was planned earlier.”
Von Luftschiff handed Alice the thorn. “Hyu better look after dis. Hy got to carry Liddle Miss Deadly here, und hy better use both hands.”
“Great Scott,” said Alice. “I'm really slow today. I should have realised much sooner. She's Reggie, isn't she?”
“Hyu bet she's Reggie. Dis is vot hyu can do ven hyu seeing a really goot make-up artist.”
Alice peered at the stunned face. “That is actually really astonishing. You have to look closely to see that she's... he's wearing make-up at all.”
Von Luftschiff nodded. “But he can't hide de fact dat he's more solid dan de average child, und he didn't hide dat frock as vell as he should have done. Hy saw it in de make-up tent, in a box vit some odder costumes. Hy recognised it from de odder day. Dat vos ven hy tvigged.”
He hoisted Little Reggie up in his arms. “Hokay, Mister Vooster. Vhere ve going first?”
* * * * *
The next few hours were, to say the least, somewhat crowded. The first thing they did was to take Reggie over to Dr Abercrombie's office where he could be conveniently searched while still groggy. This produced some small change and a little box containing several more of the tiny thorns, each one individually tucked into a nest of cotton wool. Dr Abercrombie did not have the equipment to analyse the thorns and said so, but he was confident that the police would. By this time, Reggie was starting to come round, but there was not a great deal he could do when covered by a Jäger on one side and an agent with a gun on the other.
“When you're quite ready to walk, we'll go to the police station,” said Mr Wooster. “It will help to dissipate the after-effects. And if you decide you're not up to walking, there are wagons here and I'm sure we can find someone to drive one, in the circumstances.”
“I can most certainly drive a wagon, if need be,” offered the doctor.
But they walked in the end, since Reggie, despite having a headache, had no wish to be any more conspicuous than he had to be. When they arrived, Sergeant Horne had gone off duty, and the engraved wooden wedge on the desk now read “P C TYSON”. P C Tyson was a large, amiable-looking young man with a round face and a slightly too-tight collar.
“Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “And what can I do for you?”
“Ah, good afternoon, Constable,” said Mr Wooster. “We've come about the Chatterjee case.”
“We came this morning and saw your colleague,” added Alice. “We said we'd bring you the real murderer. Well, we have.”
Tyson looked bewildered. “We arrested Mrs Chatterjee last night,” he said.
“Dat vos der problem,” said von Luftschiff. “Look. Hy see vot is going to happen here. Dere is going to be about half an hour of tok vhile everyvun gets unconfused. Hy get bored vit all dat, so vy don't hyu yust let me cut out de tok?” He reached into a pocket and produced a small jar of cold cream and a clean cloth. “Und before anyvun asks, hy borrowed dem from de make-up tent. Hy tought dey might be useful.”
Reggie shied away, but Alice had him covered. “You're not going anywhere,” she said.
“Really, miss, you can't go round threatening little girls...” Tyson began.
“Vot little girl?” retorted von Luftschiff. “Look.” He took a generous dollop of cold cream and wiped it over Reggie's face. “Oh, keep schtill. Hy not going to hurt hyu.”
Before the astonished eyes of the police officer, the “little girl” rapidly transformed into Reggie the dwarf. Von Luftschiff removed his wig as the final flourish, and tossed it onto the counter.
“And these are what we found on him,” said Alice, depositing the pipe and the darts next to the wig. “I suggest that you have someone analyse the poison on the darts and then investigate Mr Chatterjee's body for traces of it. All three of us can testify that he attempted to kill Mr Wooster at about a quarter past one using the same method.”
“But hy schtopped him,” said von Luftschiff proudly. “Hy took de dart in my hand. Hyu can't poison a Jäger.” He held out the hand for inspection; there was now quite a nasty lump around the wound.
Tyson looked defeated. “But does he have a motive?”
“He certainly does,” replied Mr Wooster, “but that will have to go in a statement, and the statement will need to be filed as classified information.” Once more, he produced his identity papers.
