The Circus Stealers by Harry Stephen Keeler

Author:Harry Stephen Keeler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, detective, sleuth, murder, classic
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2017-03-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIII

STEP NUMBER II—THE PERFECT PLAN

The boy, seated against the wall, was clumsily but fascinatedly essaying the pass. DiValo stood there, hesitating, wanting, as an expert and dexterous sleight-of-hand performer himself, to correct a couple of false moves in it, but decided that this could eat up countless time explaining, demonstrating, demonstrating, explaining.

“See you later, kid,” was all he said. And turned to the trailer door.

But, hand on door, he looked back.

“In case anybody does come in in the next ten minutes, and has to see me, tell ’em your little story, and say that I’m over talking to Harry the Man With the Golf-Ball Eye. Perfecting Step Number II of a piece of ingenious legerdemain of which Step Number I will be carried out today at Middle Point, Old Twistibus!” He grimaced. “Of course, this is all Greek to you, and you couldn’t remember it, even if you knew what it meant; so you just tell anyone who might want to see me, that I’m with Harry, the Man With the Golf-Ball Eye. Can you remember that?”

“Harry,” rumbled the boy. “Harry, th’ Man With th’ Golfy-Ball Eye.”

“Perfect,” said DiValo. “I don’t hardly think anybody will come buzzing around, however. All right, watch your step-ins!”

With which, opening the trailer door, he stepped down into the “lot”, closing the trailer door expertly behind him as he did so.

The “lot”—rather, that part of it devoted to housing all the wheeled vehicles of the Biggest Little-Circus on Earth, otherwise the MacWhorter Shows—all, that is, except those larger and more garish ones, including MacWhorter’s own giant trailer, that made up the formidable “show-front wall” out on the Foleysburg Road—was still in considerable confusion. Garish red and gilt panel-covered “wagons” stood about, pointed in various directions, and some of the heavier ones had made deep ruts in the loamlike black dirt. Along each side of the square space were two lines of trailers, known as Trailer Train 1, and Trailer Train 2, each with its powerfully-motored engine vehicle in front—and known, those lead-vehicles, respectively as Old Huff’n Chuff and Old Poof Whoof—and with, at no less than two points in each trailer train, a special trailer with front wheels as well as rear ones—front wheels which, moreover, were turnable by a steering wheel, by a man on a small seat affixed to the front wall of the 4-wheel trailer, so that the whole line of trailers could follow the most devious of roads when either Old Huff’n Chuff—or Old Poof Whoof—turned sharply off one road onto another, or threaded in and out on the same road.

Off a distance from all the vehicles, and trailers too—and resplendent in silver, gilt and bright scarlet—the scarlet spelling danger from flame!—and guarded, even now, by a worker, was the tank car which always travelled along, and protected the gas supply for the whole procession: Henry Sinclair as that tank car was called!

Further beyond the area where all this parking had taken place, the Big Top was going up—had gone

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