The Siamese twins stepped forward in unison. They were joined at the side. The sign over their stage read
HELGA AND LISLTHE SIAMESE TWINS.
Helga shouted to Cupid, “Stop pulling that man like that! Behave yourself!”
Hitchcock’s jaw dropped, and Nancy Adair gasped. Hitchcock found his voice. “So this is your mother.”
“Yes, I’m his mother,” said Helga, one hand on her one hip, “and it wasn’t easy. This is my sister, Lisl.” Lisl didn’t seem any too friendly and did not acknowledge Hitchcock’s greeting. “Lisl is in a very bad mood. She’s just heard some very bad news. A good friend of ours was murdered.” Slowly, the Siamese twins were descending the stairs from the stage. “I believe you know about this, yes?” Her accent was strong and Germanic, and Hitchcock had the sinking feeling that when and if the others spoke, they too would favor him with a Teutonic lilt.
“If you mean Nicholas Haver, yes; I told Madame Lavinia. “
“Let’s get out of here,” hissed Nancy Adair in his ear. “We’re alone with them. I don’t like it in here. These people are dangerous.” They were backing away toward the tent flap. Cupid tried to grab Hitchcock’s hand again, but Hitchcock pushed it away.
From the left, an ugly voice said, “You were responsible for his death.” It was the bearded lady who spoke. Hitchcock suspected the bearded lady was a bearded man, but this was no time to try to prove his theory right.
“I was not,” said Hitchcock, trying to mask the rising panic. They were almost at the exit, and Hitchcock hurried Nancy toward it. He half expected to see Cupid drawing an arrow at them but instead saw the freaks had stopped in their tracks, no longer following them with menace.
In the entrance stood the roustabout who was dressed as an American Indian. He shouted at Cupid and the freaks, “Get back, you sons of bitches, are you out of your minds? Get back! You! Frieda!” He was shouting at the Bearded Lady, who, Hitchcock now saw, was holding a weapon that looked like a truncheon. “Don’t make any trouble, Frieda.” Perhaps, thought Hitchcock, Frieda was a “she” after all, but from the way she held the weapon, definitely not a lady. “Go put your beard up in curlers! The rest of you get to your tents. Go on. You, you little bastard”—the roustabout was addressing Cupid, who bravely was standing his ground— “go get ready for the Wild West Show.” Hitchcock could see the orchestra as he charged out of the freak tent with a firm grip on Nancy Adair’s hand.
“What’s been happening? What’s been going on? What happened with you and Madame Lavinia?” Nancy Adair was babbling away, her tongue running amok. They were passing the bandstand, and Hitchcock suddenly stood frozen, staring ahead at one of the musicians. “Now what? Now what’s wrong?”
“That man, that man playing the saxophone! That musician with the tic under his left eye! He abducted my wife! That’s him! Police! Get the police!”
“Hitchcock, control yourself!” shouted Nancy.
But Hitchcock had lost all control of himself. People had come running, and the man with the tic was trying to shove his way off the bandstand. “Stop that man!” shouted Hitchcock. “Stop that man!”
An arrow came whizzing past Hitchcock’s ear and imbedded itself in Blinky’s chest. He dropped the saxophone and for a moment, he was astonished and disoriented. His black makeup was mixing with perspiration and smearing. His tic was going wild like a semaphore in distress. Then he began flailing his arms as he began to fall backward against the set of trap drums. People were shouting and screaming and running in all directions. Roustabouts were hurrying from all corners of the circus ground.
Hitchcock was behaving like a madman, and Nancy Adair slapped his face. “You fat fool!” she screamed at him. “We’ve got to get out of here before the police come! Hurry! This way!” She pulled him by the hand as they ran, half stumbling, jostling their way through the crowd that was gathering, running past a man with dark glasses and a black cap on his head who had reached for his gun but with relief shoved it back in the holster when he caught sight of Hitchcock and Nancy Adair tearing toward their car. Herbert ran to his and got behind the wheel as Nancy steered her car in high gear back to the road.
“That was him/’ sobbed Hitchcock, “that was him. The man who kidnapped Alma! That was him!”
“Control yourself, for God’s sake! He’s dead now probably. That arrow looked as though it went straight into his heart.”
Hitchcock wiped his wet face with his handkerchief. “That arrow! Do you suppose that child killed him? But why? Why would they want to kill one of their own?”
Nancy said quietly, hands tight on the steering wheel, eyes glued to the road ahead of her, “Perhaps he wasn’t one of their own.” She waited while the thought sank in, and then she added, “And you gave him away.”
Fifteen
Hitchcock stared at the palms of his hands as they sped along the road to Harborshire. Perhaps he wasn’t one of them and I gave him away. But if he wasn’t one of them, what was he doing with those thugs that attacked me and abducted Alma? And of all things, to be playing a saxophone in blackface. His sudden outburst of laughter took Nancy Adair by surprise and unnerved her. Was he losing his reason, she wondered, and if he was, how would she deal with it?
“What’s wrong with you?” she shouted. “What is it?”
“I’m a bloody fool, that’s what it is. The man with the tic. The blackface. The musician. It was in my last film, Young And Innocent, except in that one the man with the tic played the drums! Is it possible that life can be imitating art?”
“Coincidence, that’s all.”
“Contrivance, I prefer to think, but will God forgive me if I’ve been the cause of an innocent man’s death?”
