Cirque de la Mort
After treating his last patient, a six-year-old boy who sprained his ankle while running after his dog, Dr. Colin Thornley closed his surgery for the day and headed home. There was no bounce in his step. He was not in any rush since no one waited for him in the cozy thatched-roof cottage. A bachelor, he lived alone. No wife would have dinner waiting for him on the table. No children would greet him at the door.
As he strolled down High Street, the thirty-three-year-old physician saw a broadside announcing that a circus from France would be touring the English countryside. It was scheduled to perform in Baron's Woods in two weeks. Although circuses were popular in Victorian England, they were a rare occurrence near his remote village. Thus, the arrival of one was sure to draw a large crowd.
"Cirque de la Mort," he muttered after reading the entire placard. "Circus of Death. What an odd name for a circus, but then the French have a reputation for the macabre."
Despite the chilling name, Colin made a mental note of the dates on which the troupe would be in Baron's Woods. He had not attended such a spectacle since seeing Sanger's Circus when he was studying medicine.
Dr. Thornley was not the only one to take an interest in the upcoming event. For the next two weeks, there was talk of little else in the sleepy English village. People young and old were eager to see the show. In addition to exotic animals, equestrian acts, clowns, aerial acts and acrobats, there were often human oddities exhibits. As a physician, he was not fond of this feature of the circus. He hated to see unfortunate people born with disabilities or birth defects displayed as freaks. However, his distaste for such an exhibit would not prevent him from attending the show.
To give the devil his due, I suppose those poor souls' situation could be far worse, he reasoned. At least they are able to earn a living with the circus, humiliating though it must be for them.
Finally, to the town's delight, the day of the troupe's expected arrival had come. Throughout the morning, villagers watched and listened for any sign that the circus was near. It came at approximately eleven o'clock. Colin had just delivered a baby when he heard the wagons rolling down High Street.
"Here comes the circus," he said more to himself than to the new mother.
"Drat!" the woman cried. "All this excitement, and I'm going to miss it. I don't suppose I can get up and go to the performance tonight?"
"Hardly! You just gave birth. You'll need to rest for a day or two."
The doctor had no lady friend to join him that evening. Instead, he went to the circus just as he went everywhere—alone. He had gotten used to his solitary state. An introverted man, when he wasn't working, he spent his time reading and studying history. It was not that he disliked the idea of matrimony. He just had not found a woman willing to share his life. After all, there were only a handful of eligible maidens in Baron's Woods, and all of them were interested in other men.
"I suppose I'm destined to remain a bachelor for the rest of my life," he said to his collie, Lizzie, named after Queen Elizabeth, the pride of the Tudor dynasty.
Lizzie wagged her tail as though she were happy to have the doctor all to herself.
"Well, I best be on my way," Colin said, buttoning up his waistcoat. "I don't want to be late and miss any of the acts."
* * *
It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the empty field where the circus was to be held. An immense tent, made of black canvas, towered above the crowd. Vendors hawked their wares as a black-clad fiddler walked through the throng, playing a morose tune on his instrument.
It sounds like a funeral dirge, Colin mused. I would have thought the occasion called for a much livelier tune.
Two men employed by the circus stepped out of the tent and assumed a post on either side of the opening. They instructed the people to form two lines to purchase tickets. The doctor dutifully did as he was told, queuing up behind a newly married couple, both of whom were his patients. This is not surprising since he was the only physician in Baron's Woods.
"Good evening, Dr. Thornley," the husband greeted him. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"Why is that?"
"You don't seem the type of man to be interested in such frivolous things as circuses."
"Just because I'm a doctor, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good time every once in a while."
The line grew shorter as the people in front of him purchased their tickets and entered the tent. As Colin followed behind the newlyweds, his eye was drawn to two children who were waiting with their parents in the second line. The smiles on the youngsters' faces were radiant. They were clearly excited by the holiday atmosphere around them. Seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter tugged at the doctor's heartstrings. Normally, he did not regret moving back to Baron's Woods after getting his medical license since the village had no physician at that time. However, had he remained in London, where he attended St. Bartholomew's teaching hospital, he would have had a better chance of meeting a single woman.
I might have been married with a child or two by now, he thought wistfully.
