Part 14

During the night Mabuse started for Lake Constance. Just as he was approaching the villa at Schachen, having extinguished his lights, he narrowly missed a collision with the engine of the steam-roller which was standing in the road a few yards from the garden entrance. It was directly in front of him when he applied his brakes, and he therefore did not drive up to the house, but continued along the road for another kilometre, then left the car standing and went back to the house by the shore-path.

“Why did you not tell me the steam-roller was here?” he asked George imperiously. “Even a match-box lying out in the street might betray us. Go and fetch the car, quickly! It is on the highroad near Wasserburg. Put it away and come straight back here.”

* * * * *

Next morning the telephone bell woke Wenk from his sleep. “News from the steam-roller,” he heard, and was at once wide awake.

“Yes, yes; please go on.”

“Last night about two o’clock a car arrived, and pulled up directly in front of our engine, then drove on again. As it was driving without lights, I ordered Schmied to follow on a bicycle. He found it about a kilometre further on, left alone by the roadside, and came back at once to report. I stole into the garden of the villa, but the dog began barking and I went outside round the shore. I saw a man come from the direction of the lake and go into the house. When Schmied and I went back to find the car it had vanished. There is nothing to be noticed this morning!”

“Thanks. You can expect me there to-day.”

* * * * *

An hour before this conversation took place on the telephone, while still dark, Mabuse left the villa. He was wearing women’s clothes and was rowed across to Nonnenhorn. A motor-boat approached, and in it was a fisherman returning from a smuggling expedition. Mabuse accosted him, but the man said he was in a hurry, for he must take his fish home. Then Mabuse at one bound sprang into his boat, overpowered him, threw him down and gagged him, and then transferred him to the rowing-boat. He took off his female garments, beneath which he was dressed as a fisherman, and making a wide detour, he returned to shore and went to the farm where in a barn the car was concealed. George was lying in it asleep.

After a long conversation with George, Mabuse turned and drove back into Würtemberg, while George returned to Schachen.

Mabuse wanted to get to Stuttgart. His agents there had telephoned the previous day that a patient wanted to consult him. That meant that they had got hold of a rich man worth plucking.

While Mabuse was sitting at the gaming-table that evening, he had a sudden vision of the steam-roller as it appeared directly in front of him when he applied his brakes. The huge machine was outlined in the darkness, and it seemed as if it were about to fall upon him, and to his fancy it took on a strange shape, finally revealing the features of the State Attorney. As he recalled it, it seemed to stand forth like some antediluvian monster, bearing Wenk’s face, about to fall upon and crush him. Mabuse felt vaguely uneasy, and he suddenly left the gaming-table, where he was losing, and drove back in the night to Munich. On the way this action of his seemed ridiculous, and he felt as if his impulse had been unwarranted. “My desire for that woman will conquer any fear of that accursed lawyer,” he thought, but yet Wenk seemed to stand in his way, more powerful than ever. Why was he still there? Had Mabuse’s order not been distinct enough? If not, he would repeat it!

When once again in his house at Munich he went straight to bed. He controlled his desire to go to the Countess, and fell fast asleep at once.

* * * * *

When the road-menders in Schachen returned to work after their midday rest, a man who had come out of the inn attached himself to their party, saying that he wanted to speak to the overseer. Was it likely he could find a job? he asked them.

“You can have mine this minute, if you’ll pay for it well,” said one jokingly, but the man said that he only wanted the work so that he could get some pay himself. “That’s another matter,” laughed the navvy. “There’s the overseer standing there.”

The man went towards him, speaking in a low tone, and unobtrusively drew him somewhat away from the rest. Yes, he could possibly get a job, said the overseer, who was really a police inspector; let him show his papers.

These the man brought out, saying, “Do not show yourself surprised, inspector. Look as if you were reading the papers through, and take me on to help the stoker on the engine. He is Sergeant Schmied, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.... Well, all right, I’ll take you on,” said the inspector aloud. “We can give you some work. Come this way. Schmied,” he called out. He explained to Schmied in an undertone that the State Attorney was going to spend the day on the engine as stoker’s assistant.

“What have you noticed now?” asked Wenk of Schmied, as the road-engine moved backwards and forwards.

“While you were on the way, the inspector telephoned to you, but you had already started. Things seem very strange here. We saw the man go to the villa that night, and we thought he must be the one who had left the car standing in the road, but yet it doesn’t seem to tally with the rest, for when we came back to the car it had disappeared. Early this morning there was a woman in a rowing-boat on the lake near the villa, but we could not be sure whether she actually came from there. An hour later, Poldringer, the man we are watching, came from the highroad and went into the house; but we had never seen him leave it, and that is very curious.”

