Part 19

An exhaustive search in the Villa Elise brought little to light. It merely revealed proofs that Mabuse employed the money obtained by gambling or theft to carry on smuggling and profiteering on a gigantic scale. The police worked side by side with the Swiss authorities, for it was believed that Mabuse must be in Switzerland, or at any rate that he had passed through. Wenk went once a fortnight to Zürich. Now and then one of Mabuse’s gang was caught, but all were so thoroughly schooled that no word of betrayal escaped them.

News reached Wenk from Frankfurt that a gambler was at work there, whose description so closely resembled Mabuse that Wenk travelled thither at once, but when he arrived there was no trace of the man to be found. Three days later there was a report of a similar kind from Cologne, then from Düsseldorf, and later both from Essen and Hanover.

Wenk went hither and thither, not doubting in his own mind that he was indeed on the track of Mabuse. The latter must have spies in Munich who watched and reported Wenk’s movements. Knowing that he was followed, he took every possible precaution, and employed all the cunning at his command. On his journeys he made use of trains, cars, aeroplanes indiscriminately. Since he could not help suspecting that Mabuse had accomplices among his own subordinates, Wenk watched these very closely. He changed his chauffeur and his housekeeper, altered his address and his telephone number, took rooms in a hotel, or lodged with friends in the suburbs. But as soon as he arrived at the town where the gambler had been seen, he found he had vanished without trace of any kind, only to reappear a few days later in some other part. The whole country already rang with reports of the existence and operations of the robber-king. Dr. Mabuse, the gambler! It was like a ballad, expressing the devilry and defiance of all who offered resistance to existing law and order, and it spread from place to place.

In all the towns the police arrested men in gangs, but when the criminals were sorted out, this man, whose capture was worth more to them than all the rest, was never to be found. Suddenly it struck Wenk that Mabuse must be making his way by a circuitous route to Berlin. From his superior officers Wenk obtained permission to leave Bavaria, and got in touch with the Prussian courts of justice, and these appointed him to Berlin on special duty.

He at once travelled thither and took lodgings in the Central district. Mabuse saw him arrive at the railway-station, and an hour later he knew where he was staying. At last he had him within reach, in the place where he desired to accomplish his scheme of revenge and towards which he had been working, for Mabuse in reality had never left Berlin. In all the towns to which Wenk had travelled in search of the gambler, Mabuse had doubles, persons of his own gang, instructed by him. Munich was too small for the scheme Mabuse had in hand. The abysses of Berlin would be a safer hunting-ground, and the hunt began on the very next day.

* * * * *

That day Wenk had been describing to a junior colleague in the Berlin police his course of action in “the Mabuse case.” They had talked about it together, discussing a plan of operation, but the only conclusion they had come to was that the gambler should be allowed to show his own hand first. To aim at him in the dark would be likely to reveal to him prematurely the whereabouts of his pursuers.

In the evening, when Wenk had taken a meal in the “Traube” restaurant, he visited a café, and then, tired out by his long discussion, he sought his lodgings. There a man accosted him, standing in a doorway removed from the light.

“If you please, sir ...” said he.

“What do you want?” asked Wenk reluctantly.

“Would some cocaine be useful to you, sir?”

Wenk went on without vouchsafing a reply, and he noticed that the man followed him, but when he came to the busy Friedrichstrasse he lost sight of him.

Wenk soon took himself to task for having let the man escape him thus. He ought to have got into touch with this pedlar of illicit wares, for he belonged to the same stock as Mabuse. He was half inclined to go back, but the feeling of weariness was too strong for him and he went home.

The next night he took the same way home from the restaurant, but the man was not there. Wenk lingered here and there, and then, as he approached his lodgings near the Police Market, a man came out of an entry towards him, saying in a whisper, “Do you want to see some nude dances?”

Wenk stopped still, saying, “You have come just at the right time. I don’t belong to Berlin, and I should like to see the real night-life of this city just for once. Where are your dancers? Go ahead!”

“Follow me, then. I’ll go in front, and when you see me go in somewhere, you come quick, guv’nor, ’cos of the peelers!”

Wenk promised to follow his lead. The man went round the corner, listened to see if he were following, and then went on again. Suddenly he disappeared. Wenk went a few steps straight on. The man must have gone into one of the entries near, and he walked slowly, expecting to find him, and looking round about. Suddenly he heard the man’s voice behind him, speaking low and reproachfully: “I don’t call that quick, guv’nor. You’ll have the bobbies after you if you can’t be more spry. Come on here, then!” and the man pulled him into a house standing far back. The door opened on to a dark corridor, and silently and unawares it closed behind him, while the corridor was lighted up in the same instant. This corridor led into a little living-room, and that again into a hall crowded with people. Two gentlemen sitting near the door made room for Wenk beside them. His guide had disappeared.

