Hull departed, and Wenk, alone with the impressions which the evening’s
experiences had left on his mind, asked himself, “Why did the fair
unknown try to get away so secretly? Have I made another mistake? Has
my helping her in her flight placed a weapon in the hand which would
strike at me and my work?”
His agitation increased, but he dismissed his doubts of the lady.
No, he felt he could rely upon her. And now the realization of the
connection between Hull and the gambler, and all the other stories
about the latter, set his mind working in a fresh direction, and other
ideas began to develop. He seemed to hear the beating of the wings of
some new and mighty force that was invading his life. Conflicts were
going on in his physical nature, his phantasy, his nervous energy and
endurance. His knowledge of men and his dominion over them were being
put to the test. Thinking fiercely, he smoked cigar after cigar, and
clouds of smoke surrounded him. It was spring-time, storm, sunshine,
and again storm, in his blood. His muscles were engaged in an imaginary
and heroic conflict with mysterious and mighty giants who were seeking
to strangle his fellow-men. He had seized one of them by the false
reddish beard which he had assumed, in semblance of humanity.
From the town, lapped in slumber, it seemed as if the spirit of the age
rushed into his room--an age fraught with dangers, demands, and tension
of all kinds. It demanded men--demanded of all men all their ambition,
self-discipline, intelligence, selflessness ... selflessness. It should
take him! There he was, free alike from arrogance and from indolence!
Might there not be, he asked himself in his ecstatic monologue, a new
democracy which should redeem the past? Was that the goal towards which
the present gloom was leading mankind? Was he rising on the stormy
wave? He would no longer drift along, striving to help his country as a
mere idealist. No, he would stand firm on his feet; struggle, contest,
but not submit! Freed from thoughts of self, he would expend the last
drop of his blood to become what he had learned to be; he would yield
all he had to give, to the very last red drop.
It was not his career that was at stake, but that which all men have in
common, both in conflict with each other and in helping one another.
It was the surge of humanity in which mortals, for good or ill, were
engulfed in a gloom which none could dominate and subdue. In that night
of reflection the lawyer saw the criminal no longer as a being of an
inferior order. He envisaged him as a man whose pulses raced madly
along, his senses stirred by the powers of hell; a man whose lusts and
appetites, demon-fed, should overreach themselves and be brought to
nought, and he, Wenk, should save and deliver him. The fighter should
gain the ascendancy over his adversary.
In imagination Wenk was now struggling with the blond stranger, and in
him he had a powerful opponent. He suspected even more than he already
knew. If he could relieve mankind of him, he would have accomplished
something by which he could advance further.
The song which Wenk’s heart had been singing for the last two hours
suddenly seemed to be familiar to him, and in astonishment he realized
that the state to which he had now come had been foreshadowed in
his boyhood’s days, even before his university career, his military
training, and his entry into law, when as yet no idea of the
justification of humanity had fired his blood. Thinking over his lonely
bachelor existence, without any womanly influence, he felt a strange,
sad yearning for the father who had died long before.
The next day Wenk asked Hull to procure for him a list of all the
secret gambling-dens, the addresses of which might be obtained with
the help of Cara, who was _au courant_ of such matters. He made Hull
promise, however, that he would not speak to the girl of himself in
this connection.
Wenk visited these places evening by evening. He went disguised as a
rich old gentleman from the provinces. He had chosen this disguise,
first of all, because he had an excellent example of it in an elderly
uncle whom he merely had to copy. The old gentleman gave the impression
that he was thoroughly enjoying all his experiences of the great city.
Wenk had some accomplices among Karstens’ acquaintances. He begged
them to make it widely known that he, the “country cousin,” was a man
of fabulous wealth, which when once settled down, he intended to use
to the full. He thought that thus he might entice the gambler from
Schramm’s and others bent on plunder, that his wealth would be the
candle to these night moths. At times he played carelessly for half an
hour, adapting himself to the character of the game; then he would win
considerable sums, only to lose them again next time. With all this he
never lost sight of his own affairs or his neighbours’, and during the
game his brain was working busily with a keenness which brought its own
satisfaction.
