Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery a novel
impossible, his disguises were too perfect for that, so....
Then a hand touched his, and Mabuse looked into Spoerri’s inquiring
eyes, and saw beside him another man of his bodyguard, and he
immediately looked away again unconcernedly. Spoerri and his accomplice
were pressing towards the exit in front of him. Mabuse went on
thinking, and came to the conclusion that mere chance had put Wenk on
this track, some faint resemblance or recollection, some movement or
action.... In any case, Wenk must see as little of him as possible, and
since his back would be exposed to him longer than any other part, he
put his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and thus altered his
appearance.
And now he had reached the exit with the Privy Councillor. He quickly
pushed him in front, following closely on his heels. At the moment when
Wendel stepped to the door, Wenk was ordering a detective to tell two
men who were lingering on the stairs to move on. Mabuse heard the man
say, “Shall I arrest them?” Then he looked ahead and saw that the order
referred to Spoerri and his subordinate. Mabuse sought to catch his
eye; he took his pocket-handkerchief out with a flourish and blew his
nose loudly. Spoerri saw it and understood, and at once withdrew with
his companion.
Mabuse saw Wenk shaking hands with the Councillor. Then it was his turn
to come forward, and Wendel introduced “Dr. Mabuse.” Without taking
his eyes off the door, through which the light from the hall was now
streaming, Wenk shook hands with Mabuse, saying courteously, “You won’t
be annoyed with me for carrying out my duty, I hope, Doctor?”
Mabuse answered with affected friendliness, his hand on the revolver
in his pocket, “Certainly not; I must naturally take the second place
when it is a question of the good of the community, whom you are
endeavouring to rid of a criminal.”
He had already passed on. Wenk nodded to him, but did not look round
again, as his gaze was still fastened on the door.
The Privy Councillor took Mabuse’s arm going downstairs. Mabuse
accompanied him to the gentlemen’s cloakroom and then took his leave.
One of his cars was waiting in the Maximilianstrasse, and right and
left of him at the entrance to the _foyer_ his people were standing
in readiness for anything that might happen. Spoerri had taken up his
position at the main door of the hall, to keep watch upon the stairs;
then he went out behind Mabuse, and the others, who were in small
detached groups, always ready to close up at a word, followed them. It
was not until Mabuse had taken his seat in the car and driven off that
they dispersed, each going a separate way.
Driving homeward, Mabuse reflected that he had committed one act of
folly. He ought at any rate to have asked when he would be allowed to
give his experiments. This fact depressed him, and he felt that he
had failed in some way. He would never have done anything so foolish
formerly, and the idea occurred to him that perhaps his power was on
the decline, and that it was now time for Citopomar.
Then suddenly he shouted aloud, “No! this is due to that woman! Wenk
wants to hang me, the woman makes me feel old, and she is delivering
me over to the gallows.” Why should this woman, young and beautiful as
she was, who had abandoned herself to her lot with despairing fatalism,
make him feel old? Her abandonment of herself was like wine to him, and
this idea started another train of thought. He was in conflict with
himself. There was no enjoyment in the thought that he had escaped
a great danger, and in the midst of his uneasy reflections he had a
sudden breathless conviction that she made him feel old because he
loved her. Then he felt a hatred of himself, gathering into one mighty
heap all the fierce and bitter hatred he had cherished for others and
pouring it out on himself. So strongly did he suffer from the burden
of these chaotic feelings that his brain grew giddy. But now he had
reached his house.
All the wrinkles in his face were deepened and intensified, but it was
his eyes that looked most dreadful, and the Countess trembled as he
entered her room. No longer were they of the steely grey of an agate,
but rather seemed shot with rays of copper colour.
“What has happened?” she asked.
Then he told her something quite different from that which he had meant
to tell her.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, and his tone was one of frenzied
delirium. “I am a werwolf; I suck man’s blood. Every day my hatred
burns up all the blood in my veins, and every night I fill them again
by sucking the blood of some human being. If men caught me, they would
tear me into little bits. I will bite through your white throat, you
tormenting witch!”
The Countess started as if stung, and, mad with pain and torture, cried
aloud, “Kill me then! What could be better than death?”
“But I love you!” cried the voice of the man beside her, who seemed to
be possessed by devils.
The woman hid her face in her hands. It was the first time she had
heard such a confession from that imperious mouth, and it stirred her
to the depths of her nature. Her free spirit had been snatched from
the world and confined in a fortress whence there was no escape. Her
life was a dead thing, but the blood within her raged in dread and
mysterious tumult, inflamed and excited by the power of this man. Her
dead soul was afire, and there was nothing left to consume: whence then
came this flame?
Mabuse left the Countess without saying another word. “I have told her
enough,” he said to himself. He threw himself down on his bed, but
could not sleep. He felt as if something new had come into his life,
till then so steady and changeless, as if the danger which he had
always been able to grasp and bring to nought had eluded him and were
sinking into the icy black gulf in whose depths his life and actions
were grounded. For hours he tried to grapple with this new force and
subordinate it to his will, but evermore it seemed to evade him.
