Free Death from Nowhere by Clayton Rawson

on, Woody. Washroom. You and I are going to do a quick change act.”
    Woody Haines blinked. “We’re what?”
    His voice was shaky.
    â€œYou heard me,” Don replied. “You’re changing clothes with me, and when we hit that circus I’m going to be introduced as J. Haywood Haines and you’re going to be Don Diavolo.”
    â€œNo, you don’t,” Woody objected. “Not if I know it. Some other time — but not when there’s a murder rap about to land on you with both feet at any minute. Do I look as simple-minded as all—”
    â€œDo you want a story?” Diavolo demanded. “Or don’t you? Do you want to know who killed Hagenbaugh? Do you want to get the exclusive inside dope on how the vanishing murderer disappeared from Hagenbaugh’s office? Do you want—”
    â€œSure,” Woody said. “All of that. But I’m not leaping before I look. What’s the idea? Why—”
    â€œA trap for the murderer,” Don said. “He knows what I look like. And he went through my pockets after he knocked me out. I’ve got a driver’s license in my billfold; he knows who I am. If any of the people we’re going to meet in the next few minutes catch wise to our little act, if someone knows that you’re me and vice versa, we’ll know he’s our man. We may not have time to collect a lot of alibis and make a batch of fancy deductions this trip. We’ve got to trap our man into making an error and we’ve got to work fast.”
    Pat and Mike prodded the reporter. “If you don’t,” they threatened, “we’ll never speak to you again.”
    Woody gave in. “Okay. But I still don’t like it.”
    When the car pulled away ten minutes later Woody was driving. He wore Don’s clothes. His blond hair was black. He was still objecting.
    Don ignored him. He spoke rapidly to The Horseshoe Kid. “The Great Belmonte, Captain Schneider, Lillian Powers,” he said. “Do you know any of them? We need an in. You’ve worked that three-shell game of yours on half the circuses in the country.”
    â€œLeatherlung Mike,” Horseshoe said. “He did the kidshow bally last year. If he’s still with them—”
    Chan spoke up. “He is. Remember that name from Billboard story. Practically impossible to forget.”
    Five minutes later Woody drove the car on to the lot and parked it behind the sideshow top. As they got out they heard a voice from within the tent, “—a member, ladies and gentlemen, of one of the world’s few remaining tribes of real dyed-in-the-wool headhunters. Naga, leopard man of India! And his unequaled collection of bona fide human heads, each and every one a trophy of savage vengeance!”
    â€œ Vitiglio? ”Chan asked quietly.
    Diavolo frowned. “Looks as if you win, Chan,” he said. “This complicates matters, and Church isn’t going to be happy about it at all.”
    â€œThat’s Mike’s voice,” the Kid said. “He must be doing the inside lecture, too. Come on.” He lifted the canvas sidewall and ducked under.
    On the inside, arranged at intervals around the tent, were a dozen low platforms on each of which sat a “strange person” or a “curious oddity.” A broad-shouldered man who stood by a ticket box just inside the entrance saw The Horseshoe Kid and the procession that followed him as they made their unorthodox entry.
    â€œHey!” he yelled and suddenly sprinted toward them. “What do you think this is? A public highway? Get the—”
    Calmly Horseshoe said, “Take it easy, big boy. We’re with it. Or we will be as soon as I see Mike.”
    The ticket taker gave him a suspicious scowl, noted that Horseshoe’s green-checked suit looked like something a circus man might wear, and then glanced toward the Leopard Man’s platform where