One evening during the second week in which he was pursuing this
course, he came to a gaming-house in the centre of the city which, from
the style of its habitués, who appeared more downright than in some of
the other places, seemed to promise him something out of the common.
There he saw an old gentleman sitting at the card-table, his attention
being drawn to him on account of his horn spectacles. These were of
unusual size. The old gentleman was addressed as Professor. When he
took his cards in his hand, he removed his horn spectacles, exchanging
them for eyeglasses of an uncommon shape.
Then Wenk noticed that the spectacles now lying on the table were not
the usual type of modern horn spectacles, but were of tortoiseshell,
very artistically designed. The old gentleman slipped them into a
large shagreen case, dotted over with green points. All his movements
were very leisurely, so that Wenk had ample time for his observations.
“Those are Chinese spectacles,” he thought to himself, recalling
his own journey to China, which he had made before the war. The
recollection surged up so powerfully that he uttered aloud what he had
really only intended to say to himself.
The Professor, who sat opposite him, nodded to him and said in a firm
voice, which he had not expected to hear from so aged a mouth, “They
are from Tsi-nan-fu!”
He repeated the name, stressing it and separating the syllables,
“Tsi-nan-fu.” It was as if the name had a rhythm and recollection
behind it which affected him strongly, and which he enjoyed in the mere
repetition of the syllables. He looked across at Wenk, as if his eyes
in their large glasses were sending him a challenge. Wenk at once felt
some strange connection with the old Professor.
“Tsi-nan-fu,” said the harsh voice again, as if with special meaning;
indeed, as if he wanted to hurl the three syllables at something, some
invisible goal behind Wenk--to reach, three times over, an invisible
point in the obscurity straight above his head beyond the circle of
electric light.
Wenk involuntarily raised his hand to the back of his head and turned
round. Was he seeking the spot towards which the three syllables were
projected, and had they reached their goal? When he looked round he
observed that behind his neighbour at the gaming-table sat the lady
whose mysterious flight from Schramm’s he had assisted. It seemed as
if she were regarding him mockingly, and he did not know what course to
pursue with regard to her, but at that moment he felt that cards were
being dealt to him, and he turned again to the table to take them up.
As he did so he began to feel sleepy, and felt dimly that the staring
eyes of the Professor were somehow responsible for this. He forgot
the beautiful unknown, and strove to banish his lassitude, sitting
bolt upright and gazing at the green shagreen cover of the Chinese
spectacle-case. It seemed as if the eyes of the old Professor, larger
than ever behind his glasses, were fixed vaguely upon him, and some dim
recollection of past days of travel flitted into his mind. One morning
on his journey to China, through the porthole of his cabin he had seen
a narrow strip of coast-line between sky and sea, and knew it for the
delta of the Yang-tse-kiang. Yes, it was the Yang-tse-kiang.
Pursuing this recollection, Wenk named his stake, won it, and left
his money lying. A comfortable sense of drowsiness pervaded him, and
he stretched himself out, enjoying it. Then he became wide awake once
more, played his game, and continued his watch. The players were
holding the bank in turns, and it seemed to Wenk as if he were only
awaiting the moment when the old gentleman should take it over. “Why am
I waiting for that?” he asked himself. “How strange it is that I should
be. There are feelings that one cannot trace to their source.”
He finally decided that he was awaiting that moment because the
Professor with the Chinese spectacles was the most interesting person
present, and that this waiting sprang from a feeling of _rapport_ and
sympathy with him.
As the evening proceeded, this secret bond between him and the unknown
Professor grew stronger still. “It is childish and sentimental,” he
told himself; “what is it going to lead to?”
Then the old gentleman took the bank, and Wenk seemed to be
released--released from a ridiculous and unnatural tension. “Now
things will be all right,” he thought. He staked a small sum, trying
to indicate thereby that he was no opponent of the banker, and that
it was only for form’s sake he played against him.... He won, for he
held eight points, and then he ascertained that he had staked a much
bigger note than he had intended to. Therefore he put his stake and his
winnings together and ventured both. He drew a king and a five. When he
held a five he never bought another card, and this rule was so firmly
established in his mind that when asked to say Yes or No, he did not
even answer.
