Part 4

The hasty ejaculation astonished Wenk. He turned round again, trying to penetrate the obscurity; then he grew uneasy, and at the same time he seemed to feel the beating of wings above his eyes. Yes, they were wings, and he himself was in a bird-cage. And now a seven was dealt him. “That’s no good,” something seemed to say to him, although it was almost certain to win. But Wenk resisted the suggestion, and said distinctly, “No other card for me!” It seemed as if it were almost death to him to have to utter these words.... He felt as if lightning-stabs were compelling him to close his eyes. Then in the last struggle of his will against his unnatural weariness he saw the Professor’s hand resting on the cards. It pressed the upper one with a slight trembling movement, in evident desire of giving it him, and it seemed as if a secret and burning stream passed from this hand to him, seeking to _compel_ him to take the card, although he had already declined it.

Recognizing this, he was suddenly wide awake. It seemed as if the chains destined to fetter his soul had fallen from before him, and he now faced the Professor fearlessly, seized with an incomprehensible and strangely earnest misgiving with regard to him. He was tempted to spring up and beat the beckoning fingers away from the card.

“You are taking a card?” said the deep, stern voice, as if issuing an order. It was the voice he had already heard from behind him. Then Wenk, in an unusually loud tone, said firmly and indignantly, “No, I have already declined!”

The large eyes behind the glasses remained fixed, gazing at him for the space of a second, then shrank back like hounds before a more powerful assailant. The old gentleman leaned slightly forward, asked for brandy and water, and shortly afterwards requested to be allowed to give up the bank and leave the game. He felt suddenly indisposed, he said....

They all busied themselves with him, crowding round his seat, but Wenk remained in his chair. He was struck by the connection between his little experience and the old gentleman’s attack of faintness. Were they indeed connected? He felt as if he were responsible for the Professor’s collapse. It seemed as if he had subconsciously come into conflict with him, and that this fainting-fit was the result of their struggle. He was considering how he could help him. Then he felt in his waistcoat-pocket and brought out his little bottle of smelling-salts. He took the stopper out and handed it across, saying, “Perhaps these salts may be of use? I have just ...” but he was surprised to find that the old gentleman had already departed.

His earlier misgivings returned. He rose quickly and pushed his way through the crowd. He wanted to follow the man and bring him back. Someone suddenly stopped him, saying something incomprehensible, as if he, Wenk, were responsible for the Professor’s condition; but Wenk’s hand went to the revolver in his breast-pocket. Cara Carozza advanced towards him; he pushed her hastily aside, dragging the other with him. Then with his disengaged hand he violently wrenched himself free of his assailant’s grip, and hurried to the corridor which formed the dimly lighted side-entrance. He heard footsteps behind him as he entered it, hastened forward, closed the door behind him after passing through, and soon gained the side street where the motor-cars were waiting.

By the light of a lantern he saw the old gentleman, bent and bowed no longer, but with hasty and powerful stride about to enter a car. He saw his own chauffeur drawing up to the kerb, and called to him in a low voice, “Follow that car!”

They flew after it. It was a large and powerful car, but as it was still early in the evening, there was a good deal of traffic, and it could not travel at its full speed, consequently they were close behind it. They were soon caught up in a stream of cars and taxicabs coming from one of the theatres, so that Wenk could follow quietly and without exciting suspicion right to the Palace Hotel. The Professor’s car stopped in front of it, and before Wenk’s car came to a standstill he saw the other enter the vestibule hastily. He gave a fleeting glance round. Wenk hastened after him, but happened to be caught in the stream of those entering, who hid him from sight. He saw the Professor rapidly open and read a telegram at the hotel bureau, and while he was reading it Wenk had time to select a favourable spot for observing him. Thus he saw that the old gentleman, raising his eyes from his telegram, gave a furtive glance round, then went quickly to the lift, opened the door and disappeared within it; but Wenk had noticed that there was a lift attendant sitting inside.

He waited till the light signalled where the lift had stopped, and saw it was on the first floor; then he rang for it to descend.

“First floor!” said he to the boy, and they went up alone.

“Wasn’t it the gentleman in No. 15 who just went up?” he asked.

“No, sir; it was the Dutch Professor in No. 10.”

“Ah, then my eyes must have deceived me,” he said. “Thank you;” and he proceeded slowly along the corridor. He came to No. 10, lingered a moment there, then went on and looked backward, hearing a door open. It might have been No. 10. He waited, stooping down and busying himself with his shoelace, and when he heard the door shut again, he turned round. Then he saw that on the mat in front of No. 10 there was a pair of shoes.