“You have no idea whether the villa has some unknown exit?”

“No, for hitherto our observations of Poldringer all tally. He used to return the same way he went out. He scarcely ever leaves the place, not once in three days.”

“Is there no way of getting into the villa?”

“Not without exciting attention. I see that by the way tramps are turned away. They have a well-trained bloodhound there.... It would not be possible to effect a secret entrance.”

“Is Poldringer still there?”

“Yes; I saw him at a window just now.”

“Had the car a number-plate?”

“Yes, the Constance district; here is the number.”

“That, of course, is a false one. It came from the Lindau direction, I think you said?”

“Yes, sir. I telephoned the number to Friedrichshafen, Ravensburg, Lindau, Wangen and Constance. From Constance they told me that the number I gave belonged to a car in use by the Sanitary Commissioners which never left Constance.”

“Isn’t it possible that the car had been expected at the villa, but did not stop at it, either because they wanted to use it again shortly or because something had made them a bit suspicious--the steam-roller, for example?... and therefore Poldringer was told to wait for the car in the street and take it to some place of concealment? During that time the man who had brought it here arrived at the villa. He is either still there with Poldringer or else he was the woman in the rowing-boat, and he has driven to the place where the car is. We must find out where they keep it hidden.”

“We often hear the sound of a motor-boat at night not far from the shore, but we are not able to keep an eye on it.”

“I shall sleep in the trolly with you to-night, and we will stop the roller half a kilometre further away from the house. Is there any suitable place to hide in near the house?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll go together. Is that settled? All right, then; now I’m going to learn how to lay out the stones. Hitherto, I’ve only laid out criminals!” laughed Wenk.

“Yes, your honour,” said Schmied cheerily, as he released the throttle and started the engine. “Will your honour please to stoke up!” And Wenk heaped more coal into its glowing maw.

“Up to now your honour has never fired an engine, only criminals!” he continued, carrying on Wenk’s joke.

“Yes, but not enough of those, as you see at the villa, my good Schmied,” answered the lawyer. “However, I hope with your help....”

“We shall catch them all right,” said Schmied eagerly.

“If we don’t overreach ourselves, for I think we are dealing at the moment with the most dangerous and daring gang in Europe. You know that we have ascertained so far that it is a case of card-sharping, murder, terrorization, and all of it done by the help of a gang.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Schmied.

As they were leaving the trolly that evening Schmied whispered: “I should like to draw your attention to something, sir. Every evening I go by as if I were taking a little rest after the day’s work, and I light up my pipe. Just at the side there, you see, we are getting to a little door. Whenever anyone goes by, the dog begins barking, and I couldn’t help thinking there was some reason for it, but one can’t find it out from the street. You see now, I am just close to it, and while I am going by I fasten ... (just listen to the dog now!) a thread across the door. Anybody who opens it would break the thread, but he would not notice it when going through. In this way I can keep watch over the door, even when it is not actually in view. Then I can tell whether anyone has gone through the gate in the dark. In the morning I go and look at it first thing, and take the thread away.”

“Is it there already?”

“I have just fastened it there.”

“Then you did it very smartly, for I did not notice anything,” said Wenk, praising him.

“Let us go back. It really is a side-entrance to the other villa.”

“Do you know who is living there?”

“For the last thirty years an old maid has been living there. There certainly is no connection between the two villas.”

They strolled back along the road.

“If you would like to go to sleep, Schmied, I have no objection. I know what I’ve to look out for now.”

“Well, I really should be glad to, sir, for last night I got no sleep, and I must be out there again before four o’clock.”

“I understand. Well then, good-night....”

Wenk continued his patrol throughout the whole of the spring night, but nothing happened, and he noticed nothing out of the common. Next morning he repaired to the hotel at Lindau, the address of which he had notified before leaving Munich. The director told him he had been rung up from Munich, and his man wanted him to know that Count Told most earnestly desired to speak to him as soon as possible. The call had come from his home at Munich. He seemed to be greatly agitated, and begged the man to telephone the message on.

Wenk returned to Munich and rang up the Count, but an unfamiliar voice informed him that the Count had started on a journey.

“Did he leave no message for me?” said Wenk.

“No.”

“Where has he gone?”

“He left no address. Please ring off.”

Wenk was thoroughly perplexed.

XV

That same morning Mabuse had visited Told. “You are not so well, I can see,” said he to him. “Your pupils are very much dilated.”

