After “The Incumbent Invalid” there was a brief period when little came Holme’s way and he soon began to complain that his practice was “degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools,” an attitude which coloured his initial feelings about the case that became “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches”. Despite the success of that case matters again went quiet and it is probably during his period that Holmes became more open in his use of cocaine for stimulation. Watson refers to it in. “The Yellow Face”, a case which arose in the spring of 1886 and which was one of Holmes’s few recorded failures. Holmes was clearly in the doldrums during this period.
But matters soon began to improve. We find from the summer of 1886 cases begin to tumble one on top of another and Watson again found trouble keeping a record of them all. The American writer and scholar of crime, Edward D. Hoch, is renowned for his mystery stories, and he has occasionally turned a hand to writing stories featuring Sherlock Holmes. These are mostly of his own invention, but his interest in the circus caused him to stumble upon some records which helped us piece together the case later referred to by Watson about Vittoria, the Circus Belle.
My friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, upon looking through his fabled index of past cases, took occasion to remind me that I have never recorded the remarkable affair of Vittoria, the Circus Belle. My only excuse for this dereliction is that the summer of ‘86 had furnished us with a long series of interesting cases and somehow my notes for this one became buried among them. There was also an aspect of the case which was slightly embarrassing.
Certainly by that year Vittoria was known even to those who never attended a circus. In America during the year 1880 a rival of Barnum and the Ringling Brothers named Adam Forepaugh came up with a unique idea for promoting his tent show. Forepaugh was one of the circus world’s most picturesque characters, forever coming up with new schemes. Inspired by America’s first beauty contest held at a beach in Delaware, he sponsored a competition with a $10,000 prize for the country’s most beautiful woman, resulting in the selection of Louise Montague as the winner. Forepaugh promptly hired her to ride in his circus parade and proclaimed her as “the $10,000 beauty”.
It did not take long for a similar promotion campaign to take root in England. In 1882 the Rover Brothers, who imagined themselves to be our British version of the Ringlings, launched their own contest for the loveliest young woman in the country. The winner was Vittoria Costello, a young shopgirl who was immediately transformed into “Vittoria, the Circus Belle”. When her likeness began to appear regularly on circus handbills and posters there was some grumbling about the similarity of her given name to that of Her Majesty, but it was the young woman’s true name and she could not be prevented from using it.
This was all either Holmes or I knew about her when Mrs Hudson announced an unscheduled visitor – a veiled young woman – on a sunny morning in early August. “Show her up by all means!” Holmes instructed, putting down his pipe and rising to greet our visitor. “Clients who attempt to conceal their identity always intrigue me!”
After a few moments we were joined by the woman herself. She was tall and willowy, dressed in a black riding costume with hat and veil. I could barely distinguish her features through the double layer of netting. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr Holmes,” she said. “Be assured it is a matter of utmost urgency that brings me here.”
“Pray be seated, madam. This is my friend and associate, Dr Watson. We are at your service.”
She took the chair opposite the door, as if fearful of someone who might be following her. “Mr Holmes, I believe my life to be in great danger.”
“And why do you think that, Miss Costello?”
Her body jerked in surprise at his words. I admit I was surprised myself. “You know me?” she asked. “We have never met.”
“Your veiling implies that your face would be known, and I note the unmistakable odor of tanbark about you, suggestive of a circus ring. No, no – it is not an unpleasant odor. It brings back memories of childhood. I believe there is even a bit of the bark itself clinging to your riding boot.” My eyes were drawn to her boot, almost as large as my own, and to the trim calf that showed beneath her skirt. “Since the Rover Brothers Circus is the only one in the London area at the present time, and since Vittoria the Circus Belle rides in their parades, it seemed obvious to me that you were Vittoria Costello. Please continue with your story.”
