Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery a novel
man’s chauffeur came out of the house, the constable nudged him,
saying, “That is Poldringer!”
“That’s my man!” said Wenk.
In the afternoon he had a consultation with the head of the Criminal
Investigation Department. Wenk said it was not a case of arresting one
man, but of getting rid of the whole gang, for here in Constance, as
one might say, there was but one division of the army whose general
headquarters was in Munich, and until one could lay hold of the leader
it was not worth while to secure a dozen or so of his accomplices.
Wenk advised their not making use of the announcement of a reward of
five-thousand marks for information (which had been drawn up contrary
to his wish), but rather that they should keep a close watch upon what
they now knew to be one of the haunts of the gang. That would be the
safest way of entrapping their leader, for if they seized the chauffeur
now, his master would receive emphatic warning. And this man, Wenk told
them, was undoubtedly one of the most daring criminals to be met with
in the last ten years. It was not only a money reward, but fame, that
might be looked for, and the constables all promised to do what they
could.
In the evening Wenk met the young man who was going to help him get rid
of the cars at a big profit. His friend had left the town, he said, for
things had gone badly of late. Switzerland was overdone with German
goods, and the German authorities seemed to be regaining their control
of the Lake. They might soon be starving, he said. But _he_ knew what
to do. He wasn’t going to starve, and sooner than be driven out of the
place by hunger, he would join the Foreign Legion. Then at least he
would be safe from the German authorities. He could fill his belly in
peace, and if he were shot down it would be as a free man, whereas if
he stayed here he was bound to end in quod.
Wenk asked what he had to do to get into the Foreign Legion.
“Oh, that’s easier than ever it was,” answered the man. “Before the war
you had to go to Belfort, but now that’s not necessary--you can join up
here.”
“Well, that’s a good thing to know. What’s the address of their
headquarters?”
“Oh, you only need go to the ‘Black Bull’ and ask for Poldringer, or
else come in the evening to the tavern we went to yesterday, for he
was sitting there. He had got a lot of them at his table, and I told
him I’d think it over. If our honk-honk business comes off, I shan’t
need to, though, but we can’t get hold of that d----d Ball; he’d want
to stand in with us, but I expect he’s got something good on somewhere
else. By the way, Poldringer was asking after you last night. You must
belong to his part of the country, eh? He said he thought he knew you,
but I told him you were from Basle and wanted to get two cars across,
and he said, ‘Oh, then it can’t be the man from Munich,’ but I thought
to myself a man might have been in Munich and yet be in Basle now, eh,
mate?”
“I’ve never been in Munich,” said Wenk; “he must have mistaken me for
someone else.”
“Well, it’s all the same thing, anyhow! We’ll get those cars through,
eh? By the way, can you stand me a trifle of ready on the job?”
“A fifty?” asked Wenk.
“Oh well, if it’s not inconvenient, I’d like two fifties.”
“One’s all I can spare at the moment,” said Wenk, pulling a fifty-mark
note out of his waistcoat-pocket.
“You needn’t be afraid of showing your purse, even if it has a hole in
it,” remarked the man.
“You wouldn’t buy any more with fifty out of my purse than you can with
that one!”
“Well, all right; no offence! Where are you staying?”
“In Barbarossa,” said Wenk, at a venture.
“Oh, if the folks there get hold of you, you won’t get out of their
clutches, I can tell you! You go to the ‘Black Bull.’ They’ll look
after you properly there, and everything is arranged so that you can
fly off as easily as these greenbacks will. Not a trace left behind!”
Next morning Wenk flew back to Munich. His trip had been successful,
and the journey in the pure clean air, cold though it was in the upper
regions, invigorated him. He felt as if he were gathering the threads
together in his hand and they were about to form a vast and invisible
net, and he, the fisherman, felt himself ready and able to drag it in.
* * * * *
An hour before Wenk took up his stand at the grimy window of the
iron-foundry opposite the “Black Bull,” the following conversation was
carried on between Constance and Munich:
“Hulloa, Dr. Dringer speaking. Who is there?”
“Hulloa, this is Dr. Mabuse. What is it, please?”
“The invalid seems to be staying here. I am not quite certain yet
that it is he, but I thought I recognized him. I am anxious for
instructions.”
“That’s very strange. He was in Munich to my certain knowledge just
about four o’clock yesterday. What time did you think you saw him,
Doctor?”
“At half-past seven!”
“But the express does not leave until 7 p.m. and only reaches Lindau at
11 p.m. Even if he had used a car he could not possibly have reached
Constance by half-past seven!”
“It is possible that I may have been mistaken, but hardly likely. I
can’t at once abandon the idea that it was the lunatic we are searching
for.”
“Well, in any case, my dear colleague, prosecute your inquiries, and if
you are convinced, use the safest means at your command.”
“You mean the strait-waistcoat, Doctor?”
“Certainly, for you know he is dangerous to the community. Have you any
other news? What about those neurotic patients?”
“They are quite ready to go to the sanatorium, and they start
to-morrow.”
“Good. That’s all, thank you. My best wishes to you, Doctor.”
Mabuse went up and down his room in considerable excitement. How could
it be possible that the State Attorney, who was still in Munich at 4
p.m. should have been seen in Constance at 7.30 p.m.? Might not George
be mistaken?