Then he returned to the Countess, lying fully dressed and sleepless
on her bed, and he said, “We must talk matters out. Our fates are
entwined, and we must go through life together. From some source or
other of my existence my blood has received something which revolts
against a peaceful and well-ordered life, and will not permit to others
a power above its own. Thus it is that I have become, as it were, the
chief of a robber horde. I have known but two states: the desire to
dominate and the necessity to hate! But now you have come upon the
scene. At first I thought that your spirit would be consumed in the
twin flames that inspire mine, but it is not so. Hundreds have been
consumed by them, but you seem to feed upon them, and they nourish you.
When I am intoxicated, not forgetting my hatred, but putting it on one
side for the time being, because there are more beautiful things, I
often name to you one name--Citopomar. Citopomar is not the outcome of
a disordered fancy, the result of a fit of intoxication. It is a virgin
forest in Brazil, far in the interior. It is being cultivated for
me. All the money I can wring from this petty community of miserable
wretches on this side of the world is being employed there. There is my
country, the land in which I shall end my days. First of all, I thought
of myself there with my harem. Now I know it is there I shall be with
_you_. It is a forty days’ journey to the nearest human dwelling, and
the human beings there could not endure life here, but they cannot
be reached, for the Botocudos would not let anyone pass. It is even
possible that my agents, who have been carrying out my plans, may have
deceived me, and that when we arrive there we may find there is no
kingdom of Citopomar. But no one can deceive me about _you_!
“My professional life here has extended to ever-widening circles, and I
could live a good deal longer under the protection of the State and in
well-ordered society. To-day, however, I had proof that folks are on my
track, and henceforth I must act cautiously. A ship is being built for
me in Genoa. I do not travel by strange ships, but sail under my own
flag. The ship is to be ready on the 1st of June, and on that night we
will embark. Between this and then, however, there is nearly two months
to pass. I cannot rest, and until the very night of our departure I
shall still be a robber chief.
“We will be wary. You must go to another house. It is quite as well
guarded as this one, but if they should discover this one, they will
catch you. I am probably about to leave the place, and at midnight
to-morrow you will depart. Spoerri will take you to the new home.”
As incapable of resistance as of mental participation in his schemes,
consumed in the devouring flames of this man’s all-powerful domination,
the Countess endured his conversation and took his orders. Her fate lay
in his hands.
XVI
At nine o’clock next morning Mabuse was at Count Told’s villa. As he
was now endeavouring to hold himself ready for flight at any moment, he
wanted to bring this matter of the Count to an end.
He had desired him to drink, and for some days now Told had been
drinking, in passionate abandonment. Mabuse looked at him in silence.
When Told was intoxicated he said to him, “You are a person without the
slightest power of resistance. Where is your razor?”
In a thick voice Told answered that it was on the washstand.
“Is it sharp?” said Mabuse with a peculiar intonation. “Sharp enough?”
he repeated with an emphasis so marked that it seemed as if he wanted
to hammer an idea into the Count’s head.
Mabuse took it up, seized a sheet of paper and made a sharp clean cut
in it. Then he said threateningly, “Yes, it is sharp enough.” Thereupon
he laid the razor aside, but did not return it to its case. He called
the servant in, saying to him, “The Count’s condition is not so good as
it was. He is drinking brandy with his Tokay. I have no objection to a
little light Burgundy, but these strong spirits are not to be allowed.
You must take away what is left in the bottle. Your master will ... now
... go ... to sleep!” He uttered the last words in a long-drawn-out,
menacing tone. Then he went out of the room in front of the footman,
and left the house.
Half an hour later, Count Told, not knowing what he was doing, cut his
throat from ear to ear. He had a feeling as if something in his throat
were preventing him from enjoying some great happiness, and he wanted
to remove the hindrance.
At two o’clock a message came from Mabuse to ask how the Count was
getting on. The footman said he was asleep, but he would go and look
at him to make sure. Then he found him bathed in blood, where he had
fallen from his arm-chair to the ground, his body now cold in death.
The doctor’s messenger came into the room, looked at the corpse, and
went back to report to his master.
The man-servant did not know what to do. Since none of the Count’s
relatives were in the neighbourhood and he did not know the Countess’s
address, he felt he must inform the police first of all. But then,
again, he was not sure which was the right office to go to to give
such information, and it occurred to him that the State Attorney, Herr
von Wenk, was an acquaintance of his master’s and had asked after him
recently, so he drove to Munich, sought out the lawyer, and told his
story.
“Was the Count at home then all the time?” asked Wenk.
“Yes, sir, all the time.”
“Then why did you tell me on the telephone that the Count had gone on a
journey?”
“The doctor told me that on account of my master’s state no one was to
be allowed to see him, and I must tell anybody who inquired that he had
gone away. My master saw nobody but his doctor.”
“What was the doctor’s name?”
“I never heard his name, sir. I don’t know it.”