“You are taking a card?” were the words he heard in his fit of
abstraction. They were uttered by a deep, compelling voice, and seemed
almost threatening in tone. Strangely, too, they seemed to him to
proceed from the spot behind and above him which had been the goal of
the sounds “Tsi-nan-fu.”
Then he whispered hesitatingly, “Please!” and at the same instant he
seemed to dissociate himself inwardly from this decision, but it was
too late. He had drawn a five, and that, added to the cards he held,
totalled more than twenty-one and made his hand worthless.
The banker’s hand showed a queen and a four, and as he had taken no
other card, he had won the round.
“The country cousin is losing!” said a woman’s voice.
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.
Four thousand people; it was a whole district. But in Citopomar it
would be something very different when he traversed the virgin forests
and had the Botocudos and all the other tribes directly under his
thumb, and had left this insignificant beggarly little continent behind
him! There his word alone would be law. There, in Citopomar, the dream
of his boyhood would be fulfilled--a dream which had already begun to
be realized on that large and desolate island which lay cradled in
the ocean yonder. There he had owned men; there wild Nature was his
alone; as a conqueror he had sailed the waters; his blood and sinews
governed men; his will was imposed on Nature; the palms of his planting
yielded him a luxuriant growth of wealth--sheer gold. He could despise
it because he did not need it, for there he was free, free as a king, a
deity!...
But the war had driven him out of his Paradise and sent him back to
the despised continent of Europe. He could not endure life in these
European countries. He felt as if he were confined in a pasture, eating
grass like dumb, senseless cattle ate their predestined, accustomed
grass. No, he could not live thus! Therefore by undermining State
organization he was preparing a State for himself, with laws which he
alone made, with powers vested in himself over the souls and bodies of
men. By means of his accomplices he was collecting the money wherewith
to establish his empire in the primeval forests of Brazil, the Empire
of Citopomar.
He was self-sufficing. What were men to him? He scattered them at will.
Yonder, however, in the future, in Citopomar, there would be none who
_could_ oppose him.
By degrees, as these thoughts ran away with him, Mabuse fell asleep,
his limbs reclining on the cushions and his phantasies soaring above
all material things. For two long hours he slept, sunk in the darkness
of his dreams.
Then it seemed as if a little hammer were striking his skull, always on
the same spot. It was annoying, and it was unheard of. He had only two
hours between Buchloe and Röthenbach in which to sleep. Who had dared
to strike his head with this hammer?
All at once he was wide awake. The hammer was the whistle of the
speaking-tube.
“Well?” called out Mabuse.
“There is a car behind us.”
“What are its marks?”
“There is a grey patch on the right lamp.”
“What is the time?”
“Half-past one.”
“And where are we?”
“Two kilometres from Röthenbach.”
“Pull up! It is Spoerri.”
The car stopped, and immediately its lights went out, and so did those
of the car which followed. Then it drove close up and stopped. There
was a cough heard.
“Come here!” said Mabuse.
Someone came out of the darkness. Mabuse had drawn the revolver from
his coat-pocket. The car-driver turned on a small electric lamp, and
its gleam disclosed a man wrapped in a large cloak.
“Spoerri?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The pistol was returned to its place.
“Spoerri, wait here a quarter of an hour, or else drive to Schachen by
another route. You must arrive shortly after me, between half-past one
and two o’clock. I have decided on some great changes that I want to
tell you of before we go to Switzerland. Anything else?”
“Everything is in order. I have another hundred kilos of cerium in the
car.”
“Good. Between half-past one and two o’clock!”
They drove on. As their road approached the Austrian frontier, which
was patrolled by officials, their lights were extinguished for a while,
but in Schlachters they shone out again, and the village was soon left
behind them.
Half-way to Lindau, where forest and hill meet, they stopped again.
“Anybody there?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Not Pesch?”
“I don’t see anybody.”
