Case with 4 Clowns by Leo Bruce Page A

still,” ordered Beef. “Do you think you could tell us what happened?”
    â€œI think so,” said Anita, “I feel all right really. My back hurts a little, that’s all.”
    The clear voice of Eric, the proprietor’s son, rang out clearly from the big top, speaking some traditional clown’s patter with the Yorkshire accent he was assuming for the benefit of the crowd.
    â€™This morn I arose
    From my sweet repose.
    I goes
    Out among the trees that grows
    To shoot the crows,
    And meet one of my British foes.
    Anita’s story was substantially the same as her sister’s. She was a little embarrassed by my eye as she told of her suggestion to prolong the joke of mixed identity with me.
    â€œIt was only a joke,” she explained to Beef, although she looked at me with her eyebrows slightly raised, as if to see how I was taking it. “But Helen wouldn’t do it. She seemed a little cross with the idea, so I didn’t say any more.”
    We have some words that quickly come to blows;
    He hits me on the nose,
    Down I goes,
    Into the gutter where all the muddy water flows.
    Eric’s voice seemed to be forcing its way through tears as he told of this fictitious tragedy. Then came the unvalorous sequel, the man who knows he is bested and does the commonsense thing about it.
    Up I arose,
    Straight home I goes,
    I takes off my wet clothes—
    â€œAnd then,” said Anita, “just as I was taking off my things I happened to glance up into the little mirror over the bed. I saw Helen’s arm, with a knife, coming down towards me. I tried to move, but it was too late. Then I suppose I must have fainted.”
    â€œThat move you made,” commented Beef, “just about saved your life.”
    Helen gave a low soft moan at these words and looked across at her sister. Anita stretched out her hand, and Helen suddenly went across to the bed, kneeling against the side of it, and buried her face in Anita’s shoulder.
    â€”And into bed I goes.
    I turns up my toes,
    I tallows my nose,
    I has a sweet repose—
    And that’s all I knows.
    There was a light tapping sound on the door of the wagon and the head of Mrs. Jackson looked nervously in.
    â€œCan I came in, Mr. Beef?” she asked. “I brought some tea. I thought the two girls could do with a cup. I always say it steadies you when anything goes wrong.”
    Beef motioned her in.
    â€œThere,” said Mrs. Jackson, giving the two girls a cup each, “drink it up. You’ll feel much better. Really,” she went on half-turning to Beef and me, “I don’t know what’s coming over the circus these days. What with one thing and another. First we have Mr. Beef here. I don’t know what Mr. Jackson is about. And then this talk of murder …”
    â€œMurder?” said Helen suddenly. “Who’s been talking about a murder?”
    â€œOh, it’s nothing to do with you, dear, I’m sure. As if anyone would think about a thing like that. No, it’s something that silly boy Albert Stiles has been spreading about. As if anyone couldn’t see he was having his leg pulled.”
    Is that ALL you know?
asked the level voice of Jackson from the big tent.
    No,
said Eric,
    That’s not all I know
    I knows,
    And you knows,
    And everybody else knows,
    Mrs. Jackson stopped talking abruptly when she heard her husband’s voice, as if she were afraid of interrupting him. She was a small slight woman, on whom the circus life appeared to have had its effects. Nervous, so that her hands seemed to flutter continually from her lap to her hair without ever doing anything useful when they got there. She had the startled look of one of those who have grown used to bullying and sought now only to avoid it. Her white lumpy face was kind and showed concern easily.
    That a nice beef steak
    And a nice mutton chop
    Makes a hungry man’s mouth
    Go flipperty-flop—
    like a