In the end, there were quite a lot of statements, since Constable Tyson called the duty sergeant, and the sergeant decided to send for Ernest, Sally and Dr Abercrombie to add their own accounts of the case. Ottokar von Luftschiff got exceedingly bored. But it was all over by about half past four, at which point the duty sergeant finally authorised the release of Mrs Chatterjee on bail. Mr Wooster happily signed the bail warrant.
“We won't be dropping the charges until the inquest has been conducted,” he explained. “I believe, from what you've said and what I've seen here, that the most likely explanation for Mr Chatterjee's death is the one you've presented. But we would be in a bad position if we were to drop the charges without getting medical confirmation of the cause of death. I'm sure you all understand that.”
Mr Wooster nodded. “I'm happy with that. As a matter of courtesy, would you mind sending me a telegram following the result of the inquest? My usual address is on the statement, of course.”
“Certainly, sir. We can do that.”
“And as for you,” said the sergeant, “Reginald Ellwood, I charge you with the murder of Prem Chatterjee, and you are under arrest.”
Constable Tyson coughed respectfully.
“Oh yes. And also the attempted murder of Ardsley Wooster.”
When Mrs Chatterjee was released, wearing an ornate black sari which blended Indian style with Western mourning traditions, there was a spontaneous cheer from the circus folk. “So you caught the real killer after all,” she said.
“Ve vorked as a team,” said von Luftschiff. “Dis is Mister Vooster. He vos in charge.”
“Miss Sally was also very helpful,” said Mr Wooster. “She was very anxious to catch the real killer. I commend her to you.”
Von Luftschiff nodded. “Ja.”
“Loyalty should always be rewarded,” said Mrs Chatterjee. “I shall be raising your wages, Sally.” She turned to Ernest. “And what about you? Where do you fit in?”
Ernest stammered something. “Please don't be hard on him,” said Mr Wooster. “Reggie forced him to do his make-up for him, and also a number of minor thefts. However, the police are quite satisfied that he was acting under duress, and that is why he hasn't been arrested as an accessory.”
Mrs Chatterjee nodded. “All right. I accept that. But I'm going to need a little talk with you on our own later, Ernest. Now that you're no longer under duress I should like you to be honest with me, and the more honest you are, the better it will go for you.”
Ernest swallowed. “Yes, madam.”
“Now. We are going back to the circus. I shall be in the ring tonight, naturally. Before that happens, there will be quite a lot of work to do, especially for you, Ernest. There will be a lot of performers looking for you in an increasing state of panic. You are going to have to pull off something approaching a miracle.”
The make-up artist suddenly looked a lot happier. “That I think I can do, madam.”
“Good. Mr Wooster, Miss Davenport, and Herr von Luftschiff, I am more grateful than I can possibly say. I am eternally in your debt, and I hope you will each accept, as a small token of my gratitude, two ringside tickets valid in perpetuity whenever you wish to attend the circus.”
“Thank you very much,” said Mr Wooster, bowing slightly.
“It is really the very least I can do. I quite probably owe you my life. Give your names at the gate when you come this evening. They will be there for you.”
Once the circus staff had left, Alice said, “Well. That could have got sticky.”
“Schpeaking of vhich,” said von Luftschiff, “hy could yust eat a Chelsea bun. Hy had to have lunch at de pub across de road, und hyu vill never guess vot dey gave me.”
“I suspect I will,” said Alice sympathetically. “Although I think we'd probably better get back home as soon as possible. The show starts at half past seven, so we'll need to have dinner early.”
“Is no hurry. Hy got two big casseroles going in de oven, very schlow. Vun vit meat, vun vit beans.”
“Mr and Mrs Greenwood will be delighted that they get free ringside seats,” said Mr Wooster. “But I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my spare ticket.”
“There's always the clank,” suggested Alice.
