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“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