She lifted the veil, revealing a face of striking beauty. Her eyes, though troubled, still sparkled with youth and her hair had the shimmer of ravens’ wings. The sketches on the circus posters hardly did her justice. “I had heard of your remarkable powers, Mr Holmes, but you astonish me. As you may know from the newspaper accounts, I was employed by Hatchard’s bookshop on Piccadilly when friends persuaded me to enter the Rover Brothers’ contest. I never thought I would win, and when I did I’ll admit I was a bit reluctant to give up my old life and become Vittoria, the Circus Belle.”
Holmes retrieved his pipe and studied her with piercing eyes. “I admit to knowing very little about circuses. Exactly what duties do you perform with the show?”
“When the Rovers hired me directly after the contest, they said I only had to ride a horse in the circus parade, and perhaps once around the ring at the beginning and end of the shows. Of course until recently circuses were mainly equestrian events, with a clown providing some acrobatic comedy and joking with the ringmaster between riding demonstrations. Now things are changing. P. T. Barnum in America has a tent that will hold twenty thousand spectators and has three rings, after the American custom. Astley’s here in London has a permanent building with a large scenic stage for horses and other animals. The trapeze acts introduced by the French gymnast Leotard are becoming increasingly popular with many circuses. And they say the Hagenbecks will soon introduce a big cage for wild animal acts.”
“You know a great deal about your profession,” Holmes murmured.
“It may not be my profession much longer, Mr Holmes. You see, the Rover Brothers suggested last year that I develop some sort of talent to enhance my image, something besides my horsemanship. They even suggested I might try tightrope walking or snake handling. I was horrified by both suggestions. This spring they put me into a knife-throwing act with a Spaniard named Diaz.” She showed us a slight scar on her left forearm. “This is what I received from it, and just during the rehearsal!”
“Is that what has brought you here?”
“Hardly! There is another young woman with the circus, an acrobat, who feels she should have the title of Circus Belle. Her name is Edith Everage. She has suggested several times that I leave my position and now I believe she is trying to kill me.”
“Has there been an actual attempt on your life?”
“Two, in fact. A week ago yesterday, when the circus played at Stratford, a horse I was riding tried to throw me.”
Holmes waved his hand. “A common enough occurrence.”
“Someone had placed a burr beneath my saddle. When my weight pressed it into the animal’s flesh he started to buck. Luckily there were people nearby to rescue me.”
“And the other attempt?”
“Much more serious. Two days ago, shortly before the Monday afternoon performance in Oxford, the knife-thrower Diaz was poisoned. You may have seen it in the papers. The poison was in a water bottle I used between rides. I’m convinced it was meant for me.”
“The knife-thrower died?”
“Yes. It was horrible!”
“Where is the circus playing now?”
“They’re setting up in Reading for a performance tomorrow afternoon. A new tiger is arriving with its keeper tonight. I fear they might want me to perform with it and I’m afraid for my life, Mr Holmes.”
“The two earlier incidents may have no relation to each other. Still, I have not attended a circus since my youth. What say, Watson? Shall we journey to Reading tomorrow for the big show?”
We caught a mid-morning train at Paddington station. The weather was warm for his usual traveling-cloak and he wore simple tweeds. As was his custom, Holmes read through several papers during the journey, expressing pleasure when he came upon an account of Diaz’s death in Oxford. He had died from poisoning but no further details had been given by the Oxford police.
“Perhaps it was an accident,” I ventured. “She may be worried about nothing.”
“We shall see, Watson.” He put down the last of the papers as the train was pulling into Reading Station. Off to the right we could see King’s Meadow where a circus tent had been erected. Already carriages and strollers were heading in the direction, and there were children gathering at the animal enclosures.
The first thing we saw on alighting from the train was a large wall poster for the Rover Brothers Circus featuring Vittoria, the Circus Belle. A banner had been pasted across the bottom corner of the poster announcing a new wild animal act with a man-eating tiger, to be introduced that very afternoon. Having now seen Vittoria in person I was reminded again of how little the drawing revealed of her true charm and beauty. Holmes studied it for a moment before we continued to the street, where he hailed a carriage to take us the short distance to the circus grounds.