He dressed himself as a messenger and repaired to the Amandastrasse,
where Wenk had his chambers. He rang his door-bell, and a servant
opened to him.
“Can I see the State Attorney?” he asked.
“He is not at home. Give me the letter.”
“I was to give it to him personally.... When will he be back?”
“I do not know.”
“Has he gone away for long, or shall I be able to hand him the letter
this afternoon?”
“His honour did not leave word.”
“Ah, then I must rely on you,” said the messenger. “You will be sure to
deliver the letter, won’t you?”
“Certainly, give it here,” and the man glanced at the address, but it
was directed to the State Attorney, Dr. Müller, and he said, “You are
making a mistake. Herr von Wenk is the barrister who lives here.”
“Good heavens, so they’ve given me the wrong number! I always say,
‘Write it down, gentlemen.’ And so I’ve made a mistake here. Where does
the gentleman I want live?”
“I don’t know him at all.”
“Well, there’s nothing for it but to go back! Good morning!”
The pseudo-messenger went off, knowing only half he wanted to know. On
the way, enlightenment came to him. “Of course,” he said to himself,
“he must have gone by aeroplane, and I can guess why....”
For an instant a mist swam before his eyes, so acutely did he feel
this discovery of his. For the first time he measured his adversary’s
powers. No one had ever used such means against him before. George had
not yet sent off the discharged smugglers. Were they the reason of this
hasty visit to Constance? Had his--Mabuse’s--band of watchers failed
him? The matter became more difficult and dangerous every day, and
recently several agents of the Foreign Legion had been discovered and
arrested.
“If Wenk has the whole gang imprisoned,” thought Mabuse, “one of them
might blab enough to bring the inquiry home to me, and then for the
first time I shall no longer be safe. I must have him got out of the
way.... Why did George let him go, if he had even a suspicion that it
might be the lawyer? A plague upon the soft-heartedness that allowed
him to escape us at Schleissheim! My life is not safe until he is wiped
out of existence! I shall have to prepare for flight, and I will be
off to the Swiss frontier unless I know for certain by eight o’clock
to-night whether George is arrested or not. Where did George see him?
If I only knew that, for it all depends upon that! I am consumed with
impatience, and my hatred of this destroyer of my peace is burning me
like a fever. Supposing I never reach my kingdom of Citopomar!”
Then Mabuse went home again, carrying a parcel for himself under his
arm. He must be prepared for all eventualities. Should his dwelling
be already secretly watched by the police, he was a messenger who
had something to deliver, and there were cigars in the parcel. But
his chambers were empty, and there was nothing suspicious in the
neighbourhood.
That evening he did not leave his house again. It was safer for him to
see from the window who was coming to him than to find, on returning
after absence, that someone had effected an entry and was watching at
the window for him. He must be ready for anything that might happen!
He spent the evening in examining his finances. There was yet six
months’ work to be accomplished in Germany before he had the amount
he had decided would be necessary. There he knew the ground well, and
anywhere else it would take at least a year to accomplish the same
result. The languages he was conversant with necessitated his being
in countries where German and English were known. Six months! The
words throbbed in his brain, and the blood mounted to his heart. “I
shall stay!” he said aloud in his lonely room, and it seemed as if the
defiance these words awoke rang through him like the blow of the hammer
on the anvil.
Next morning at half-past seven there was an urgent telephone call from
Constance. “Doctor Dringer speaking! I am sorry, but I fear I have
misled my esteemed colleague. There is no further trace to be seen.
Everything is in readiness for departure, and the other patients are
prepared for their journey.”
“It was a pity, Doctor. Ring up again this evening!”
“You swine!” Mabuse growled between his teeth at his window, looking in
the direction of Wenk’s chambers. “If it were only for this half-hour
of uncertainty, you should pay for it with your life! The first attempt
failed through a mere accident. There shall be no accident the next
time!”
Mabuse left his house on foot, went to one of the fashionable hotels,
and asked for the general manager, Herr Hungerbühler. Yes, he was
there, and would be found in Room 115, he was told.
When Mabuse entered the room unannounced, it was empty. “Spoerri!” he
called softly. Then a cupboard door opened and Spoerri came out.
“Wenk seems to be in Constance. George has just telephoned to me. Look
after the matter. How is Cara getting on in prison?”
“It would be safer if she were out of the way altogether. Dead men tell
no tales!”
“No, I have already told you once, she is safer alive than dead,”
answered Mabuse quickly.
“In any case, I have got one of the warders under my control.”
“Why?”
“To contrive her escape, if she’s to be allowed to live!”
“Fool!” cried Mabuse angrily. “I tell you she is safer where she is.
If they were to break open her mouth with a crowbar she would never
say anything. Stop talking such d----d nonsense. She is to come out
when I leave Europe, not before! I came to tell you that I give you a
month to get rid of Wenk. I make it so long, so that it may be safely
undertaken. Make a note of the date, for he’s not to live a day longer
than that!” and Mabuse went off, without a word of farewell.
X
Next evening Dr. Mabuse was invited to spend the evening at the house
of Privy Councillor Wendel, who was interested in hypnotism. After