He went back, an unusual idea having occurred to him. He would knock at the door and ask the old gentleman whether he had recovered from his indisposition, and then take him unawares, for he felt he had enough to go upon to arrest him. The idea seemed to him both a bold and promising one, but when he stood in front of No. 10 again, he saw that the shoes outside the door were women’s shoes, and he gave up the thought. Then he went downstairs and asked to see the hotel manager. He showed him the necessary credentials and asked about the gentleman in No. 10. The hotel list was brought.

“No. 10, you see, sir, is Professor Grote, from The Hague.”

“According to your book he is staying here alone.”

“That is so, your honour.”

“Is he always alone here, or now and then with a female companion?”

“I do not allow anything of that sort, your honour. We are very strict about our guests’ respectability.”

“Well, I can only say that this guest, in spite of his size, has uncommonly small feet.”

“What does your honour mean by that?”

“He wears ladies’ shoes.”

“Ah now, sir, you are joking.”

“Well, come with me, my good fellow, and see for yourself.”

They went upstairs together. In front of No. 10 they saw a pair of elegant high-heeled shoes of the latest fashion.

Then Wenk cocked his revolver and went in without the formality of knocking. He entered the room quickly, the hotel manager following him. The light was on, but the room was empty. Both the windows were closed and the bathroom adjoining had none. Wenk searched the cupboards, bed, and drawers, but nowhere was any clue to be found. He hurried down to the street, but the stranger’s car had disappeared.

He made the manager inquire who had left the hotel within the last ten minutes. “Nobody but the secretary,” said the commissionaire. At that moment the secretary came from behind a partition, ready to leave the hotel. The man looked at him in amazement.

“You here again! You only left a few minutes ago.”

“_I_ did? I was in the bureau till this very minute,” answered the employé.

Then Wenk knew all he needed to know, and the circumstance was fully explained. For the purposes of disguise the man who had disappeared had prepared the outfit of someone well known in the hotel. He had put a woman’s shoes at his door, for he conjectured, and rightly too, that the pursuer, before he entered the room, would go back to the bureau and inquire about the mystery of the feminine footwear, and he had made good use of the time this took. It was evident to Wenk that he was dealing with a mastermind. He was astonished at the dexterity with which he worked. It immediately recalled the doings of the blond stranger at Schramm’s, and Hull’s Herr Balling.

On his homeward way, and after he reached his chambers, Wenk thought over all he knew about the bearded blond, and tried to compare it with the impressions made on him by the Professor. But, strangely enough, although many details concerning the gambler at Schramm’s were firmly and indelibly fixed in his mind, his impressions of the Professor were wavering and indistinct, although he had encountered him but an hour before.

Moreover, he grew drowsy and it seemed to him as if he had to recover from some more than ordinary fatigue which he had undergone in the course of the day. He began to undress, and a lassitude, almost like that caused by the loss of blood, overcame him. That feeling of an inward lightness of body which had seemed so comfortable when he recalled it at the close of their contest, the nervous tension after the last occurrence, together with the sensation of faintness, now took possession of him entirely. He yielded to it and fell asleep before he had quite finished undressing. In his dream it seemed as if a mysterious and magic castle had been built up all round him, and he knew that if he could interpret the three syllables “Tsi-nan-fu,” or locate that hole in the wall whither The Hague professor’s voice projected them, he would find the key to unlock the door of the enchanted castle.

V

For the next few evenings Wenk did not visit any gaming-house. As his own chauffeur, dressed in leather cap and coat, he drove round the city, bringing his car to a standstill before one or other of its well-known resorts, and observing, from the security of the driver’s seat, the people who entered or left it.

On one occasion, when he was driving to the first of these houses and proceeding slowly along the Dienerstrasse, he was held up by a block in the traffic. While he was waiting, he saw in a tobacconist’s, just in front of which his course was arrested, something which caused his pulses to beat at double time. It was he, the sandy-bearded man! He had his back turned and was buying cigars, but it was certainly he! He was making his choice slowly and carefully as if he defied the danger of being recognized. There was a car in front of the door. Wenk examined it closely, but it was unfamiliar to him. He copied its number down.

Once the chauffeur left it, in order to do something to the back of the car. Wenk, who was behind him, called to him; the man looked up, but put his hands to his mouth as if to signify that he was dumb.

The man in the shop took up his parcel and turned to the door, but the face he disclosed to Wenk was one he had never seen before. People pushed between him and Wenk, so that he saw him for a moment only. Just then the block was released, the string of cars drove on, and the one in front of him set off at a bound, as if hastening to get away from pursuit.