“Oh, der clank,” said von Luftschiff heavily. “Vit all de excitement, hy had managed to forget dat de schtupid ting exists. Now hyu go reminding me.”
“Does the clank need a ticket to the circus?” asked Mr Wooster, bemused.
“I think it probably does. For its mental health,” replied Alice firmly.
“Well... I suppose I don't know anyone else round here I could invite...”
“Hyu serious, aren't hyu?” said von Luftschiff. “Hyu actually going to take de clank.”
“Yes,” said Alice. “I am. So there.”
“Hooooo-kay. But hy not sitting next to it. So dere hyuself.”
So it was that, when Bertha rolled up and parked in the street outside the show field a little after seven that evening, there emerged both the Greenwoods, Mr Wooster, Alice, von Luftschiff, and Fitzroy the clank. The latter was still muttering incoherently, but the idea that it was being taken out for an evening's entertainment seemed to have sunk in at least to some extent, and it was noticeably calmer than it had been. They collected their tickets at the gate. Charles started to make a beeline for the coffee stall, but von Luftschiff called him back.
“Hyu don't vant dat stuff,” he warned him. “Believe me. Hy tried it. Is horrible.”
“It's coffee,” said Charles, hopefully.
“Darling,” said Hilde, “you are not going to need to invent anything during the circus. Now come on. If you're thirsty, there's a lemonade stall just there.”
“You don't actually know I'm not going to need to...”
“You are not going to need to. If anything goes wrong, we have some extremely solid protection.”
“What if...?”
“No,” said Hilde firmly. “If Herr von Luftschiff says the coffee is horrible, the coffee is horrible. I will take his word without question on any matter connected with food or drink. And I don't want you up all night with a stomach ache.”
“Hyu mind getting used to calling me Ottokar?” asked von Luftschiff, a little timidly.
“Sorry. Ottokar it is,” said Hilde. “I keep forgetting.”
They entered the great tent and were shown to their seats by an usher, who looked faintly askance at Fitzroy. Fitzroy eyed her back, and said, “Overwhelming gurgle in the knighthood disturbing the pennyroyal.”
The usher processed this, and came to a conclusion. “How many letters?” she asked, deadpan.
“It's not actually a word clue,” said Charles, apologetically. “I'm afraid Fitzroy has what you might call a few issues.”
“A few issues, notting,” muttered von Luftschiff. “Dat clank got a whole damned subscription.”
“You sit that end,” said Alice. “Fitzroy will sit at this end.”
“Amber game of the freak buffalo upon the sudden hay market,” observed Fitzroy.
“I'm sure there's a school of poetry that sounds a bit like that,” said Hilde, sitting down in the middle between Charles and Alice. Fitzroy was next to Charles, and Mr Wooster was on the other side of Alice, with von Luftschiff on the far end.
“Now that's a thought,” said Charles, enthusiastically. “A poetry clank! But I don't really want it to turn out that sort of thing. If I build an actual poetry clank, I shall want it at the very least to be able to turn out a decent sonnet.”
“Why would you actually need a poetry clank, darling?” asked Hilde.
“Oh, I wouldn't. But don't you think it would be fun? I suppose you wouldn't like one for your birthday, would you?”
“It's a very sweet thought, dear, but no, thank you.”
“Ven is hyu birtday?” asked von Luftschiff.
“It's in September. And Charles' is in March.”
“Is goot timing. Means ve all get birtday cake at least vunce every six months. Vot about hyu birtday, Alice?”
“October. What about yours?”
There was a pause.
“Hyu know,” said von Luftschiff, “hy got no idea. Hy can't remember.”
“Well, that's easily solved,” said Mr Wooster. “You can just have an official birthday from now on, like Her Majesty. When would you like it?”
“Hy tink,” said von Luftschiff, after a moment or two, “it ought to be today. Hy yust got my Jäger name. Dat's a big ting. But hy got no time to make a cake today, so maybe ve have der party tomorrow, ja?”