Observing the newlyweds in front of him take their tickets and enter the tent, he put his self-pitying thoughts aside and approached the ticket seller. Close up, the man seemed to be the embodiment of a circus of death. He was dressed in a formal black suit as though he were about to be laid out in a casket. His face was unnaturally white—perhaps a powder had been applied to the skin to make it look cadaverous. It was the eyes, though, that were most disturbing. They seemed to stare, unseeing, at the world. He said not a word as he took Colin's money and handed him a ticket.
Before entering the tent, Dr. Thornley glanced at the other ticket seller. Not only was he dressed in the same way but he also had the same overly pale complexion and dark dead-like eyes.
It's a wonder those two don't scare the hell out of the children in the crowd—not to mention the women! I ought to have brought a bottle of smelling salts with me. I'm sure before the night is over, at least one dear lady will swoon.
Roughly half an hour after the doctor took a seat the show began. The ringmaster, looking like another escapee from a hospital morgue, stepped into the ring. With a booming voice, he welcomed the members of the audience to the Cirque de la Mort. He spoke good English but with an obvious French accent. He introduced himself and then brought out the first act: a team of equestrians.
Given what he had seen of the circus so far, Colin was not surprised that all the horses in the act were black in color and all had black-plumed headdresses on their heads, the kind worn by horses that pulled hearses in funerals. The two riders, one male and one female, had the same funereal attire and death-like countenance as the ticket sellers and the ringmaster.
I don't know what it is with the French, Colin wondered. Why are they so fascinated by death?
Going back to Medieval times, people in France were riveted with the macabre including, but not limited to, the Dance Macabre, an allegorical representation of death. Morbid curiosity seemed to be ingrained in their literature, art and culture.
The ghastly makeup and costumes of the performers aside, the circus acts were of high quality. The members of the audience, regardless of age or sex, all seemed to be enjoying themselves. The equestrians were followed by the exotic animal trainer and then a troupe of acrobats—all of whom looked as though they were the guests of honor at a memorial service. By the time the fourth act appeared, a juggler, Colin had gotten so used to seeing white-faced performers dressed all in black, with dark, staring eyes, that he no longer took notice of their appearance.
After the juggler exited the tent and the applause died down, the ringmaster returned to the ring.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to our next act, the Queen of the High Wire, the lovely Mademoiselle Marie."
The woman who climbed up the rope ladder in a pair of black tights and a short, frilly skirt, made Colin's heart race. Despite the pallor of her skin, the performer's facial structure was exquisite.
She's stunning! he thought as he watched her pick up a pole for balance and gingerly step out onto the taut wire.
The crowd fell silent as the spectators looked up and watched as the aerialist made her way to the center of the wire. Once there, she gracefully stood on one foot, giving the impression of a ballerina. When she lowered her head and smiled down at the crowd, Colin was mesmerized. For a moment, she looked in his direction. Their eyes met, and the doctor felt a charge like an electric shock race through him.
He was so enthralled by her beauty that he did not immediately realize Marie had stumbled until he heard the screams around him.
"Oh, no!" he gasped when he saw her body hit the ground.
Fearing the worst, he immediately jumped up from his seat, made his way past the dozen or so people sitting to his left and ran toward the fallen young woman.
"Let me through," he cried to the group of spectators, eager to see what had happened. "I'm a doctor."
By the time he reached the center of the ring, the other performers had circled around the aerialist.
"Please go back to your seat," the ringmaster told him.
"I'm a doctor. I can help."
"There's no need for your assistance. Marie is unharmed."
"That's impossible!" the physician argued. "No one could fall that distance and not get hurt."
"I'm fine," the tightrope walker declared, contradicting his opinion.
"You might be seriously injured and not realize it," Colin argued. "You might have internal injuries."
"There's nothing wrong with me; I assure you."
"See?" the ringmaster said. "She's all right. Now, please, go back to your seat."
Against his better judgment, the physician returned to the stands. He watched in awe as the wire walker climbed the rope ladder again and finished her act.
I can't believe she wasn't hurt! In fact, I'm amazed she survived the fall.
* * *
At the conclusion of the show, the crowd headed for the opening in the tent. Many people went directly home, but others remained on the grounds, gawking at the wild animals in their cages. Colin did neither. Instead, he walked to the far end of the field where the wagons and caravans were parked. After waiting several minutes, he heard a woman speaking in French. Although he could not understand what she said, he recognized the voice.