“Is that a sign...?” said Told hesitatingly.

“Yes. Don’t talk about your state; put it entirely out of your head. Where is your wife?”

The startled Count could not venture on an answer.

“Your wife did not want to live with you any more--never any more!” went on the Doctor harshly. “That is so, isn’t it? You must destroy the past, break off all relation to it. Call your man here!”

Told rang, and the man came. The Count, with a gesture, referred him to the doctor.

“Has anybody telephoned?”

“No, Doctor.”

“Has anyone rung up from here?”

“I did,” answered Told.

“Whom?”

“Dr. von Wenk.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to speak to him.”

“What did you want to say?”

The embarrassed Count answered, “Only ... to speak ... to speak to some human being or other!”

“Is your servant a bullock, then, or am I one?” asked Mabuse harshly. “You can talk to me if you want to. What crazy idea has got into your head?”

The Count turned his head away; he no longer had the courage to face his doctor.... “Is he going to cure me?” he asked himself. Then he looked up at him timidly and irresolutely. “You are no human being: you are a devil!” was the secret cry of his heart, but these fierce thoughts soon left him, and he felt suddenly sleepy. “I am always so tired!” he exclaimed.

“Tell your man now, in my presence, to refuse all visitors or anyone who telephones. He must say, ‘The Count has gone on a journey. He left no address. Please ring off.’”

Slowly and mechanically Told repeated the order, and the man bowed and withdrew.

“I am really not sure whether I shall go on with your case,” said Mabuse. But Told hardly heeded him; he seemed to feel a slow poison stealing into his veins.

“You are thirsty!” said Mabuse, suddenly.

“Yes, I am,” whispered the Count.

“You are to drink a mixture of brandy and Tokay, as much as you like. Take good long draughts--the brandy will do you good. You must forget everything in your past, your wife as well. When you are convinced that you have succeeded in doing that, you are on the road to recovery. You must destroy the past, you understand. The alcohol will help you there.”

“Destroy the past,” stammered the Count, as if sinking into a bog that threatened to engulf him, “destroy ... the ... past....”

“In two years’ time you can think about resuming your ordinary life again. In what time?” he broke off suddenly. “What time did I say?” he thundered.

The Count aroused himself from his lethargy. Horrified at the length of time involved, he answered in a low tone, “Two years.”

“Do you know that your wife wants to put you into a lunatic asylum? She is getting the State Attorney, Wenk, to help her. Was not that the man who rang you up?... I am coming again to-morrow.”

The Count remained alone, dejected and humiliated. It seemed as if elephants were trampling out his brains, that his spirit was a prey to crocodiles and he was covered with mud and slime. “The whole world has forsaken me,” he murmured. The pictures he had collected around him seemed to be celebrating orgies on the walls. He could no longer understand how it was they could ever have pleased him, nor why he had endured them so long. He took a hunting-knife and slit every one of them from top to bottom, hacking at their frames. When he had done it, he sprang back in horror. He held his head in his hands, groaning, “Oh God, am I really mad?”

He began drinking brandy, and he drank it out of a claret tumbler. When he had had three glasses he was intoxicated. Then it seemed as if the doctor had left something behind him and that this lay in front of him. He did not know what it was, but he tried to grasp it, and then suddenly it had jumped to his head. It seemed like a wedge fastened there, fitting tightly between the two halves of the brain. Fear seized upon him and tore his courage to shreds. “Doctor, Doctor,” he shouted, and he heard his voice re-echo in the empty rooms. The world was so wide, yet he was alone. And then he became unconscious.

* * * * *

Karstens succumbed to his wounds, and again the public imagination busied itself with the death of a second victim. Wenk found himself in a difficulty and decided one day to make a final appeal to the dancer. He went to her cell.

“I am not going to speak to you,” said Cara when she perceived him.

Wenk took no notice, and said in a troubled tone, his hopes disappearing: “Do you know that the beautiful lady who was always looking on at the play at Schramm’s has disappeared?”

“Not the one you sent to me in prison?” answered the dancer instantly.

“Yes,” said Wenk, and it was not till he had uttered the word that he perceived the significance of this admission. It was all very mysterious. Had the Countess revealed her errand to Cara, and was she in league with the gamblers? It seemed incredible, but yet how strange it was that Cara, who would not at first speak to him, at once gave him her attention when he mentioned the Countess. Wenk did not want Cara to think that he was astonished at this, and went on talking, while he was trying to consider how he could best arrive at the secret; but he did not stop to reflect upon the ideas that came uppermost. In the course of the conversation he hazarded a conjecture that had often occurred to him when he thought of Cara’s connection with the criminal, but which he had never mentioned till now. He said, “You are sacrificing yourself for this criminal because you could not make up your mind to part from him.”