Mabuse quitted the car impatiently.
“I will punish him for this. I _will_ have my people punctual!”
He waited on, and the minutes crept by. Mabuse slapped his thigh
angrily. To keep him waiting! That a smuggler should dare to do such a
thing! He was consumed with impatience, and felt as if his dignity were
impeached. That a smuggler should keep him, the master, waiting!
Five minutes later a car, with faint lights, issued from the junction
road and stopped on the highway.
“Pesch!” exclaimed Mabuse.
A man turned from the open car.
“Yes, Doctor, here I am. It is Pesch.”
“It is 1.45 a.m., and you were due at 1.35.”
“Oh, a matter of ten minutes doesn’t count. _I’ve_ had to wait often
enough!” answered the voice in the darkness in a defiant tone.
“If I had a horsewhip here I’d cudgel you soundly. Ten minutes mean
fifteen kilometres advance upon a pursuer, you fool! You are earning
two thousand marks from me to-night.”
The other answered boldly, “And with my help _you_ are earning twenty
thousand!”
“Five hundred thousand more likely, you blockhead,” said Mabuse; “but
that’s nothing to do with you. The only question here is who is master
and who servant.”
“You are not my master,” said the other.
“I am not? ... you say so, do you?” he thundered. “Very well, you can
get along home. I don’t want you any more--never any more!”
He turned to his car and got in; then said hastily in a threatening
tone, “If you feel inclined to send any anonymous information to the
authorities, you’ll remember that there is a fir-tree growing in the
wood, and there’s room for you to hang there like your colleague Haim.
Drive on, George!”
The car started off again.
In the neighbourhood of Schachen, where stately houses with upper
stories made cars appear less striking, they found a park gate open,
and without any difficulty George found his way along the dark drive
leading to the villa. The lights were extinguished.
While Mabuse and George were still standing on the doorstep Spoerri
arrived.
When Mabuse opened the door and turned on the light, he saw that
Spoerri was dressed as a monk.
“It is a mere accident,” said Spoerri. “I had to go to Switzerland in a
hurry, and down there in the Rhine valley a cowl is more useful than
even a genuine frontier pass. The last pass I had is in St. Gallen, and
you know that I had to leave there hastily. But I had left the list
of securities with Schaffer, and he brought them to me at Altstetten
to-day. It is not safe to send such things by post nowadays.”
When he said this they were sitting in a large, well-furnished
dining-room. George served the supper, brought ready prepared from
Munich, and warmed up on the electric stove. Still eating, Mabuse said:
“We will liquidate on the lake itself, and thus we shall gain five
points more than on land, according to the lists. I have bought five
million Italian five-lire pieces. They are coming to the Southern
Tyrol, and must be taken to Switzerland by way of the Vorarlberg. You
must look after that, Spoerri. The Italian agent is Dalbelli, in Meran.
You must go there to-morrow. I give you a month to do it in, and then
we shall start a fresh district. Switzerland is now strongly against
the importation of silver, and so there is less competition. We shall
get enough of the five-lire pieces in Italy, and I have tried to do it
with French silver too, but since the Treaty of Versailles there are so
many fresh business combines in France, and they give nobody anything
because the majority of them have not been in trade before. Have you
not noticed that?”
Spoerri nodded, making some inward calculation.
“Stop your calculations till I have done talking,” said Mabuse sharply,
and Spoerri looked up in confusion.
Mabuse continued: “My confidential agent in the Government has informed
me that meat-control will be abolished in Bavaria next month, but the
matter will be kept dark. The difference in the prices prevailing in
Bavaria and in Würtemberg is an enormous one, and for the first few
weeks of decontrol it will still be very considerable. It would be a
good thing to begin buying up now, however, and you can say that I am
prepared to lay out ten million marks. Buy as much as you can get hold
of; haste is wisdom in this respect. Inquire of Meggers in Stuttgart
about the sales, and see that we have enough people for the transport.
Everything must be completed within three days of giving the orders.