Vittoria had arranged that two admission tickets would be left for us at the box office. As we passed through the main gate I caught the odor of tanbark, so slight on our client but now bringing with it my own memories of childhood. “You’re right, Holmes,” I said. “There is a pleasant, nostalgic smell about a circus.”
A small tent near the entrance bore a sign indicating it was the office of the Rover Brothers Circus, and Holmes made for it without hesitation. A slender dark-haired young man with a bushy mustache was at work inside, scanning the pages of a ledger. “Mr Rover, I presume?” Holmes addressed him.
The man looked up with a scowl. “Mr Charles Rover. Do you want me or Philip?”
“Either one will do. I am Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr Watson. One of your star performers, Vittoria, has invited us here to investigate the suspicious death of the Spanish knife-thrower known as Diaz.”
Charles Rover grunted with something like distaste. “Nothing suspicious about it! An accident!”
“Vittoria believes he was poisoned and that the poison was meant for her.”
“Who would want to kill that sweet child? She is the star of our show!”
“Then we have come here for nothing?” Holmes asked.
“It would seem so.”
“Since we have made the journey from London, perhaps we could speak with some others – your brother Philip, if he’s available, and one of the acrobats, Edith Everage.”
Charles Rover consulted his pocket watch. “It’s noon already. By one o’clock we will be preparing for the afternoon performance. See who you wish before one, then be gone.”
“Where might we find Miss Everage?”
“In the main tent, rehearsing her act. We are introducing an Indian tiger into the show today, and the timing must be adjusted accordingly.”
I followed Holmes as we left Rover and headed for the main tent. Along the way food venders were beginning to set up their wares and a pair of brightly painted clowns were inspecting each other’s greasepaint. With the gates open, the trickle of arrivals was building to a steady flow, exploring the sideshows but not yet allowed into the main tent. Holmes and I ignored the signs and slipped through the closed tent flap.
In the big circus ring a half-dozen acrobats, clad in the tight-fitting garments developed by Leotard, were tumbling, somersaulting and cartwheeling. One was even swinging from a trapeze. When they came to rest for a moment, Holmes asked the nearest of the women, “Are you Miss Edith Everage.”
“Edith!” she called out to one of the others, a brown-haired girl who appeared to be of school age. Her fine figure in the skin-tight garment made me blush as she walked up to us, though her face seemed too hardened for one so young.
“You want me?” she asked with a trace of London cockney in her voice.
Holmes introduced himself and came directly to the point. “We are investigating the recent attempts upon the life of Vittoria Costello, the so-called Circus Belle. Do you know anything about a riding accident?”
“The horse threw her. That wasn’t an attempt on her life.”
“She thought it was. And what about the poisoning of Diaz?”
Edith Everage shook her head. “They say that was an accident.”
“Didn’t he cut her once during his knife-throwing act?”
“Naw. They were thick as thieves.”
“But you would like to replace her as the Circus Belle.”
“I deserve it! I worked for the Rovers since I was fifteen. I’m even learning to do a trapeze act. They hired her with no experience at all, just because she won that bleedin’ contest. And Mr Philip, he makes sure she treats him nice, if you get what I mean.”
While they talked a cage had been wheeled into the ring. Though its bars were covered with canvas the growls emanating from inside left no doubt that the tiger had arrived. The trainer, armed with a whip, and a man in a frock coat accompanied the cage. Even at a distance I could recognize an older version of Charles Rover. Holmes must have had the same impression, for he asked her, “Is that Philip Rover?”
“It is,” Edith acknowledged. “It’s a wonder we ever see him, between Vittoria and that blonde doxy he brings on the road with him.”
“Who would that be?”
“Milly Hogan. She was in a show at the Lyceum Theatre once and she considers herself above mere circus performers. She usually stays in his tent during the performance, but I saw them out playing with the new tiger this morning.”
“All right,” Philip Rover called to the acrobats. “Everyone out of the ring. We’re going to start letting the crowd in soon. I want them to see nothing but that cage as they take their seats.”