What Wenk saw was a simple performance, deriving its interest only from the secrecy with which it was performed.

He heard the conversation of the two men at his table. One of them said, “The only thing that interests me is how this entertainer manages to get a hundred or more persons here, year in and year out, without the police finding it out. Now, as an expert, you just tell me that!”

The other answered in German that sounded unfamiliar, “Well, you can’t really tell whether it is known to the police or not. There are such places winked at by the police because they are traps for criminals--yes, really traps set for them. Now in Budapest....”

Wenk listened eagerly. The gentlemen went on talking, drawing him naturally into their conversation. They disclosed their calling, and then gave their names. One of the gentlemen was, as Wenk had conjectured, a highly placed police official. They frequently met each other. The Hungarian told of various interesting and complicated cases occurring during the practice of his profession. He described the Budapest haunts of crime, touched on the many secret gaming-houses which had sprung up so quickly everywhere since the war, and waxed eloquent against the ever-increasing boldness displayed by criminals and the mob generally.

Wenk, with a certain unconfessed distrust, talked very warily, saying that he was only on leave in Berlin, for the scene of his activities lay in Munich. But Berlin, as the hotbed of crime, afforded a good field of study for a Munich criminal prosecutor. He touched lightly on the existence of Mabuse, though without naming him, and related some of his bold and shameless crimes.

“Just lately,” said the man from Budapest, interrupting him, “we took into custody a similar adventurer, and we did it by curious and not exactly legal methods, but we got no further in any other way. With us in Hungary, as it is with you here, the assistance of hypnotism in the detection of crime is forbidden. We had the man of whom we were almost certain--but, my dear sir, you won’t betray me, I am sure, for the professional interest you feel in putting an end to such aberrations is just as strong in me--well, we were practically certain that he was the leader of a gang which had several murders to their account. He was in prison, as I have told you. He made himself out a deaf mute, and we could glean nothing from his papers. No one knew him, yet we felt almost sure of our man, and that kind of thing is almost unbearable to an expert, isn’t it?--for when he appeared before their worships, there was the risk of his being acquitted for lack of sufficient evidence. That was a most disagreeable idea to me, for I had spent about six months in tracking him down, and if he were discharged the mistake would be due to me. I therefore took a very bold step. A friend of mine had hypnotic powers. He was a barrister, and had often displayed these gifts of his in private. I wanted him to go to the jail with me, but he said, ‘I can operate on him from outside,’ and, indeed, a quarter of an hour later I knew that we had the leader of the gang at last, and various disclosures were made which shortly after sent him to the gallows.”

While the Hungarian was telling this story Wenk experienced an aversion to him. He had a sensation of profound mental resistance to the man, although he could not explain what had caused such a reversal of feeling.

“Are you also interested in persons who possess this gift of suggestion?” asked the police superintendent.

“Uncommonly so!” answered Wenk.

“Perhaps you would like to meet my friend, and see something of his gifts?”

“Is he in Berlin, then? Yes, that I certainly should!”

“Yes, he’s here now. He has given up practising law, and now exercises his gifts openly. He has very quickly become celebrated. You must have heard the name of Weltmann?”

Wenk did not like to say No, so he answered with a subdued “Certainly!”

“Well, he is the celebrated Weltmann. You know he is noticeable on account of his having only one hand. He lost the other in the Carpathians in 1915. Well, we’ll arrange a meeting, then. I will see him in the morning. Are you on the telephone by any chance?”

Wenk mentioned his telephone number. Both the gentlemen then left, to go to a house where ether, cocaine and opium were procurable, and other more obvious vices were pandered to.

On the very next day Wenk was summoned to the telephone. “Police Superintendent Vörös speaking! Things have fallen out most favourably for you, my dear sir! In the home of one of our countrymen, about whom I will tell you a few things in confidence, Weltmann is giving an entertainment this very evening. It is quite enough for you to have expressed the wish; you may consider yourself invited, without any further formality. It is a most hospitable house, and you won’t feel yourself in any way a stranger. There are between sixty and seventy people invited. I’ll undertake all the arrangements, and if it suits you I’ll come in a car for you at nine o’clock. The villa is some distance out behind Nicholas Lake.”

“Thank you very much. Your kindness overwhelms me,” answered Wenk, “and I do not know how to requite it.”

“Oh, _that’s_ all right,” answered the other heartily. “We Hungarians are only too pleased to have such a chance. Then we can regard that as settled?”

“Quite, thank you!”

“How very amiable the Hungarians are,” thought Wenk, as he hung up the receiver. He felt quite ashamed of himself for having had a doubt of the police superintendent’s good faith.