“Sounds like a perfect idea,” said Hilde. “Will you be able to stay for it, Mr Wooster?”
“I think so, as long as it doesn't go on too late,” replied Mr Wooster. “There is some rather urgent business happening in London just at the moment, but I will need to be here tomorrow anyway to tie up a few loose ends. Mrs Chatterjee isn't the only person who needs a long talk with Ernest. I'll have to find out exactly what he does and doesn't know.”
“I feel a bit sorry for Ernest,” said Alice. “It sounds as though Reggie gave him a bad time.”
“Yes, but I think he'll recover all right,” replied Mr Wooster. “He's got Sally to look after him, and she's got her head very well sewn on.”
They continued to chat until a massive drumroll heralded the start of proceedings. The band struck up a march, the curtains between the stands parted, and out rode Mrs Chatterjee on a magnificent grey horse. Tonight she was dazzling in a black salwar kameez heavy with gold zari embroidery and tiny mirrors. Behind her rode all the equestrian performers. As she rode to the centre, the others circled the ring to anticipatory applause. Mrs Chatterjee pulled herself gracefully up so that she was standing in the saddle, and bowed to the audience repeatedly as the horse revolved with delicate little steps. It was clear what she had been doing before she became ringmistress of her own circus.
“Thank you – thank you!” she called in a clear voice, as the band subsided. “It gives me very great pleasure to be here tonight. It's lovely to see you all here, and I hope you all enjoy what we have in store for you. And first of all, our talented equestrians are going to perform the Dance of the Steppes.”
The band launched into something that Mr Wooster correctly identified as Mussorgsky, and the show was under way. Sally came on next, causing much whispered speculation between the Greenwoods regarding what devices she might or might not be using, to the secret amusement of von Luftschiff. He had gathered in passing that she had deceived him in the matter of Baron Wulfenbach, but he did not hold that against her in the slightest. Agents, after all, were obliged to err on the side of caution. Nonetheless, he found it enjoyably ironic that he knew something about her that nobody else here did.
Sally was followed by the trapeze act, then the man with the performing Pomeranians (who spent quite a lot of time running round in elegant figures of eight and jumping over one another at the crossover point); and then there were the clowns. There was the clown on the stilts, and the clown with the unicycle, and a pair of clowns with enormously long shoes doing a sort of comic dance which must have taken incredible skill to avoid falling over each other's feet, and three clowns having an argument in mime involving a number of custard pies, and...
...and two clowns who juggled.
All the clowns were very good and deceptively well co-ordinated, but, for some reason, it was the jugglers who particularly attracted the attention of Fitzroy. Each of the jugglers started with three multi-coloured balls, and the comic part of the performance was that, every now and then, each of them would pretend to try to put the other one off by randomly throwing them an extra ball. The “victim” would then pull an exaggerated cross face, pretend to fumble for a moment, and then deftly incorporate the extra ball into their routine.
They had both got up to five when Fitzroy suddenly stood up with an excited fizzing noise. “What on earth is the matter?” asked Charles.
Fitzroy ignored him, strode towards the barrier, and vaulted over it into the ring. “Gott in Himmel,” said von Luftschiff. “Now vot? Hy told hyu dis vos a bad idea.”
The clank was making straight for the jugglers. There was some consternation in the audience. “I think you ought to do something, dear,” said Hilde.
“Er. Would you happen to have any constructive suggestions?” asked Charles.
Fitzroy stopped and politely held out a hand. The two clowns looked at each other, but if there is one thing a circus clown has to be good at, it is improvisation. The female one did a deliberately overdramatised shrug, and tossed him a ball.
“Thank you,” said Fitzroy. “More?”
The male clown tossed him another. Fitzroy thanked him, and started juggling the two, not a difficult manoeuvre. There was some laughter from the audience.
“Well, he's not actually doing any harm,” said Charles, a little doubtfully.
“No, but...” said Hilde.