Edith hurried off with the others and Rover turned his attention to us. “You must be Sherlock Holmes. My brother told me you were in here, but for the life of me I can’t imagine why. That Spaniard’s death was an accident. The poison bottle had been prepared to dispose of an aging python. Diaz drank it by mistake.”
“Your star, Vittoria, tells a different story. She fears for her life. Does she have any enemies here?”
“None,” Philip Rover assured us.
“What about Edith Everage?”
“Everage? She’s one of the acrobats, isn’t she?”
“So I understand,” Holmes told him. “Was she ever considered for billing as the Circus Belle?”
“Edith Everage? Certainly not! We ran a nationwide contest to choose a beautiful woman for the part. Vittoria was the winner. Edith was never considered.”
“Yet there have been two attempts on Vittoria’s life, possibly by Edith.”
“Did you get these ideas from my brother?” Philip asked, anger beginning to show on his face. “I must tell you our Circus Belle is a popular woman with the younger men here.”
“Including Charles?” Holmes studied the man with his piercing gray eyes, but before he could say anything else there came a shout from the direction of the tiger’s cage.
Philip Rover turned and started toward one of the clowns who’d yelled. “What is it?” he barked.
The clown came running over, trying to keep his voice low. “Mr Rover, something’s wrong! I just looked under the canvas and Vittoria’s in there with the tiger. I think she’s dead.”
The minutes that followed were a nightmare. Pushing the great beast back with long poles, the handlers finally were able to unlock the cage and pull the body out of its grasp. As a physician it fell upon me to examine Vittoria’s body when it was removed from the cage. I had no trouble-pronouncing her dead, but the sight of that clawed, bloody face, with the dress virtually torn from her body, moved me to a great sadness. From her tiny feet to a gaping wound in her neck, there were claw marks everywhere.
Holmes watched it all in silence, and did not speak until I had finished my examination. “What do you think, Watson? Did the tiger kill her or not?”
It was not the first time I had found Holmes’s reasoning a step ahead of my own. My eyes focused on the gaping neck wound. “His claws couldn’t have made a wound like that and there seems to be no blood on his jaws or teeth.”
“Exactly my thought! The woman was already dead when she was placed in the cage. It was covered with canvas and the killer expected it would not be found until show time.” He turned to a pale Philip Rover. “Who had a key to this cage?”
“Only the animal’s trainer. And I keep a spare one in my tent.”
“Does your brother have one?”
“I don’t think so.”
Charles Rover joined us then, summoned by the ringmaster. “What happened here?” he asked.
“Someone killed Vittoria and put her body in the tiger’s cage,” his brother told him.
“My God! Should we cancel the afternoon performance?”
Philip Rover scoffed at the idea. “We have five hundred people out there already, with more arriving every minute. The show will go on, but get this tiger cage out of here. The police will want to examine it.”
I could see something was troubling Holmes, beyond the traumatic fact of the crime itself. “Did you gentlemen carry any insurance on the life of Vittoria Costello?” he inquired.
Philip brushed aside the question. “We have enough other expenses. I know of no circus that insures its performers. Why would you ask that?”
“In a death where there has been facial injury, one has to be certain of identification. Fraud of some sort is always a possibility.”
“Go and look at the body,” Philip told his younger brother. “Assure Mr Holmes of its identity.”
Charles returned after a moment, the blood drained from his face. “It’s Vittoria,” he assured us. “There’s no doubt. The ringmaster identified her too.”
Sherlock Holmes nodded. “Then we must go about finding her killer.”
“The circus isn’t hiring you,” Philip stated quite clearly. “This is a job for the local police.”
“Ah! But they did not do well in Oxford, did they? The death of the Spaniard is still unsolved.”
“I told you about that,” Philip insisted. “It was an accident. We have no money for you, Mr Holmes.”
“I was hired by Vittoria Costello to protect her,” he informed them. “Now I must find her killer.”
“Hired?” the younger brother repeated. “How is this possible?”
“She came to my lodgings in Baker Street yesterday, and told me of the incident with the horse and the poisoning of Diaz in Oxford. She feared the killer would succeed on his third attempt.” He repeated some of what she had told us.