We shall want from a thousand to twelve hundred head of cattle, and
look out for beasts of good quality. No sheep or pigs--the risk is too
great. Reckon it up for yourself before you do anything further. We get
thirty per cent. on our purchase, and therefore we can allow ten per
cent. on expenses. You must reckon more correctly than you did about
the salvarsan.”
“That time I hadn’t calculated....”
“Exactly, you hadn’t calculated correctly. Pesch is withdrawing; let
him be closely watched by the Removal Committee, for he is impulsive,
and if he plays the slightest trick he can be strung up beside Haim. By
the way, they haven’t found _him_ yet.... How much did you pay for the
cerium?”
“It was dearer than....”
“Everything always is dearer than ... the Poles or the Bolsheviks can
get it. How much?”
“Fifty marks.”
“Fifty Swiss francs then. They must have it, so don’t yield a stiver!”
He whistled into the speaking-tube under the table.
“George there?” he called out. “Everything in order?... Good. The
_Rhine_ is waiting, Spoerri. George, you are to be pilot; don’t forget
the securities. That’s all for the present”; and turning again to
Spoerri, “You’ll be in no danger in going to Zürich, Spoerri, will you?”
“I am all right as soon as I’ve passed the Customs, and then I go on as
a priest.”
“If you travel by the _Rhine_, you’ll avoid the Customs; you can take
charge of the securities and put them in the bank, to the account
of Salbaz de Marte, mining engineer. Here is the list: a million in
German Luxemburg stock, two million German Colonial Loan, five hundred
thousand-mark notes. These are to be changed at once into milreis; that
gives a better exchange than either dollars or Swiss francs. Inform
Dr. Ebenhügel that fresh securities have been deposited, and that I
want him to make use of the first favourable opportunity and sell
for milreis.... There is one rather difficult matter to settle: the
disposal of the people who have been working for me in Constance. If
they are unemployed....”
“Many don’t want to work any longer, in any case,” said Spoerri.
“I know. Those are the folks who have all they want; there’s nothing
to fear from _them_. With my help they have got their own houses and
are free of debt. But sometimes I have been obliged to take any workers
I could get, and those who don’t own their houses should be carefully
watched. The powder magazine is at Constance, for the young fellows
live there, and if we suddenly withdraw these high wages from them,
there is nothing for them to do but steal, and in a week’s time they’ll
find themselves in prison and will be blabbing everything in their
rage. Talk to George about this, and see what is to be done. He’s going
there to-morrow. The safest thing would be to pack them off into the
Foreign Legion. Go and see Magnard as soon as you have finished up in
Zürich and Meran. Don’t forget to claim the commission for them. Give
it to George, who can divide it among those concerned.... Authorize
Böhm to sell the three motor-boats that we have on the lake besides the
_Rhine_. _That_ always bears the ensign of the Royal Würtemberg Yacht
Club and therefore is unnoticed. Keep the _Rhine_ in this neighbourhood
for any emergency. The boat can do sixty kilometres if it is well
handled. Let us go.”
George was waiting outside. The three men felt their way through the
darkness to the landing-stage, where they could hear the boat’s engines
throbbing.
“You have followed out my orders and there’s nothing on board?” said
Mabuse.
“Nothing but the cerium.”
“Take it out then. I am not a dealer in scrap-iron!”
George hastened forward. Three men were busy in the gloom. Then Mabuse
and Spoerri went on board and the boat started, going cautiously
through the night. The engine scarcely throbbed. There was a slight
vibration in the cabin where Mabuse sat, wrapped in his fur coat; then
he went to the deck aft, and impatiently forward to the engine. After
they had travelled for a while, he listened intently. It seemed to him
as if through the sounds made by his own boat a noise reached his ears.
“Stop!” he cried suddenly.
George stopped the engine, and the sounds outside ceased. They started
again, and immediately the sounds on the water, now on the right and
again on the left, were heard once more. Mabuse went on the fore-deck,
where the noise of the engine was not so distinct. From there he could
hear them quite distinctly.
“We are pursued, or at any rate under surveillance,” he thought. “Can
it be that lawyer-detective Wenk?” Calmly, yet defiantly, he got his
pistols ready. In the darkness he tried to discern what flag the
_Rhine_ was carrying, but it was impossible to find out.