He knocked on the door of the wagon. A few moments later, Marie opened it.
"You are the doctor, no?" she asked in English that was more heavily accented than the ringmaster's.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Colin Thornley. I was wondering how you feel."
"I am fine. Thank you."
She was about to close the door when Colin put his hand out to stop her.
"Please. I'd really like to make sure of that myself."
Rather than invite him inside, the hire-wire walker stepped outside. She then went effortlessly through a series of rigorous calisthenics to prove she had no broken bones or painful sprains.
"I am, as you say, fit as a fiddle."
"I can't understand it," the doctor said, perplexed.
"Before I learned to walk the wire, I trained as an acrobat. I learned how to fall without getting hurt."
"From twenty feet in the air?" he asked incredulously.
"What do you want me to say?" Marie replied with a smile that melted the doctor's heart. "I was lucky. Would you rather I had broken my leg or, worse, my neck?"
"No. I'm delighted you weren't injured," he quickly assured her. "I would hate to see such a beautiful woman ...."
Colin suddenly realized what he was saying and promptly stopped speaking.
"Ah, you think I am beautiful!"
"No. I mean yes. I should not have been so forward. Forgive me."
"You English make me laugh. You are so proper! In France, men do not hesitate to compliment a woman. Nor do they refrain from asking her out to dinner."
It took a few minutes for the bashful doctor to realize what Marie was hinting at.
"Would you go out to dinner with me?" he asked hopefully.
"I am quite hungry. If you wait a few minutes, I will gladly join you. But I must change first."
"Certainly. I'll wait right here for you."
Colin patiently eagerly outside the caravan, delighted at his unexpected good fortune.
* * *
Baron's Woods was not London. There was not an abundance of restaurants and pubs. In fact, there was only one public eatery, The Red Stag. Fortunately, the food was both good and reasonably priced.
"What can I get for you tonight, Dr. Thornley?" Jarvis, the portly publican and another patient, asked when Colin entered the pub.
"I'll have a helping of your wife's delicious shepherd's pie. And what would you like, Marie?"
"I'll have the same."
"And would you both like a pint to wash that down?"
Both patrons nodded in response.
While waiting for their food to be delivered, Colin looked with admiration at his dinner companion. She had changed out of her costume and was wearing a stylish yet conservative dress. Like her costume, it was black with no splash of color to lighten its somber palette. Unlike most women, she wore no jewelry. The only accessory she had donned was a black velvet ribbon that snugly encircled her neck.
She doesn't need any frippery, the doctor concluded. She's beautiful enough without it.
"How long will your troupe be here in Baron's Woods?" he asked.
"We are to give three more performances, and then we head west."
Colin tried to hide his disappointment.
"By the end of the month, we hope to reach Cornwall," Marie added. "After that, we'll head north."
"Perhaps you will pass through Baron's Woods when you eventually return to France."
Mention of her own country brought a frown to the aerialist's face.
"I'm not sure I will ever return to France," she declared.
"Oh? But isn't that your home?"
"It was—once."
"And it's not anymore? Have you decided to remain in England?"
Colin awaited her answer with bated breath.
"I'm considering it."
"What about the other performers? Do they feel the same way you do?"
Before the young woman could reply, Jarvis emerged from the kitchen, carrying two bowls of shepherd's pie.
"I'll be right back with your drinks," the publican announced after placing the food in front of the diners.
"One can only hope this tastes as good as it looks and smells," Marie declared.
Although she professed to enjoy the pie, she ate less than half the amount that was on her plate.
"I'm not a big eater," she claimed.
"That explains why you're so thin," Colin responded. "I suppose, given your profession, you would want to avoid gaining too much weight."
"That's true!" she laughed. "Plus, I don't want to outgrow my costume."
The image of Marie in the tight, revealing outfit she wore during her act brought a blush to the doctor's face. His reaction was not lost on the captivating Frenchwoman.
* * *
That night, as Colin tossed and turned, hoping to fall asleep, his mind kept returning to that evening's performance. He recalled in great detail the moment Mademoiselle Marie entered the ring and gracefully ascended the rope ladder. When sleep finally came to him, the images became darker. Rather than seeing her tiptoe across the tightrope, he saw her fall to the ground. In his dreams, however, she did not fare as well as she did in reality. As he had done earlier that evening, he immediately jumped up from his seat and ran toward the fallen young woman.