“But this is untrue!” Philip insisted. “She fell off that horse, as she had done before. And I have already told you the Spaniard’s poisoning was a simple accident on his part. The poison was meant for a sick python.”
“Why would she lie?” Holmes asked. “It would seem her death is all the evidence we need that she told the truth.”
But the Rovers were already hurrying away to meet the police.
A short time later, while the body was being removed through the big top’s rear entrance, the spectators were finally allowed inside. There was a buzz of speculation among them. They had seen the police wagon draw up, and they knew something was amiss. Holmes and I took seats near the front of the grandstand, waiting for some sort of announcement. When it came it was vague and brief. The ringmaster held up his megaphone, a voice amplifier from America, and announced, “Welcome to the Rover Brothers Circus! Due to an unfortunate accident, Vittoria the Circus Belle will not appear at this performance. Settle back and enjoy the show!” There were some groans from the spectators.
First came the clowns, followed by the team of acrobats with some tumbling and trapeze acts. The middle portion of the show was devoted to the traditional equestrian performers. If Edith Everage had been responsible for Vittoria’s death she showed no evidence of nervousness as she went through her acrobatics with split-second timing. Finally the tiger cage was wheeled back out to the center of the ring and an animal trainer brought out the magnificent tiger for all to see. There was no hint that the beast had been clawing at a woman’s body only an hour or so earlier.
The performance ended with a fine equestrian display, the riders carrying flags representing Britain and its colonies. As the crowd headed for the exits I asked Holmes what we should do next. “There seems to be nothing more we can learn here,” I said.
“You are correct that we have learned everything we need to, Watson. I direct your attention especially to the curious incident of the tiger in the morning.”
“What curious incident? The tiger did nothing in the morning.”
“That was the curious incident,” said Holmes.
There was no way that the death of Vittoria could be hushed up or passed off as an accident. She had been killed and placed in that tiger cage. Both suicide and accident were out of the question. By the following morning the press had linked her murder with that of Diaz and the word was out that the famous consulting detective Mr Sherlock Holmes was on the case. The Rover Brothers Circus had been detained in Reading pending further investigation.
Holmes and I had taken a room for the night at the railroad hotel by the station. We had barely finished breakfast the following morning when Charles, the younger of the Rover Brothers, arrived to see us.
“I must speak with you about this terrible business,” he said, pulling up a chair to join our table. “Philip and I want to hire you. He’s had a complete change of heart on the matter.”
Holmes smiled. “I already have a client. Vittoria Costello.”
“I’ve found the dead aren’t too prompt in paying their bills, Mr Holmes. We want this business wound up as quickly as possible.”
“Very well,” he replied. “Will this afternoon be soon enough?”
Charles Rover was taken aback. “Do you mean that you have solved the mystery already?”
“I believe so. Are you performing this afternoon?”
“Since the police are delaying our departure we have added a performance at two o’clock.”
“Very good. Please hold tickets for Watson and myself.”
When he had gone I turned to my friend in amazement. “You intend to reveal the killer this very day?”
“I need only one further piece of evidence and the case will be complete.” He finished his tea and rose from the table. “Come, Watson! The game is afoot.”
We arrived at King’s Meadow shortly after one. The publicity had attracted a crowd but they were mainly adults. The expected audience of children had been kept away by fear of further violence. We could see why the Rover Brothers needed help. Once inside the gate Holmes surprised me by not heading toward the main tent. Instead he detoured to the smaller tents where the Rover Brothers stayed. Philip Rover was just emerging from his tent with a blonde young woman who seemed vaguely familiar. She wore a long green dress and gloves, more suited to a night at the theatre than an afternoon at the circus.
“Holmes!” Philip said, perhaps a bit startled by the encounter. “I want you to meet my friend Milly Hogan.”
I remembered the Everage girl’s description of her as Philip’s blonde doxy who traveled with him but rarely attended the performances. Sherlock Holmes reached out as if to shake her hand, but at the last moment suddenly grabbed her left wrist instead.