“Spoerri,” he called out softly, and Spoerri came out of the cabin.
“What are we travelling as? Don’t you hear that we are being followed?”
“No, no,” said Spoerri, “we are a Swiss patrol-boat to-night. I heard
that the Germans were about, so I ordered the three other boats to act
as convoy. One is travelling behind us, the others on each side. Nobody
could reach us; we are already in Swiss waters.”
“How much a year do you earn in my service, that makes you take such
care of me?” said Mabuse spitefully.
“Quite enough,” answered Spoerri; “but that is not why I do it.”
“Why then? Are you enamoured of my person, or is it merely the
Christian charity that it suits you Swiss folk to assume since the war?”
“Yes,” said Spoerri simply.
“I have three and a half millions here in my dispatch-case. If you
dared to, you would strangle me, but you don’t dare, and that is all
there is about it. That is your pure humanity and love. During the last
year you have had somewhere about eighty-five thousand, six hundred and
seventy-seven marks or more from me.... Is that enough to stifle the
desire to murder a man?”
“Yes,” said Spoerri once more.
“Then you are a slave--my slave. Do you hear me? You are my slave.”
“I hear you.”
“Shall I slap your face? No; I won’t touch your slave-skin with my own.
I just spit in the air.”
“Into the sea. You won’t pick a quarrel with anybody. There is no point
of honour on the Lake of Constance.”
“Point of honour is an expression that doesn’t exist. A point is
no larger than a squashed fly, and that’s the extent of a man’s
honour--yours too, eh? You have some honour, even if the Lake of
Constance has not?”
“I have never measured it.”
“Speak sense when you talk to me. I won’t stand your tomfoolery.”
“We are getting close to the shore.”
“Are you shirking, fellow?”
“No.”
“You dog!” said Mabuse in a stifled voice, in growing wrath. “I feel
hatred tingling in my finger-tips. I shall grasp you by the throat, you
cur, you cowardly cur, and I shall annihilate you just as the electric
current in the American death-chair does, you miserable wretch!”
At this moment the engine stopped. For some time the sounds of the
boats behind them had ceased.
“Why have we stopped?” asked Mabuse angrily. “I gave no orders.”
“There is no signal from the shore.”
Then Mabuse came to himself again. He stood up, gnashing his teeth, and
asked:
“What is the matter?”
“We must wait. We can always rely on Solly. There is something wrong.”
“Let us wait! Have you weapons ready?”
“Yes, but if we don’t get the signal, we’d better get into the skiff.
Then we can row back to the other boats.”
Behind Romanshorn a searchlight began to play, throwing a beam of light
into the sky. It moved lower and peered about through the darkness,
probing closely and lingering in places, then was directed towards the
waters in the middle of the lake. It rose in the sky once more and then
fell pitilessly on the very spot where Mabuse’s boat was lying. His
knees trembled under the tension.
Suddenly, however, the shaft of light was fixed on a house standing
out prominently in Romanshorn, just where the new church stood on a
hill, and those in the boat perceived that the other craft must be far
beyond on the other side of the point, and did not signify any danger.
Their boat remained in darkness. In the railway-station on the shore
lamps hung here and there at some distance from each other, and their
reflections gleamed fitfully on the black waters. Then Mabuse said
sternly:
“No, we’ll stay here! Tell George to get the pneumatic gun fastened to
the engine.”
Spoerri sprang to do his bidding.
Under the cushions there was a poison-gas installation. Mabuse opened
the nozzle. The wind was from the south-west and therefore favourable
to his purpose. He prepared masks for himself and his companions and
tried their fastenings.
Then he saw on shore a light which shone out brightly and was at once
extinguished, then came again and flickered and was still. The engine
started again, and the boat was soon in the channel, gliding under the
trees, where it finally came to a standstill. The engine was silent,
and a man ashore threw out a cable. Then Mabuse heard someone say, “Dr.
Ebenhügel.”
