Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery a novel
enticing him to tear away and escape.
And then he ran, defying the Baron’s revolver. He sprang with leaps
and bounds across the stage ... the weapon dropping from the Baron’s
hands.... He sprang down its steps at one bound, rushed along the
gangway, leaping like a young colt that feels the approach of
summer. The entire hall was animated over this crowning stroke of the
hypnotist, but Mabuse sent after him a ferocious laugh that resounded
from the walls which had witnessed it.
XXI
Wenk ran full tilt past the servants at the door, who stood with
serious faces, laughing behind their hands. He ran through the hall and
the open door on to the steps, clattered down them, and flung open the
door of the waiting car. It sprang forward, and in a few moments had
disappeared in the dark avenue. In the hall Mabuse stopped laughing to
say, “He is going to the Hell Café to fetch you some of the devil’s
white bread!”
The jerk with which the car started threw Wenk back on to the seat,
but scarcely had he touched it than the cushions seemed to open and he
sank quickly into a hole in them. Something closed together over him,
and it creaked like iron. Then he awoke from his hypnotic state. He
lay there in misery, unconscious how he had got into that position,
with his head hanging back, apparently in some gap in the back seat.
He tried to rise, seeking painfully for ease and consciousness, but
he could not raise himself from the depths. Something seemed to press
him down again, and hard unyielding fetters were crossed over him
many times. The motor went at furious speed, and shook him against an
iron grating which he soon discovered to be the fetters that made an
upright position impossible. They pressed closely down upon him. He
made a furious effort to throw them off, but soon found it was quite
impossible. He would only have his trouble for his pains. He was
absolutely done for. He was himself the bird which had stepped on to
the limed twig!
With angry defiance he turned upon himself saying, “That is as it
should be! The stronger one conquers, and you were the weaker!” But
why was he the weaker? Because he had undertaken a task that from the
very first exceeded his powers. Each one knows his own capabilities.
But what had tempted him to undertake something beyond him? Why, in the
most forlorn and miserable situation of his whole life--a situation
that seemed so incredible that he still had a faint hope it might prove
only a dream--why was he able to guide and reason out his thoughts like
the solution of an arithmetical problem? What was it that had enticed
him? He knew the answer. It was the good in him, the outcome of his
feeling of responsibility towards his fellow-countrymen. He wanted to
help them, and because his conscience was stronger than his powers,
he had come to grief. If this experience were to end in his death, at
least he would die in a good cause, and the soul-sparks which at his
death would flame up again in some other existence would form a beacon
to light others upward.... He would live again in spirit among men....
The sound of the motor echoed through the forest, and Wenk heard it.
What was the enemy’s plan regarding him? The car raced on through the
night like a ship driven by the typhoon. Where was it going? Whither
were they taking him? Was it to Munich? But, if so, why? If they
wanted to put him to death for having disturbed the powers of evil and
undermined their efforts, why did they not take their revenge at once,
instead of delaying it for hours?
He noticed that the windows of the car had no blinds, and he saw stars
gleaming fitfully through the panes. They would not arrive in Munich
till the morning, and it would be impossible to drive a fettered man by
daylight over half Germany in a car with the inside exposed. They were
carrying him off somewhere or other, but where? Where could it be?
It must have been midnight when he left the villa, but even that he did
not know for certain, for of all that had happened to him since the
moment when he had tested his pulse, he had only a dim and hazy idea.
They must certainly be taking him to the place of execution now.
He recalled, with an endless yearning which seemed to encompass him
like the sea, his long-dead father, and with all his energy he clung to
these recollections, melancholy as their associations were. The jolting
hither and thither of his body in the car and the mental excitement
under which he was labouring made him sick, and in his helpless state
he could not even turn his head aside. His brain lost the power of
thinking in clear outlines. Spectres arose around him and devils played
ball with him. They tossed him backwards and forwards between the
Carse of Gowrie and Aconcagua, let him fall, and snatched at him again,
just as he was about to be dashed to pieces on the Cape of Good Hope.
Then it seemed as if a gigantic black band had stuffed him down in a
cave as if he were a sack. The walls of this cave were so close that
he could not lie down, but suddenly, slowly, and yet without ceasing,
they began to grow. They did not grow apart, however, but proceeded,
always at the same pace, towards him, and the moment was already close
at hand when they would crush his bones together and burst his brains.
Consciousness forsook him, and he fell into a dreamlike condition,
dominated by a dull sense of impending death.
When he awoke he found himself stretched out on a leather seat, the
iron fetters no longer binding him. But his arms were tied behind him,
and his legs were crossed on each other and fastened together. A large
handkerchief had been bound over his face, so tightly as to be painful.
It covered his mouth altogether and made breathing difficult.
It was now day, and he heard a rushing sound that rose and fell at
intervals. He soon recognized it--it was the sea! A man looked down
upon him. The handkerchief covered one eye only, and with the other he
saw, over the edge of the bandage, half the objects on his eye-level.