Then Cara sprang up, staring at Wenk as if convulsed. He looked her right in the eyes, and noticed that an expression of overwhelming horror stood in them, and was clearly written upon her distorted features.

“Well?” he asked, encouraged and hopeful.

But Cara remained as if frozen in her stony attitude.

Then he ventured further. “If we came to some agreement, I could make proposals that would be to your advantage.”

Slowly the dancer recovered from the horror that had seized upon her. For the last three years, ever since Mabuse had repulsed her, her life had been a story of self-sacrificing martyrdom and devoted adherence to the man who had wrought her ruin and driven her to crime. Not for a single instant had she thought of betraying him, of refusing her allegiance. Indelibly stamped upon her whole nature like the brand of a slave was the feeling that mastery and might such as his could never be contested. And now, through Wenk’s words, she beheld this man whom she adored threatened with danger. What did the State Attorney know, and how had he obtained his knowledge? Had the Countess betrayed her after all? Slowly she evolved a plan by which to discover how much the lawyer knew. She might possibly convey a warning to Dr. Mabuse, and at the thought her blood was fired and the delicious sensation of feeling herself his deliverer, and perhaps, too, regaining the ascendancy she had lost, stole over her. No, it could not be, she dared not even conceive of it; to save him from danger would be enough for her, to know him secure would be bliss. Finally she said, “Since you seem to be better informed than I imagined, I will speak, but you must give me two days to think it over.”

The dancer had learnt from the warder that someone had been inquiring about her, and from the description given she believed it to be Spoerri. She would therefore have an opportunity of telling him about her interview with Wenk and warning him of what might occur.

“Very well,” said Wenk, relieved. Then he thought he would clinch the matter, and as his previous supposition seemed to have hit the mark, he imagined it a favourable opportunity to inflame her imagination still further, so he said, “I am trying to get on the track of the Countess; she seems to be in hiding with your friend.”

He was so ashamed of these words, however, that he blushed as he uttered them, recalling with painful intensity his few meetings with the missing lady--meetings which had bound him so closely to her. But the effect of his words on the dancer was wholly unexpected. She fell back on her pallet, sobbed aloud, tried to speak, but could utter no word, and then she clenched her fists and raised them despairingly to her brow.

Wenk went off quickly, thinking it best not to disturb this attitude of mind but to let her yield wholly to its influence. As he opened the door a man stumbled against it, but it was only the warder, who had come, as he said, to look at the prisoner as his duty was just at this time. “All right,” said Wenk, and he made his way out.

* * * * *

Shortly afterwards the following things occurred. Near Hengnau, on the borders of Würtemberg, a man was detained and arrested as he was about to drive cattle to Würtemberg. At first he pretended to be dumb, but afterwards he raged furiously at his capture. The examining counsel, in order to intimidate him, said one day, “You had better confess before the new law is passed. If you are tried before then you may get off lightly, but later on it may cost you your head.”

“What new law is that?” asked the man.

“The crime of endangering the food distribution is punishable with death.”

“What sort of death?”

“Probably hanging!”

“And if I am convicted before that is passed?”

“You won’t get more than a year’s imprisonment at the most.”

Then he suddenly confessed, and his confession opened many doors. He confessed all that he had been doing for years and gave the names of all the profiteers known to him. Many arrests were the result. Every day afforded fresh opportunities, and finally one day the name of the man whom Mabuse had dismissed on the highroad to Lindau--Pesch--was mentioned.

Pesch was arrested, and his first night in prison was spent at Wangen, which was his native place. When the warder entered his cell next morning, the prisoner had disappeared. A few hours later a telephone message came to the Wangen police. In a wood on the highroad to Lindau a man was lying dead. It was undoubtedly a case of murder.

An inquiry took place on the spot. The dead man was Pesch. He had been stabbed, and as they raised his body they saw on the large white stone on which it had rested certain signs which had been written in blood. The very same day experts deciphered these signs. They stood for “Villa Elise.”

The mayors in the neighbouring districts were asked whether they knew a villa bearing this name, and thus it was soon ascertained that at Schachen there was a villa so called, and it was under police surveillance.

Wenk was at once informed, and he drove to Lindau. The two detectives who were in charge of the steam-roller had ascertained that Poldringer had left Schachen on a bicycle the very day that Pesch was imprisoned, and had not returned until three o’clock the next morning.