Wenk, however, could not shake off his conviction. He followed. As soon as the other car was free of the rest, it increased its speed, and bore off to the Maximilianstrasse. Wenk was unable to keep up with it. The street was empty throughout its length, and when he had reached the square at the end he saw that the car in front was turning down Wiedenmeierstrasse. He still followed, the distance between them always increasing, but in the moonlight he never lost sight of his quarry throughout the length of the street. When he reached the Max Joseph Bridge, he saw that the car in front was making use of the wide square on the other bank of the Isar to make a detour, and suddenly, with its engines throbbing, it came back across the bridge and drove past him. It then drove again down the Wiedenmeierstrasse, which it had just ascended.

This was certainly a suspicious circumstance, and Wenk did all he could to gain upon the other car, and turned round while still on the bridge. Again the other turned into the Maximilianstrasse, and as it was now teeming with traffic, Wenk was able to bring his own vehicle close up.

The strange car came to a halt outside a theatre of varieties. Wenk sprang from his car, and when the stranger left his and, turning his back on Wenk, entered the theatre, he felt the same overpowering conviction that it really was the blond--it could be no other.

In feverish excitement Wenk pushed past the people and got into the theatre. He saw that he would overtake the stranger in the _foyer_, so he waited among the rest, certain that the other would have to pass by him.... But when he did, Wenk saw a broad, clean-shaven man, with a heavy mouth and large staring eyes. The face was quite unknown to him, and coolly and indifferently the large eyes glanced at him. Disappointed and disgusted, Wenk passed by, intending to go out to his waiting car.

A few late arrivals detained him in the proximity of the cloakroom. It was exactly eight o’clock, and the signal that the curtain was about to go up was already being given. At this moment Wenk realized what a difficulty there would be and what excitement would be created were he to arrest his man then and there. Unwilling to let his quarry escape him, he turned once more, and then saw the other disengaging himself from a group of men who were pushing forward to the pit, making his way quietly to the left-hand entrance to the boxes. This led to the five ground-floor boxes, as Wenk knew. He quickly made up his mind and bought a seat in one of them for himself. It was the last to be had, and the plan showed him that each box held five persons.

Going back to his car, he crept inside, and there changed into evening dress. From the box-office he telephoned his chauffeur to come for the car, and then returned to his box.

It was dark when he entered it, and he tried, but without success, to distinguish the stranger’s features in the dim light. When the light went up again he was equally unsuccessful in tracing him anywhere among the twenty ladies and gentlemen sitting in the lower boxes. It was altogether incomprehensible. This corridor led to the five boxes only, and they were five or six feet above the pit. How had his quarry escaped him?

Now thoroughly uneasy, Wenk hastened to the street to see whether the stranger’s car was still there. To his relief he found it there.

He breathed more freely, and turned to go to his own car and remain there until he could pursue the other, but as he noticed the strange car again, he saw that it had a taximeter. He had looked at the car well before, and was certain that it had no register. Without further reflection, Wenk approached the chauffeur, saying, “Are you disengaged?”

“Yes, sir,” said the chauffeur.

Wenk entered the car, giving his own address. During the drive he intended to consider his next move; then it suddenly occurred to him that the man, who had been dumb when in the Dienerstrasse, answered instantly when spoken to here.

The automobile drove on; a sweetish scent pervaded its interior, which affected Wenk’s mucous membranes.

Something _was_ wrong then! “A little while ago he was dumb, now he can talk,” reflected Wenk. “Before it was a private car; now it is plying for hire like a taxicab. What is it that smells so strongly?” His nostrils and eyelids seemed to be on fire.

In order to decide what the odour was, Wenk drew one or two deep breaths. Then he tried to open the window, for he found the smell unbearable. What _did_ it smell of? He raised his arm, but he saw that it would not rise to its full extent; it did not obey his will. At the same moment it seemed as if a heavy block were pressing on his eyes. Then dread seized him in a fiery grasp. No longer capable of resistance, he began to bellow furiously, flung himself down and kicked with his foot at the handle of the door, but without being able to find it.

For some few seconds he lay on the floor of the car, with occasional gleams of consciousness. Then these were finally extinguished, and complete insensibility overtook him, while the car continued its mad race through the streets.

The chauffeur drove with the unconscious form of the drugged State Attorney throughout the darkness to Schleissheim. There he propped him up on a bench, and then drove back to Munich. In the Xenienstrasse he halted before a residence standing alone. Upon a brass plate might be read:

DR. MABUSE, _Neurologist._

A man of massive build, covered by a fur coat, came rapidly out of the house and through the little front garden to the car. “He is lying in the Schleissheim Park,” said the chauffeur. “Here is the notebook you wanted.”