He spent the afternoon among the archives of the Criminal Investigation Department, where he and the colleague with whom he had talked concerning the Mabuse crimes looked through the collection of photographs of criminals. Face after face drew his attention. He would not give up until he had seen them all, and when he came back to his lodgings, tired out with his protracted labours, he had only just time to don his evening clothes in readiness for the function he was to attend.

XX

Police Superintendent Vörös was punctual.

“Now I must tell you something about our host and my fellow-countrymen out there by the Lake,” he said directly the car started. “He was formerly Prince of Komor and Komorek, and he married a Viennese dancer. Of course, his people were furious! They made things so disagreeable for him that one day he said, ‘All right: you’ve gone too far. You’ve done with your Prince. From to-day I am plain Komorek,’ and then he wandered off. He was very rich, anyhow, and not in any way dependent on his people. The only thing that is still ‘princely’ about him is his mansion out yonder. You will see it for yourself. He’s been living there for ten years now. His wife is very smart and exclusive--more exclusive than a princess. Of course, she is no longer young. Have you had your evening meal?”

“No, I had no time.”

“Well, that does not matter. At Komorek’s house they are always ready for guests. You’ll get something good to eat there.”

Wenk asked himself, “Why is the man so talkative?” and once more his feeling of repulsion for the Hungarian regained its sway. He was inwardly both excited and uneasy, and in spite of the darkness in the car his eyes smarted. There seemed to be a constant stabbing sensation in them, and the thousands of likenesses he had seen that day seemed to be chasing each other round and round in a never-ending stream. “How much I should like to be at home and in bed!” he thought to himself. The car drove through districts which were unknown to him, and this was peculiar, for he had made the trip to the Nicholas Lake several times already and thought he knew the district beyond Friedenau. To-day, however, everything seemed unfamiliar. Was it the thick darkness of the night and the very sparse illuminations allowed since the war, or was it his own mood, which was responsible?

“Surely we ought to be at Nicholas Lake by now!” said he.

“I am not familiar with this neighbourhood,” said Vörös.

“I used to have friends out there, and I often drove there by motor-car, but of course that was before the war.”

“Ah, yes, before the war. Everything was different then,” and they both became silent.

Wenk looked at his watch, but it was too dark to read the dial, and for a long time now there had been scarcely any lights.

After a prolonged pause, Wenk said, “Surely the driver has not lost his way?”

“He is a Berlin taxi-driver. He told me he knew the way quite well.”

Wenk took up the speaking-tube: “Chauffeur, you know where it is? Nicholas Lake, the Komorek Villa.”

At this moment the car swung round, and lights appeared at the end of a long avenue.

“Here we are!” said the superintendent of police.

The motor soon drew up among other cars, all close together in front of the outside staircase leading to the house. It was not lighted, but the three French windows in the hall on to which it opened gave sufficient light. Wenk advanced rapidly to the light. Vörös conducted him to the cloakroom, which was filled with overcoats. A clock in the hall struck ten; its strokes were harsh and hasty, as if it would flog the hours away. Wenk, trying to count them, could not keep up with it.

“Ten o’clock,” he said to himself. “We’ve been an hour coming, and yet the car seemed to be doing about forty-five kilometres an hour. Nicholas Lake is not so far away as all that!” and again a faint misgiving stole over him.

He looked towards the Hungarian, who was smiling pleasantly at him. Then they went towards the large folding doors.

“Allow me to precede you, so that I may introduce you to the Princess at once.”

A man-servant threw open the door and Wenk followed the police superintendent into a fairly large hall. The first thing he noticed was that the light was very subdued; then he saw that in one corner there was a semicircular raised platform, draped with Persian hangings. Some chairs and a table, covered with a dark cloth, stood upon it. In the rows of chairs which filled the room, folks in evening dress were sitting. There were many fewer ladies than gentlemen, and those there were, were dressed in very fashionable and striking attire.

Then Vörös murmured, “The Princess!” and presented Wenk.

“Is this the friend you spoke of?” said the lady, with a winning smile. “You are very welcome, Herr von Wenk. We are pleased that you are able to give us your company this evening. May I pass you gentlemen on to my husband? A hostess’s duties, you know, my dear sir!...”

The lady stepped a little nearer to one of the electric lights, which were all covered with silk shades of a strong deep colour. Then Wenk saw that his hostess, whom he had taken for quite young, was very much made up and thickly powdered. Her dress was extremely glaring, and Wenk was startled by her general appearance as, with an extremely friendly smile, she inclined her head towards the man advancing, saying, “My husband,” and left them.

“Good evening, Prince,” said the police superintendent to a man who bowed to Wenk in what the latter considered a slightly affected way; and as his host raised his head again, Wenk looked into a swarthy face with a black moustache, strongly resembling one of those seen in the collection of criminals’ likenesses he had been studying earlier in the day. The lady of the house was not in sight.