“Yes,” he ordered, “let him come on board.”
A dim form stepped across the gangway.
“It is I, Ebenhügel, Doctor. I have just come from Zürich. It is on
account of my car that Solly did not give the signal punctually.
The Customs authorities are on the watch every night with their
cars now. Did you get my wire? There is something wrong, for the
clerk has sent a warning. He could not tell us what was up, but from
some reply to one of his superiors he gathered that it came to the
Consulate headquarters in Zürich from the Munich Criminal Investigation
Department.”
“So,” said Mabuse, closing his jaws firmly, “my lord Wenk is on the
track, is he? Just you wait a while, my fine official!” Then, turning
to Ebenhügel, he continued, “I am constantly in danger, but I’ve never
come to grief yet.”
“I meant to say that this danger can only be averted in Munich. If
anything goes wrong, they must not be able to put the responsibility on
us here in Zürich.”
Mabuse answered roughly, “What do you mean by that?”
“This affair is of great importance for several people.”
“For whom then?”
“For myself, for example!”
Mabuse waved his hand with a threatening gesture of dismissal, while
the other stood breathless.
“_I_ have not been drinking,” said Mabuse. “How came you to alter my
plans for such a trifle?”
“I thought it was necessary to warn you. The post is being watched, and
people are not reliable.”
“Who is to convince me that _you_ are reliable? You are one of the
people too.”
“Our common interests should convince you, Doctor. I merely meant to
tell you that it is from Munich that the danger threatens. You would be
safe in Switzerland. You have accumulated wealth which allows you to
live wherever you like. Stay here; you will be safe among us.”
“A lot _you_ know about that! Your business is to look after my
investments, nothing else. You are but my manager. Enough on that head.
Is there anything else to tell me?”
The lawyer described his latest financial operations to Mabuse, who
took down the descriptions furnished him. Then he walked backwards and
forwards alone on the foreshore for five minutes, to ease himself after
his long sitting.
“Is Spoerri still there?” he asked. “Spoerri, you need not go to
Zürich. Ebenhügel will take the portfolio with him. We will go back to
Schachen together.”
Upon the return journey Mabuse could not remain still in one place.
He was constantly backwards and forwards on the small deck. The three
convoys were again throbbing in their neighbourhood, their sounds
drowned in the ghostly darkness. Suddenly Mabuse called through the
speaking-tube to George, demanding brandy. Spoerri heard the order and
shrank in terror.
In the half-hour which the passage took, Mabuse drank the bottle empty.
He was drunk when they landed, and he staggered through the darkness
towards the house in front of them, having issued orders that they were
not to follow for five minutes.
“We want more drink,” said he, when they were in the dining-room.
“George, bring drinks!”
George shuddered, for he knew that the more the doctor drank, the more
violent and unreasonable he became. Spoerri himself was always obliged
to drink till he lost his senses. They drank champagne and brandy mixed
in equal parts.
“This is liquid gold,” stuttered Mabuse thickly. “Here, George, bring
bigger glasses! Let’s have the goblets. Spoerri, take a draught. You
fool of a courier, drink; drink it down, you dog. Down with it into
your currish throat! Now then, another! Drink till you can’t hold any
more in that carcass of yours. I love to see you drink till you’re
sick!”
Spoerri drank until everything swam round him and he lapsed into
unconsciousness.
“And you, my lord Wenk! A State Attorney in Munich! Your notebook!
_Your_ orders to the Criminal Investigation Department, forsooth! Just
wait a moment, my fine gentleman! We’ll begin with Herr Hull, for he
was the first.... (Drink, Spoerri, can’t you, you miserable country
bumpkin, drink; drink as I do!) Let me see--Hull, yes, Edgar Hull, 34,
Hubertusstrasse. Away with him, his turn first. George will look after
it, and you can help him. The Carozza girl can contrive it. Find your
accomplices. Write it down, it is the order of the ... Prince. (Drink
it down, now!) Of the Prince, have you written that? Which prince, do
you say? The Prince, the Emperor of Citopomar, in Southern Brazil. A
word from his mouth and a thousand women lie bathed in their blood,
five hundred men are reduced to impotence. One single word and a whole
edifice totters! Don’t simper, you fool, or I’ll dash your brains out
with this goblet!”