He did not know the man, who just then called to another, “Come here!
he is awake.” Then the other came to look at him, and he too was a
complete stranger to Wenk. He heard them talking, and one said to the
other, “It is nearly five o’clock. The Doctor must be here soon!”
The other answered, “If he said soon after five, he will come then. We
must be ready for him!”
“Can’t you see anything yet?”
The two men went off. Wenk tried to raise his head, but could not see
beyond the frame of the window. The country must be flat--there was
nothing but sky discernible.
“Give me the glass! There he is!” Wenk heard suddenly.
“Now comes the decisive moment,” he thought, and summoned all his
powers to help him dispel the dread ideas which crowded upon him.
The events that followed occurred in rapid succession. The door of the
car was flung open, and hands gripped him by the shoulders, which lay
nearest the door. They dragged him out, his feet striking painfully on
the step and then on the ground. The second man took his legs, and they
carried him a short distance. Then Wenk saw sand-dunes in front of him,
and a few steps further the men had climbed with him to the top.
“Faster!” cried the man behind, as he turned round and looked back over
the landscape.
Wenk heard a motor-car, and said to himself, “That is Mabuse coming!”
Suddenly a light awning appeared above him, and after a time he
recognized it for the wing of an aeroplane.
The two men arranged everything with hasty movements. Wenk was laid
on the sand, and two cords tied together made a noose under his chest
and arms. One man raised his legs and these were fastened by two
cords which had been attached somewhere to a pole rather high up. A
third leash was then slung round his hips. It was not long before Wenk
realized that he was hanging bound to the outer wall of the car of
a flying-machine. He lay closely fastened there like a package that
was to be taken on a journey. With his uncovered right eye he saw
beyond the edge of the bandage that the aeroplane stood on a prepared
landing-stage over a course which sloped down to the sea. Beyond it
stretched the shore. It was ebb-tide.
“I am going to have a sea voyage,” cried a despairing voice within Wenk
sadly. “How long it is since my last voyage. All the years of war lie
between, and yet now, for me, comes the war--the bombshell is prepared.”
From the depths of his muscular being there came an answer to this sad
voice of despair. He exerted his muscles against his bonds. His body
moved and wriggled in the nooses, and the wing of the machine quivered
beneath the shock, and swayed above him.
Then a broad face and a high, well-formed head bent over him, and two
fiery eyes seemed to pierce him through and through.
“Aha!” said the voice of the man who stood above him.
“Yes, there is the foe, there is Mabuse,” thought Wenk.
“Get in!” he heard him say, and there was the rustling of a woman’s
dress, and out of the rustling a voice ... a voice that made his knees
tremble in their bonds. He knew that voice! The rustling was louder
and closer, and the woman’s voice cried, “What is that?” Wenk heard
the horror, trouble and anxiety that spoke in the voice as she put the
question.
“Get in!” said Mabuse again. Then the voice, the well-known, low, sweet
voice of the Countess Told, said in a tone of anxious entreaty, “What
are you doing with this man?”
Wenk said to himself, “She does not know who I am.”
“Get in! He’s going to make the trip with us, and we haven’t a third
seat. Come along quickly, now!” cried Mabuse.
Wenk saw Mabuse’s arm seize the woman and lift her into the gondola,
then he himself got in, making use of Wenk’s body as a step, and when
he was settled in the pilot’s seat, not two fingers’ breadth above
Wenk, he bent down to him and said in a harsh tone, “The gentleman is
going to accompany us on our journey--but whither? Good luck!--All
ready?” he called out to the men.
“All quite ready, sir!”
The propeller hummed and the aeroplane glided along the course so
swiftly that the very moment Wenk felt the throbbing of the engine its
wheels were already clear of the ground and the earth vanished from his
sight. The machine soared upwards steeply, and it seemed to Wenk as if
his body were standing upright. No word was spoken in the car. The air
beat so heavily upon him that it seemed like flying wood, and he soon
began to feel bitterly cold. The cold seemed to cut through the wide
opening of his evening suit and strike at his very heart. He felt that
it pressed ever deeper and deeper within him, like revolving knives.
His hair was stiff and stood on end, and it seemed as if needles were
pricking him all over. He had lost all capability of thought, save for
one idea. It dimly occurred to him that he was enduring martyrdom, and
that this martyrdom was on account of the Countess Told, whom he had
once loved, at a time when such love was not lawful.
Then he felt the blow of a fist on his head, and a harsh voice asked,
“Is twelve thousand feet high enough for you?” A few moments later he
heard, “Or are you already dead--of fright?”
The voice died away and Wenk felt that the aeroplane was being righted.
When it was flying level, a hand touched his head, hastily tearing
away his bonds. Then Wenk saw the face of Mabuse bending over him. He
was silent, but his features were distorted with a malicious joy which
aroused horror. His grey eyes had neither shape nor pupils; they were
like old weather-beaten stones, and, as Wenk recognized with a shudder,
they were glowering death at him. Then the capacious mouth opened like
the yawning chasm in a rocky gorge, and the harsh voice said, “You have
dared to oppose your will against mine. You are now facing your last