"Let me through," he cried. "I'm a doctor."
When he reached the center of the ring, the other performers were circled around her.
"Please go back to your seat," the ringmaster told him.
"I'm a doctor. I can help."
"There's no need for your assistance. Marie is unharmed."
And, as she had done that evening, the wire walker rose to her feet. But when she raised her head, the doctor saw not a beautiful face but a human skull, devoid of flesh.
Colin's terrified screams woke him.
"What a horrifying dream!" he cried.
As a doctor, he had seen death in many forms. Sadly, not all of his patients died quietly in their sleep or met with quick, painless deaths. Many suffered from long, painful illnesses that wreaked havoc on their bodies. Worst of all, there were times when he was called to attend to the victims of a fire or serious accident. Occasionally, he saw sights so gruesome he nearly vomited. Never before, however, had images of these deaths invaded his dreams. Not even as a boy was his sleep disturbed by nightmares.
Unable to fall back to sleep, he rose from his bed and went into his sitting room. After lighting a fire, he picked up a book and began reading. However, not even Mr. Dickens's fiction could keep his thoughts from straying to the evening he spent at the Cirque de la Mort or the dinner he shared with Marie at The Red Stag. Finally, just before dawn, Colin closed the book on Lucie Manette, Charles Darnay, Sydney Carton and Madame Defarge and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Once Dr. Thornley had put an ointment on Mrs. Kerr's burn and the woman left his examination room, the doctor walked to the window to check the weather. The sky had been dark that morning, and he feared a storm was imminent. His gaze was immediately drawn from the rain clouds to the young woman who was walking along High Street.
Marie! he thought with a smile.
"I'll be back soon," he informed his nurse as he headed out the front door of his surgery. "I have an errand to run."
He was slightly out of breath when he caught up with the aerialist outside of the butcher's shop.
"I didn't expect to see you in town," he said.
"I don't have to perform until this evening, so I thought I'd get some fresh air and exercise. Aren't you working today?" Marie inquired.
"Yes, but I'm taking a break."
He took his watch out of his pocket and decided it was not too early for lunch.
"I thought I'd get a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?" he asked.
"I'd love to."
Even though neither Colin nor Marie was hungry, they walked to The Red Stag. Jarvis was surprised to see the doctor since he rarely ate lunch or took tea at the pub.
"Are you back for more shepherd's pie?" he teased.
"I think I'll just have a ploughman's," the doctor answered.
"What is that?" his black-clad companion asked.
"A ploughman's lunch consists basically of bread, cheese and fresh or pickled onions," Colin explained.
"I'll have bread and cheese but I don't want any onions."
"I can give you apple slices if you'd prefer," Jarvis suggested.
"That sounds much better."
"And to drink? Can I get you both a pint of ale?"
"Actually, I'd rather have a cup of tea," Colin said.
"Me, too."
After bringing a pot of Earl Grey to the table, the publican headed for the kitchen to prepare their lunch. While he was gone, the two patrons sipped their tea in silence. Dr. Thornley's cup was half empty when he raised his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn.
"You seem tired," Marie observed.
"I'm afraid I didn't get much sleep."
"Why not? Were you called upon to deliver a baby in the middle of the night?"
"No. I had ... ah ...," he began to answer but dared not tell her about his nightmare; instead, he settled for a half-truth. "I was reading."
"Let me guess. Shakespeare."
"No. Dickens."
"Oliver Twist or David Copperfield?"
"Neither. It was A Tale of Two Cities."
"I'm not familiar with that one. Is it new?"
"Yes. It was just published. Do you enjoy reading?"
"I do! It helps pass the time. Traveling from town to town can get quite boring. My favorite authors are Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo, but I also enjoy Dickens."
"You ought to read A Tale of Two Cities then. The two cities it refers to are London and Paris."
"Really?" Marie asked, smiling. "Since I am familiar with both of them, then I must read it."
"It's set during the time of the French Revolution," Colin explained.
The smile left Marie's face, and her complexion lost what little color it previously had.