The female clown seemed to consider for a moment, then experimentally threw the clank another ball. Fitzroy caught it neatly and brought it in as though he had been juggling all his life. This was starting to get interesting. The male clown threw a fourth, and then a fifth.
“I'm sure I didn't program him to do that,” said Charles, in puzzlement. “I think I'd have remembered.”
“He's really good,” said Alice.
Fitzroy was now juggling seven balls like a pro. The other clowns were all continuing with their acts, but even they were sneaking glances at the clank when they could get away with it. Seven, eight, nine, ten...
“He does look kind of happy,” said Charles.
“Does this sort of thing happen often?” asked Mr Wooster.
“Not really. Although I did once have a clank who... well, no, actually that's quite different, but remind me to tell you later.”
In the end, he got up to sixteen, and was only prevented from going any further by the inconvenient fact that they had run out of coloured balls. The audience applauded wildly. Not surprisingly, they had never seen a clank juggle before. It was with some difficulty that the clowns managed to explain to him that the act was now finished and he needed to stop; he was eventually persuaded, on the understanding that he would be allowed to do some more juggling backstage. He disappeared with his new friends through the curtain, and his old friends all exchanged glances.
“Well,” said Charles, a little stunned.
“There you are, dear! He's not such a failure after all,” said Hilde.
“I knew going to the circus would do him good,” said Alice.
“I wonder what Mrs Chatterjee will think?” said Mr Wooster.
“Hy knew it,” said von Luftschiff. “Mad as a box of frogs. But, hey, is goot if he happy.”
In less capable hands than those of the redoubtable Mrs Chatterjee, the rest of the circus could have turned out somewhat anticlimactic, but the ringmistress took everything in her stride as she always did. The equestrians turned out again before the interval for another complicated set piece, and then the second half opened with none other than Big Reginald, who had pulled a sword dance out of his sleeve, as it were. Whether he had kept it in reserve in case his stage partner was taken ill, or whether he had always had his suspicions of the dwarf and correctly predicted what had actually happened, nobody could tell; but the sword dance was certainly worth watching, and gained some extra impressiveness through being performed by a man who was well over seven feet tall.
Then came the Mighty Pythagoreans, who specialised in some remarkable formation acrobatics, culminating in their famous human pyramid. These were followed by a medley of magicians; at first the ring was full of them, making umbrellas vanish and producing a flurry of white doves and colourful silk scarves from apparently empty top hats. As the tricks became more complex and dramatic, the magical army gradually thinned down, until eventually only one magician was left, who performed the obligatory feat of sawing a gentleman in half. Von Luftschiff thought he recognised the young man who had been hanging the poster, and who had said he was a clown; that was quite likely, but, if so, it was quite impossible to tell which of them he was.
There followed the stunt velocipedists, and then some of the clowns came out a second time. Fitzroy was not among them. These clowns were doing a routine involving a long skipping rope, which was amusing and quite clever.
And then they withdrew, and another clown came on, pushing a wheelbarrow and leading... Fitzroy.
The wheelbarrow was full of green glass bottles. The clown threw three of them to Fitzroy, and the clank obligingly juggled them. Every few minutes, the clown picked up another one and threw it, and it joined the rest in the air. When the tenth one was thrown, the band, inevitably, launched into a spirited rendering of “Ten Green Bottles”, to much laughter and applause. But no green bottle accidentally fell, and Fitzroy got up to twelve in the end before signalling to his new assistant that this was plenty. He juggled them for a while, then let them down one by one, to be collected and returned to the wheelbarrow. As the clown pushed it away, a second clown arrived with a second wheelbarrow, this one containing wooden boomerangs.
A hush fell on the crowd. They had never seen anyone juggle boomerangs before. That was a whole new level of difficulty. Fitzroy calmly picked up the first one, sent it spinning over the heads of a section of the audience, and had the second one off before it returned.
Boomerangs were indeed difficult. He managed only seven of those.
