Case with 4 Clowns by Leo Bruce

had even spoken. Clem was seated in front of the mirror wiping his face, tearing away the false tufts of hair and trying to get the grease-paint off as fast as he could work. The color ran into one mixed mess all over his face as his fingers moved briskly over the skin. Then, rubbing with an old greasy rag, he sluiced his face quickly in warm water and stood before the mirror again drying himself thoughtfully with a towel. The face which emerged from under the make-up was an exceptionally good one. Clear, unwrinkled eyes, straight, firm nose, and wide humorous mouth.
    â€œThat’s the trouble,” he said suddenly aloud.
    â€œWhat’s the trouble?” asked Beef.
    â€œThis face.”
    â€œSeems all right to me,” said Beef, inspecting it carefully.
    â€œThat’s just what I mean. It
is
all right. And that’s the trouble.”
    â€œSorry,” said Beef. “Would you mind telling us what you’re talking about?”
    â€œWell, it’s like this,” said Clem Gail, stripping off his clown’s costume as he talked. “Now, I’m a bit ambitious. I like people to think I’m a good clown, that I do my job well and all that. But how can I when they never know it’s me who does it?”
    â€œBut your name’s on the bill,” said Beef.
    â€œNo, it isn’t. ‘Archie’ is. You see, I’m two different people. There’s me now, with quite a good face, and there’s me in the ring, with a funny face. But people never connect the two. If the others walk down the street the people nudge one another and say, ‘Look, that’s the trapeze artists, isn’t it?’ or ‘Isn’t that the wire-walker?’ But they never say that about me because they wouldn’t recognize me.”
    â€œFirst we get two people who are so alike people think they are one,” I interrupted softly, “and now we’ve got one person who people think is two. Fine state of affairs. I suppose this chap will have to stab himself.” But Beef nudged me heavily to shut up.
    â€œWhat did you say?” asked Clem, who had not heard.
    â€œNothing,” said Beef hurriedly. “He was just trying to be funny, that’s all. Go on.”
    â€œWell, that’s all, I suppose,” grinned Clem. He was dressed now, and flicked the comb through his hair. “The only other grouch I’ve got,” he went on, and I heard Sid Bolton groan behind me as if at a much-heard tale, “is that I have to change after pulling down, and by the time I get out on to the tober …”
    â€œThe tent hands have bagged all the best girls,” finished Sid, with a chuckle.
    â€œSo that’s what you’re hurrying for,” observed Beef. “I thought perhaps it was for our benefit.”
    Clem turned at the door to grin at us. “Not—likely,” he said, and ran quickly down the steps.
    â€œHe’s a fine one,” said Sid as we got up to leave. “Always grumbling about never being able to pick up any girls. Seems to get one most nights, though.”
    â€œWhat’s his trouble then?” I asked.
    â€œWell, you see,” explained Sid, “he was saying to me just now as we were pulling down that he’d seen a nice girl over by the Zoo and he wanted to get out before one of the hands got hold of her. They usually pick out all the best ones, you see.”
    As we left the wagon I noticed that Beef seemed to be exceedingly pleased with himself. He was smiling broadly and every now and again a quiet chuckle would escape from him.
    â€œWell, what is it?” I asked. “What do you find so funny?”
    â€œI got a job for you,” he burst out. “A nice little bit of investigating that’s just about up your street.”
    â€œYes?” I said doubtfully.
    â€œYes. I want you to follow that young Clem Gail and see what he does.”
    â€œBut suppose he picks up this