"Is something wrong?" the doctor asked, alarmed at her stricken appearance. "Are you unwell?"
She rose from her seat but was clearly unsteady on her feet. Colin was quickly at her side and was thus able to catch her before she collapsed. Soon the pub's other patrons gathered around them.
"Please stand back," the doctor requested. "She must have some air."
He then loosened the ribbon around her neck, hoping to ease her breathing. Beneath the ribbon was a ghastly scar that encircled her entire neck.
"Oh, my God!" he cried.
Marie's eyes fluttered open. When she saw the look of horror on the doctor's face, her hand immediately went to her throat. The ribbon was not there.
"Give me that!" she screamed, grasping the length of black velvet from his hands.
She quickly tied it back around her neck and fled the pub. Colin followed, but she somehow managed to evade him.
* * *
Although Colin was eager to question Marie about the scar he had seen, he was a conscientious physician. His patients must come first, so he returned to his surgery. But once he closed up for the day, he set out for the circus caravans.
"Where is Marie?" he asked the ringmaster when he discovered she was not in her wagon.
"I have no idea."
Colin could tell from the smirk on the man's face that he was lying.
"I need to see her."
"You can buy a ticket to tonight's performance. She will perform her aerial act as usual."
"I need to see her now!"
"Since she's not here, I don't see how that's possible," the ringmaster declared and then walked away.
Colin tried to ask the other performers if they knew where Marie was, but "pas d'anglais" was the only response they gave him. Apparently, no one else spoke English, and the doctor's knowledge of French was minimal.
I suppose I'll have to do as the ringmaster suggested and purchase a ticket for tonight's performance.
When the two ticket takers appeared beside the tent's opening, Colin was already standing at the front of the line. Since he was one of the first people to enter, he was able to get a seat in the front row, just a few feet away from the ring where the troupe members would perform their acts.
The lineup was the same as the previous evening. The equestrians appeared first, followed by the animal trainer, the acrobats and the juggler. Finally, it was time for the aerialist to appear.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster announced, "let me introduce you to our next act, the Queen of the High Wire, the lovely Mademoiselle Marie."
Colin's heart raced when the black-clad figure emerged from the shadows. Once again, the black velvet ribbon covered the scar. There was a burst of applause as she neared the rope ladder. She lifted her hand in the air and, smiling, turned toward the audience; however, she avoided looking in the doctor's direction. When the applause died down, she began to climb.
With the grace of a swan, she walked out to the center of the wire. There, balanced on one foot, she extended the other leg behind her and leaned forward in imitation of a bow. At that moment, her eyes met Colin's. She had no difficulty reading the look on his face. Despite their having only met the previous day, he was in love with her. The realization stunned Marie and caused her to stiffen and lose her balance. As she had the night before, she fell from the wire and landed on the ground with a resounding thump.
This time Colin, sitting in the front row, was at her side before the ringmaster. He quickly took hold of her wrist and detected that she had no pulse. It was what he feared. It was a miracle she had survived the previous fall. It wasn't surprising that she was not so lucky the second time.
"She's gone," he tearfully told the ringmaster.
"Nonsense!" the man said gruffly. "She'll be fine."
"I'm a doctor. I know when people are alive and when they're ... they're not," he said, unable to utter the word dead.
The two men briefly argued the matter, and then suddenly Marie opened her eyes. Colin was flabbergasted.
"I told you she was all right," the ringmaster declared.
"That's impossible! Her heart wasn't beating!"
"I'm fine," Marie insisted as she rose to her feet.
Not only had she not died, but she surprised everyone when she climbed the rope ladder and returned to the highwire. When her act came to a successful end, Colin followed her out of the tent. She tried to seek sanctuary in her caravan, but he caught her by the arm.
"You died in that fall!" he insisted. "How is it you are now alive and apparently well. And what is that scar around your neck?"
"I didn't die in that fall," she said softly.
"Your heart stopped beating. You had no pulse. I know ...."
"I didn't die tonight," she continued, "or last night. I was already long dead."
"You think this is funny?" Colin asked, annoyed that she would mock him in such a heartless fashion.
"No, I don't," she said, reaching her hands to the back of her neck and removing the velvet ribbon. "This scar is proof of my sincerity. You see, I was beheaded on the guillotine in October of 1793."