“And now,” boomed Mrs Chatterjee, “the moment you've all been waiting for. I am very proud to introduce the great Madame Vesuvius, Tamer of the Flames!”
The great Madame Vesuvius was actually a scrawny, petite woman, and her figure-hugging outfit, while undoubtedly sensible from the point of view of fire safety, did nothing to help with this. But she had great confidence, flair and poise. Fitzroy did not leave the ring, but stood back politely next to Mrs Chatterjee while Madame Vesuvius performed an increasingly hair-raising selection of fire-breathing exploits.
“Vow,” said von Luftschiff. “Don't try dis at home.”
“You've seen them separately,” called Mrs Chatterjee. “But now, for the first time in history, you are going to see them together. Be amazed at Madame Vesuvius and Fitzroy the Juggling Clank!”
It was fair to say that most of the audience really was amazed. It was not just ringmistress hyperbole. Clowns came running in with torches. Madame Vesuvius lit them with her fiery breath, and they were then thrown to Fitzroy, who juggled them. He threw them quite high, and now and again one of them would go out, enabling Madame Vesuvius to direct a jet of flame into the air in order to relight it. While all this was going on, she still found time to perform some of her own special tricks, of which the most spectacular involved setting a large hoop on fire and skipping with it.
The applause was thunderous. The act led seamlessly into the finale, in which everyone came on a final time to collect the remaining plaudits, and there were plenty for everyone. As the audience got up to leave, Charles said, “Well, darling, I'm not quite sure what we ought to do now.”
“I am,” said Hilde. “I think we should go and find Mrs Chatterjee.”
They found her backstage in the end, exhausted but triumphant. She beamed in turn at Mr Wooster, Alice and von Luftschiff, mopping her brow with the edge of her silk dupatta.
“And to think,” she said, “if it hadn't been for you three, I should still be languishing in a cell. And you must be Mr and Mrs Greenwood? Delighted to meet you in person.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, and Fitzroy belongs to them.”
“But we'd be very happy to sell him,” added Charles quickly, privately thinking that Mrs Chatterjee was constitutionally incapable of languishing, even in a prison cell. “He's obviously so much happier with you than he was with us that it would be terrible not to.”
“Name your price,” said the ringmistress promptly. “He's a revelation.”
“Hyu bet,” muttered von Luftschiff. “Yust don't ever try to use him as a butler.”
“Oh, well, really, he's built out of spare parts,” said Charles. “We don't need much for him. Say ten guineas? That would cover both the parts and the cost of hiring someone temporarily to replace him.”
“I wouldn't rob you,” insisted Mrs Chatterjee. “He may not be worth much to you, but he's gold to me. I'll give you fifty, and I shall still feel I'm getting the better of the deal.”
“That's very generous of you,” said Hilde, “but you should really understand that he wasn't designed as a juggler. Charles built him as a butler originally, and he wasn't good at it.”
“Und dat is an underschtatement,” said von Luftschiff.
“He is what you might possibly call temperamental,” said Charles. “I'm afraid he has irrational fears and tends to talk nonsense at times.”
Mrs Chatterjee raised an eyebrow. “I'm a ringmistress. I have spent my entire life dealing with people who are temperamental. Some of them have irrational fears, and more than a few of them talk nonsense, especially when drunk.”
“Well, if you're sure it's not a problem...” said Hilde.
“It is not the slightest problem. He has an amazing natural talent, never mind whether or not you intended to give it to him. He said something earlier about it being just applied mathematics, although I'm not sure whether or not that counts as nonsense.”
Charles thought about it. “Well, yes, technically he's right, so that does suggest lucidity. But on the other hand, I've never met any other applied mathematician who could juggle, let alone like that.”
“It seems to work for him,” replied Mrs Chatterjee. “And he's obviously extremely happy doing it. I think this way everyone wins.”
“Even hy vin,” said von Luftschiff cheerfully. “Hy don't ever have to show him der vay to der laundry again.”