The Prince, who in appearance was somewhat common, possessed the most finished manners. He had, moreover, the very rare gift of conversing without saying anything, for all the subjects of conversation seemed, as it were, extraneous to him. He accepted any subject offered him, apparently only to give form to the matter in hand, but made no contribution of his own.

“That manner of his shows breeding,” thought Wenk. “He is only moderately gifted, but he has such a desire for form that even the most trivial matter must be expressed ‘just so’! But what a curious appearance he has!”

The Prince led him to the first row of chairs, and the company were begged to take their seats. Wenk did not see Weltmann among them, for he would, of course, have been noticeable at once, through having lost his hand.

Wenk sat on his hostess’s left, with the Hungarian police superintendent close at hand. The rich hangings on the little stage swayed lightly, and a tall, broad-shouldered man, with rather bowed shoulders, came forward. He was well and fashionably dressed, but in contrast to the other guests, who were all in evening clothes, he wore a dark grey woollen street-suit. It was at once evident that the hand covered with a dark grey glove was an artificial one. “He is a Hungarian, that’s quite certain,” thought Wenk, “in spite of his German name.”

Weltmann had a thick black moustache with drooping ends. His eyebrows rose suddenly, making a high arch over his eyes. His black hair was combed right back and plastered smooth. The few words he spoke were simple and somewhat rough.

He said that the gifts he was about to display before the Prince and Princess and their guests were matters of fact, and he thought that the guests would prefer facts rather than an attempt to explain in words what would probably never be explainable. He would first offer himself as subject, and ask someone to name a lady and a gentleman in the company. Perhaps the Princess would name one.

Then the Princess said, “As the gentleman you want, I should like to name my neighbour, Herr von Wenk!”

“And the lady? Perhaps the Prince would name the lady?”

The Prince answered at once, “Then I shall name my wife.”

Weltmann seated himself, laying his artificial hand upon his knee in a way which everyone noticed. The other hand he kept in his coat-pocket. After a pause, in which he had collected his thoughts, he said, “Princess, have I ever had your watch in my hand--the little watch you carry in your hand-bag?”

“I don’t believe you ever have!” answered the Princess.

“The number of that watch is 56403. It is an oval-shaped _dernier-cri_ design!”

The Princess drew out her watch, opened it, read the number, and nodded. She showed it to both her neighbours, and said eagerly, “That’s quite right!”

“Please to think of a colour and write it down upon a piece of paper, and show it to your neighbours.”

The Princess considered a while. Then she wrote down, “The amethyst colour of Herr von Wenk’s ring,” and handed the piece of paper to Wenk.

Weltmann thought for some time, then he said hesitatingly: “It is a colour in your immediate neighbourhood, but it is rather indefinite. It is transparent, so it is probably that of a jewel. I cannot say exactly what two colours it is made up of, but there is violet in it.”

“Lift your ring up to the light, Herr von Wenk,” said the Princess, and all could see that a deep violet was mingled with a transparent bluish-white.

“Which gentleman did the Princess name?” asked Weltmann.

“My neighbour, Herr von Wenk,” she replied.

“You, sir,” went on Weltmann rapidly, as Wenk nodded slightly, “have your pocket-book in your right-hand breast-pocket. In it there are two notes for one thousand marks each; one is dated 1918, Series D, No. 65045, and the other Series E, No. 5567. Shall I go on, or will you see first whether this is correct?”

Wenk felt his pocket laughingly.

“No,” said Weltmann, “I meant the right-hand pocket, not the left. In the left you have your Browning pistol, stamped with the Serraing trade-mark, No. 201564.”

Wenk looked in amazement at Weltmann, for it was quite true. His Browning _was_ in his left-hand pocket, and it was one of the Serraing make. From all sides folks gazed at him, and the Princess leant towards him, so that he could distinguish the scent of the powder she used.

“Well, what do you think of that, Herr von Wenk?”

The entertainer smiled down at him, saying, “You need not mind showing the revolver, for in another compartment of your pocket-book you have the permit which allows you to carry firearms. It was renewed in Munich on January 1, 1921, and its number is 5. You must have been in a hurry to get your weapon authorized.”

“Was he dreaming, and was this singular man sneering at him?” thought Wenk. He brought it out, and everything was just as stated.

“Enough of that sort of thing,” said Weltmann. “Now, if you will allow me, we will have some examples of transference of will. I should like one of the gentlemen to come up here.”

Someone stepped on to the stage.

“Do you know this gentleman, Princess?”

“Yes, it is Baron Prewitz!”

“Is the Baron’s being known to the Princess sufficient for the company to rule out the idea of any private understanding between him and myself?”

There were cries of “Certainly!”