The significance of the year hit him: 1793 was at the height of the Reign of Terror, a time when the French Revolutionary Tribunal ordered the execution of nearly seventeen thousand people.
"But how is it that you can walk and talk?"
"Our ringmaster, Maurice, was once the most gifted magician in all of France," she answered. "He often performed for Louis, the children and me at Versailles and the Tuileries."
"Louis?" Colin echoed, experiencing a strong sense of foreboding.
"Yes, King Louis XVI, my husband. Sadly, Maurice was not able to restore him. You see, his body was quickly taken from the guillotine to Madeleine Cemetery and covered in quicklime to accelerate decomposition. By the time I was executed, the cemetery had reached capacity. I was thrown in a mass grave along with most of the performers here. Maurice exhumed our remains and gave us life."
"How is that even possible?" the doctor cried. "You were beheaded."
"You have seen magicians rip a sheet of paper into tiny pieces and then rejoin them into one?"
"Yes, but that was a simple trick. And we're talking about a human body, not a piece of paper."
"I told you his magic was stronger."
"And if he did bring you back to life—and I'm not saying I believe this preposterous story—why is you have no heartbeat?"
"The life I have now is not like the one that was taken from me. I don't really understand it myself. But I'm like one of Madame Tussauds' wax figures, but I can move and talk. But I'm not exactly human. I can't die, I don't age and I don't get sick."
"If what you say is true," Colin cried, astounded by the possibilities, "then this ringmaster can work miracles. He can virtually eliminate disease and death! Surely, he could use his gifts to benefit all mankind rather than run a circus! Just think of it. No one need ever die!"
"Ah, but there is a drawback to this so-called miracle," Marie said sadly.
"What is that?"
"Since I am not really alive, I cannot create life myself. None of us that have been brought back are capable of fathering or conceiving children."
Although he found the idea of a world where no one aged, got sick or died was at first immensely appealing, Colin could not imagine one without the joy of procreation. He wanted to be a father himself and to raise a child to adulthood.
"That is why," the tragic French queen continued, "you must forget about me."
"But I ...."
"Your face is an open book. You are falling in love with me. Surely, you now see what an impossibility such a love would be."
The doctor looked down at Marie Antoinette's beautiful face and felt both longing and a sense of loss. He reached out his hand and touched her cheek. Her bare flesh was hard and cold, appearing more like marble than human skin. He quickly pulled back his arm as though his fingers had been burned.
"You're right," he admitted. "Such a love would be an impossibility."
"Goodbye," Marie said and took shelter inside her caravan.
"Goodbye," Colin whispered to the lonely emptiness she had left behind.
* * *
In the decade following the arrival of the Cirque de la Mort in Baron's Woods, Colin Thornley married the daughter of the village's baker. The woman, six years younger than the doctor, gave birth to three children, two sons and a daughter, all blessed with good health. Thanks in large part to his happy domestic life, he was able to consign his affection for the tragic queen to the deepest recesses of his memory. In fact, it was not until the doctor and his family holidayed in London that he was reminded of her.
Dr. and Mrs. Thornley and their progeny visited Madame Tussauds' exhibition on Bakers Street. Both parents and children marveled at the wax figures of Henry VIII and his six wives, Queen Elizabeth, Mary Queen of Scots and other figures from Britain's past.
"Who is that?" the youngest Thornley child asked when she saw a beautiful queen with a tall, elaborate powdered wig, dressed in a sumptuous, wide-skirted gown, decked out in precious gems.
Colin did not need to read the identifying placard to answer his daughter's question.
"That's Marie Antoinette," he replied, noting the accuracy of the wax representation.
"Who is she?"
"She was Queen of France," her mother answered when the little girl's question was met with silence from her father. "Years ago, before the people revolted and took the lives of their monarchy."
"She was pretty," Colin, Jr., opined. "Don't you think so, Father?"
"Yes," Dr. Thornley replied, his throat constricted with emotion. "Yes, she was."
I got the idea for this story after attending a performance of Paranormal Cirque in the summer of 2024.
Salem once wanted to be a tightrope walker, but he insisted on practicing on a wire that was only two feet off the ground. I tried to tell him he had nothing to fear from a higher wire because cats always land on their feet. He didn't fall for it though. (Pun intended!)