There was some laughter. Then von Luftschiff said, “Ho! Hy yust remembered. Today is my birtday, und tomorrow hy am having a party. Hy vould like to invite Sally. Vhere is she, please?”
“She'll probably be in her dressing room,” replied Mrs Chatterjee, “but if you wait outside, she should be with you soon enough. It's that way. You'll see her name on the door.”
The word “door” turned out to be something of an exaggeration; the dressing rooms for the major performers consisted of a set of curtained frames (the others having to change in a separate tent and slip in and out via a side entrance). Sally emerged from one of them after a few minutes, looking happy, as she well might. The show had gone down superbly well here.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Ottokar.”
“Ja. Ve yust been talking to Mrs Chatterjee. Hyu probably like to know she buying der clank.”
“I should hope so. He's extraordinary. Where did he learn to juggle like that?”
Von Luftschiff shrugged. “Ve got no clue. Even Charles got no clue, und he built him. Yust someting veird in his gears, hy suppose. Anyvay, hy didn't really come to talk about der clank. Hy came to say is my official birtday today, und hy having a party tomorrow. Vould hyu like to come along?”
Sally smiled. “Official birthday?”
“Ja. Hy forgot ven my original vun vos, und dis is de day hy got my new name, so is as goot a day as any.”
“Well, I'd love to if I can. When and where is it?”
“Is afternoon, so hyu should be able to yoin us. How about ve schtart vit lunch und den go on till about tea time? Und hy write down der address for hyu.” He found a scrap of paper and a pencil in his pocket, and scribbled it down. Hilde had made him a little gadget to help with writing and other finely co-ordinated hand tasks while he was getting used to his claws, but he found he could manage without it now. “Say about half past tvelve?”
“Thank you,” she said. “I'll be delighted to come.” She paused. “Er... who else will be there?”
“Charles und Hilde und Alice und Mister Vooster. Only hyu from de circus.”
“Oh... Mr Wooster.” She took a deep breath. “I probably ought to tell you I wasn't quite honest with you earlier. About the Baron, I mean. I'm not actually running away from him at all. It was just that...”
Von Luftschiff held up a hand. “Hy know. Is all right. Hy'd have done de same in hyu position.”
“You're quite sure you're not an agent?”
“Not alvays. Vot does Mister Vooster say?”
“He says you're not, but I think he'd quite like you to be one.”
“Hy been getting de same impression,” said von Luftschiff.
“I think you'd be good at it, for what that's worth,” said Sally.
“Hy don't know. Is tempting, but hy like vorking for Charles und Hilde. Dey really nize, even if dey a bit veird. Dey schparks. All schparks are a bit veird.”
Sally nodded. “You're not wrong about that. And some of them are quite a lot weird, but we won't go there. Not when we're talking about your birthday party.”
“Hy make a cake,” said von Luftschiff happily. “A big chocolate cake. Is my favourite.”
Sally smiled. “With candles? Actually, do you remember how old you are?”
“Hy been trying to remember dat. Hy tink hy somevhere in my late tventies or early tirties. But is not impawtent now. Is my first birtday as a Jäger. So, yust de vun candle.”
“That's lovely. I don't do birthdays now. I mean, I'm, what, maybe two hundred and thirty? I've lost count. And I've spent more than thirty years of that pretending to be human and having to act like a lady. Well, sort of a lady, at least. Certainly not a Jäger, anyway.” She sighed. “You know what? I'd really love a good fight. Haven't had one since I don't know when.”
Von Luftschiff's eyes gleamed. “Hyu vant a goot fight? Ja. Me too. Hy know a really nize qviet place out in de countryside vhere ve can bash seven bells out of each odder und nobody know. Vy don't ve vander off dere some time und take hyu liddle friend Ernest so he can patch up hyu make-up aftervards?”
“You tempter!” exclaimed Sally happily. “Yes, I think we should definitely arrange that.” She paused.
“You quite sure you're not trying to chat me up?” she enquired, archly.
* * * * *