He flung the vessel down, shattering it in pieces, and with the
fragments he threatened Spoerri.
“I ... I am writing it,” stammered Spoerri.
“A thousand women and five hundred men,” shouted Mabuse.
“Doctor,” said Spoerri hesitatingly, struggling with the intoxication
overcoming his senses, “I did not hear; I do not know this Hull. What
am _I_ to do with him? 34, Hubertusstrasse.... Do you really mean _me_,
Doctor?”
Then Mabuse all at once stood upright, intoxicated as he was. “Yes,
you!” he thundered, and then gave Spoerri a heavy blow with his fist,
full on his forehead, knocking him senseless to the floor. “I am going
to bed, George,” he shouted, overcome with rage. He left Spoerri lying
where he was, and went out.
When he came into the dining-room again next morning, Spoerri was
sitting there. Mabuse had breakfasted in bed.
“Show me your notes!” he ordered in a harsh voice. He ran through
them quickly, found Hull’s address traced in drunken characters, and
returned the book to Spoerri. “That’s all right,” said he, and Spoerri
fawned upon him like a cur watching to avoid a kick.
That attitude of his did Mabuse good; it soothed and reconciled him,
and he became talkative. Spoerri was quietly delighted to find the
master friendly towards him, to know that the dread will of this
imperious man inclined him to be amiable, as if recognizing his
devotion.
“Spoerri,” said the Doctor, “I shall go to Constance with you. We
mustn’t let those young men do anything stupid!”
Spoerri brightened up. “Oh, when they once see you, Doctor, there’ll be
no trouble at all.”
The two men remained all day long at the villa. Mabuse drank, but
no longer compelled Spoerri to do so. By midday he was already
intoxicated. Spoerri, tired out by the carousal of the previous
night, watched over Mabuse devotedly. He tried many simple devices to
persuade him to stop drinking, but Mabuse soon saw through them, and
ordered full bottles to be brought and no tricks to be played. Alcohol
was a necessity to him; it inflamed his wild and evil spirit, and in
the phantasies of intoxication he found all his great ideas. There
was no thwarting of his will from without, and when drunk he felt
himself enclosed as in a castle of the _Arabian Nights_. Nobody could
understand that to him alcohol was the bringer of magic, the stream
which intensified life and gave him creative power. He bathed in it
as he might do in the love of some fair woman, yielding himself to it
wholly, bridging chasms, attempting new feats, working unrestrainedly
and overcoming all obstacles.... He became a law unto himself, a world
of which he was the sun.
“Spoerri, how do you like Europe?” he stuttered.
“Oh, very much, Doctor,” answered Spoerri unreflectingly.
Then Mabuse broke out vehemently, “You shall _not_ go to Citopomar, to
my Empire! Europe is a filthy, lousy country, fit for none but grubs
and earthworms. It is the home of parasites, of all creepy, crawly
creatures, but when I am in Citopomar--CITOPOMAR ... Spoerri, I shan’t
take you with me. I am going to sleep now, and will see you later.”
He staggered out, and lying in his bedroom on his bed, fully dressed,
he felt for a few moments as if he were himself the universe, beyond
and above all bounds and limits, the power of his will surging over him
as a stream of molten lava, bearing him with it towards the day when,
in his distant kingdom, his power would be supreme over man and beast,
and all Nature be subjugated to his impulses.
In the evening, when the twilight was descending, they drove to
Constance. Mabuse was sober, silent and morose. His imagination was
already busy and his nerves reacting to his stern resolves, as he
thought of the crowds of young men in the town, which seemed but a
mere speck on his horizon--men who had been working for him since the
Armistice. From this very town he himself had made a new start when
the war had driven him from his own vast plantations in the Solomon
Isles back into the European vortex, and he could find nothing better
to do than work for medical examinations and exchange his career in the
Pacific for that of a doctor in a town of Southern Germany.