“What is this?” she asked with a gasp of fright. Already he was pulling up the sleeve on her forearm, revealing a small scar, faint but visible. We had seen it before.
“I believe we meet again, Miss Hogan. You came to my rooms in Baker Street on Tuesday posing as Vittoria Costello, as part of your plot to murder that young lady.”
Both the Reading police and the Rover Brothers themselves demanded explanations, and Holmes was only too glad to supply them. We had adjourned to Philip’s tent while Milly Hogan was being questioned elsewhere, and he began by describing her visit to us.
“The black wig was nothing to an actress, of course, nor was the assuming of Vittoria’s character. If her plan went well we would never meet the real Vittoria so no comparisons would be made. Perhaps she had even intended to keep her face veiled until I guessed, wrongly, at her identity. As it was, both Watson and I noted how little she resembled the drawing on the posters, but we thought little of it. I believe the death of Diaz was indeed an accident, but it must have suggested the entire plan to her. She came to me two days later with her story of the previous attempts on Vittoria’s life. Her whole point was to have me present the following day when the real Vittoria was killed, supposedly by the tiger the circus had just acquired.”
I remembered his words of the previous evening. “You said the tiger did nothing in the morning, Holmes.”
“And he did not. We established quickly enough that Vittoria was killed before being placed in the cage, but that still meant the murderer had to open the cage to do it. Opening the cage of a strange tiger, only just arrived with its trainer would be a highly dangerous undertaking. The fact that the tiger did nothing to attract attention meant that the person who opened the cage was no stranger to him. The trainer could be ruled out. He only just arrived the night before and would hardly have had a motive for killing Vittoria. But Edith Everage saw you, Philip, along with Milly, playing with the new tiger yesterday morning. That was probably no more than an hour or two before the murder. The tiger knew and remembered Milly.”
“This whole thing is ridiculous!” Philip insisted. “The tiger cage was outside of our tents, in full view. How could Milly or anyone else have killed Vittoria and placed her body in there without being seen?”
“The cage may have been in full view, but it was covered with canvas. I would guess that Milly lured Vittoria out there to see the new tiger. Once under the canvas for a better look, Milly stabbed her in the throat before she could scream, then opened the cage and pushed her in. You told us, Philip, that you had an extra key to the cage in your tent.”
“Why would she do it? What was her motive?”
“The Everage woman told me you were fond of both of them. Jealousy has led to more than one murder. Of course Milly planned to pin the crime on Everage, which is why she came to us impersonating Vittoria.”
I asked a question now. “How did you know, Holmes? After all, you deduced our client was Vittoria and then canceled out your own deduction.”
“I was deceived, Watson, until we pulled Vittoria’s body from the tiger cage and I noticed her tiny feet. The woman who called on us in London had feet as big as yours, as you must have noticed. Foot sizes don’t change overnight, so I knew it was a different woman. When Philip and Charles and others assured us the body was Vittoria’s, that meant it was an impostor who’d visited us. I asked myself who it could have been, and the answer was obvious. The impostor had to be Vittoria’s killer, or a close accomplice. We learned that the extra key to the tiger cage was kept in Philip’s tent, where Milly Hogan also stayed. And we learned that Philip and Milly were playing with the new tiger yesterday morning. Milly had been an actress, performing at the Lyceum Theatre in London. And Milly had reason to be jealous of Vittoria. Such a motive made it unlikely that you were involved, Philip. If the two of you were close enough to plot a murder, she would have had no reason for jealousy in the first place. I also felt certain that if you had wanted to kill Vittoria you would have done it away from the circus grounds so as not to harm business. And surely you would not have insisted Diaz’s death was accidental if you were party to a plot to link the two deaths as a double murder.”
It was later, on the train back to London, after Milly Hogan had confessed, that I remarked to Holmes, “We never did meet Vittoria, the Circus Belle.”
“No,” he agreed. “But we met Milly Hogan twice, and in my profession I find a murderess more fascinating than a Circus Belle.”