“Did you remove the gas-flask from the car?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Drive on!”

But at this moment a woman, closely muffled up, came out of the darkness and stepped towards the car. She held on to the door, murmuring beseechingly, “Dearest!”

Mabuse turned in annoyance. “What do you want? Are you begging?”

The woman answered him gently and sadly. “Yes, begging--for love!”

“You know my answer.”

“But remember the past. Why should this be?” implored the voice.

Mabuse, in wrath, exclaimed, “The past is past. Your part is to obey. My orders are clear, and there is nothing between Yes and No. You have heard from George what my wishes are. Drive on, George!”

He was already in the car. The woman fell back to the garden railings, covered herself up again, and called after the retreating car, “But if I cannot stop loving you?”

Then a second car pulled up close beside her. A man sprang out and advanced towards her, saying threateningly, “What do you want here? Oh, oh! it’s you, Cara! Well, have you spoken to the Doctor?”

She nodded despairingly.

“There’s nothing to be done. His will is like a sledge-hammer, therefore don’t oppose it. So long! I must go after him.”

And Cara Carozza gathered her disguising garments about her and went away in grief, downcast and heavy-hearted, to sacrifice herself for him.

* * * * *

“Where are we?” inquired Mabuse through the speaking-tube.

“Past Landsberg!” answered George.

The plans in Mabuse’s head succeeded one another as rapidly as the trees in a forest in which he wandered continually further. Ever more steps to climb, more gulfs to cross! Were they really plans after all? Were they not dreams? he asked himself, suddenly checking the thoughts that were racing through his mind.

“Five million Swiss francs are now worth about twenty-five million lire, i.e. five million Italian five-lire pieces. Each of these weighs twenty grams. Five million, will that be enough? It’s a good idea, for the gain on every five-lire piece which I buy at to-day’s rate with Swiss francs is four francs; therefore the total gain will be four million Swiss francs. Against that the costs are thirty per cent. Good! Each one, I said, weighs twenty grams. Now, how many kilograms are there in five million times twenty grams? A hundred million grams? Why cannot I think out these simple calculations clearly? Am I afraid of anything?”

Yes, there again he found himself in another forest. “Am I afraid, really afraid? If I am, I shall come to grief. After all, who is Hull? Who is Wenk? What absurdity! _I_ ... afraid?”

He collected his ideas, and sent these thoughts packing.

“A hundred million grams make a hundred thousand kilograms. According to the district he is in, a smuggler can carry from ten to fifteen kilos every time. How many men am I employing in this work alone? The whole amount must be brought from Italy to the Southern Tyrol and thence to Switzerland within a month. The Austrian frontiers are easier, even if I have to employ twice the number. Spoerri reckoned the risk to be only three per cent., according to the police reports, as against ten per cent. by Lake Constance or the Ticino frontier, where the Customs officials, even in peace-time, used to regard everybody with suspicion.”

Mabuse’s imagination threatened to run away with him again. Should he not try to sleep?

“Where are we?” he called through the speaking-tube.

“At Buchloe!” was the reply.

The distance from Buchloe to Röthenbach was eighteen kilometres.

“That will take two hours,” he reflected; “then we shall do it comfortably. At 2 p.m. we must be at Schachen, and before that we meet Spoerri at Opfenbach and Pesch on the Lindau Hill. After that we shall be practically in Schachen, and there will be no chance of sleep.”

But he could not regain control of himself. Wenk’s attempt at pursuit oppressed him. In the Palace Hotel he had only had ten minutes’ start of him.

He did not want to acknowledge it, even to himself. He began to reckon that to smuggle five million five-lire pieces from Italy and the Southern Tyrol through Vorarlberg to Switzerland would require two hundred and fifty people on each frontier. That was five hundred men for the smuggling alone. If he reckoned the buyers and the Bolzano collectors as well, it was really seven hundred. With their families he might consider that he was keeping, roughly, about four thousand people. That was a small township. A little town lay in his grasp, pledged to evil purposes, working in dark nights, stealing along mysterious byways, avoiding the revolvers of Customs officials, working stealthily, steadily, at his will. They had no thought either, but of him, the owner of the money, the employer and dictator, the possessor of all power and force. They ventured their lives for him, but he had never seen one of them. How would it be if he were to see and converse with them, appearing abruptly before them when they were in the midst of their enterprise? They would imagine themselves to be caught, until they should have realized that it was he, their master and employer, who stood amongst them.