“How did you know I was in Munich? It’s not printed on either of my palms.”
“Mr. Hitchcock, sparring verbally can be so wearying. We met in Munich one night; you and your wife were with Fritz Lang and his wife Thea. I was with Hans Albers, the actor. It was a very brief introduction. I was a mere child then and looked very pale and very washed out.”
“Your name wouldn’t happen to be Rosie Wagner, would it?”
“I hope not. It’s such an ordinary name. No, my name is really Lavinia. My friends call me Lola. I was with Albers because I was hoping he would help me with a movie career. But since I wasn’t easily seducible… then… nothing much came of that night except a much-needed meal. I’m sure you don’t remember me at all.”
“I met so many people in Munich, they become one large blur when I try to think back. But you’re quite memorable now.”
“What else would you like to know about the future?”
“I’d like to know the identity of a two-headed spy. “
“So would a lot of people.”
“Who do you work for?”
Her eyes widened with mock astonishment. “But I work right here for the Pechter Circus. Where they go, I pitch my tepee.”
“How long have you been with the circus?” His arms were folded, and he no longer found her glamorous.
“Not very long. Does it matter?”
“I understand you’ve lost your knife thrower.”
“I haven’t lost anyone. But yes, the knife thrower is missing.”
“He’s dead.”
“So? You also have mystical powers?”
“No, I have facts, received from Scotland Yard. Nicholas Haver was stabbed to death in the basement of the church in King’s Cross, shortly after he tried to kill me.”
‘Tm sorry to hear this about Nicholas. He had a marvelous act.”
“You can tell his agent he is no longer available.”
“You’ve already told his wife.” She was lighting another cigarette.
Hitchcock scratched his chin. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to shock you.”
“I’m not shocked,” she said matter-of-factly, “I read his palm before he went to London. I warned him not to go. His insurance is in order.”
“How very cold-blooded you are.”
“Mr. Hitchcock,” she said softly, after exhaling two slipstreams of smoke from her nostrils, “only the cold-blooded survive, and I am a survivor.” Gracefully, she arose and walked to the beaded curtain. She swept the curtain aside and turned to Hitchcock, making a tableau of sinister beauty he would not soon forget. “Let me tell you this. My predictions have been ninety percent accurate. Be very careful, Mr. Hitchcock. Be very very careful.” She moved, and the curtain dropped behind her. Hitchcock hurried out of the tepee.
“Be very very careful of what?” demanded Nancy Adair, with whom Hitchcock almost collided.
“You’ve been eavesdropping,” he accused, very displeased.
“I was doing no such thing. I was tired of waiting for you and I came to get you and I overheard. It’s getting late. We should be moving on.”
“Hello,” came a piping little boy’s voice.
Hitchcock looked behind him. He saw a small boy, or what appeared to be a small boy, dressed in a white shift that fell to his thighs, revealing bare knees and feet. On each shoulder was pasted a wing, and on his back Hitchcock could see a shaft of arrows. In his right hand, the boy held a bow.
“Hello. Where did you come from?”
“Over there. “ He pointed in the general direction of the tents. “My name is Cupid.”
“Ah! That explains your costume!” He turned on Nancy Adair. “Will you please stop tugging at my sleeve!” He returned his attention to Cupid. “And how are things going in the romance department?”
“Not so good today. I haven’t shot anyone yet. Have you seen the freaks?”
Hitchcock studied Cupid’s face. Was he a small boy or was he a small man who looked like a small boy? he wondered. “No, I haven’t seen the freaks.” The circus orchestra was blasting away, and the attendance seemed to have increased a bit since Hitchcock’s session in the tepee.
“You can’t go to the circus without seeing the freaks. There’s no extra charge.” He took Hitchcock’s hand and held it in an iron grip. “Come with me. I’ll show you the freaks. They’re my friends.”
Nancy Adair’s voice reached an unnatural pitch. “Let’s get out of here! There’s no time to see freaks or anything else!”
Cupid tightened his grip. “We seem to have no choice,” said Hitchcock. “You can wait here if you like.” She chose to follow them.
Herbert, eating a frankfurter and roll, munched slowly and thoughtfully. Instinctively, he patted his hidden holster. When the three disappeared into the freak tent, Herbert turned his attention briefly to the blackfaced musicians. Then he looked at his wristwatch. The performance in the main tent was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes. He hoped Hitchcock wasn’t planning to catch it. There were just a few hours of daylight left. He didn’t like driving at night. The frankfurter tasted awful. He flipped it into a trash can and returned his attention to the freak tent.
Inside the tent, Cupid said to Hitchcock, as Nancy Adair glowered at him, “Look!” He now released his grip on Hitchcock’s hand and was making an expansive gesture to include all the strange specimens on display. “Aren’t they wonderful?”
“Indeed they are,” agreed Hitchcock, as his eyes traveled from the pinheaded girl to the bearded lady to the India rubber man, whose body was twisted in a figure eight. Then he studied Alberta, the half-man-half-woman, the woman half winking at him and the man half poking the woman half while growling out of the masculine side of the mouth. A roustabout in a bellowing roar announced the show in the main tent would begin in fifteen minutes, and the tent began to empty of its sparse audience.
“Hitchcock,” urged Nancy Adair, “we’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
“You haven’t met my mother!” piped Cupid. “Come!” He held Hitchcock’s hand again in his viselike grip and tugged him forward. “Momma! Momma! Meet my new
