Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 11 – Clare · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 11Chapter 11
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 11
Chapter 11
ClareEnglish
The news Wenk received of Karstens’ state was very unsatisfactory. Since he had, apparently, offered strong resistance to his attackers, a second man seemed to have struck him violently on the head with a crowbar, and the blow had resulted in concussion of the brain. At intervals he became conscious, but for short periods only, and at present it was impossible to say what the outcome would be. His state was so critical, the doctor declared, that any sustained conversation with him could not be thought of for at least two or three weeks.
As for the dancer, about whose participation in the affair he would have something to say, as his shout to the constables to take her into custody proved, Wenk had for the present to content himself with any evidence the Countess might obtain. To-day was Monday, and at four o’clock in any case he would hear whether any explanation might be looked for from Cara Carozza.
He did not leave the house that day. The two main centres of his activity could not be reached by him in person; one was the women’s prison, the other, and far more important, was the town of Constance. He was frequently called up by telephone from the latter place, for this Poldringer had to be kept constantly under surveillance.
While spending the waiting hours at home impatiently, he frequently walked backwards and forwards to the window. On one of these occasions he noticed a man whom he had first seen as early as eight o’clock, and again half an hour later, and then not again for some time. The man always happened to be passing the house rapidly, or else standing at a turning some distance off. Could it be that he was there to spy upon his movements? Wenk resolved to put the matter to the test.
He ordered one of the members of the Secret Police to disguise himself so that anyone at a hasty glance might mistake him for the State Attorney. Then Wenk’s chauffeur brought round the car to the door where the masquerader was waiting, and at a moment when the stranger was again visible at a corner this man got in quickly, settled himself down inside, and was rapidly driven away. “I shall be able to see how this simple trick succeeds,” said Wenk to himself.
At this moment there was an urgent call from Constance. “The man under observation brought the young fellows in his company to the station at 3.16 p.m. The Offenburg express is due to leave at 3.36. It is uncertain which of the party will travel by it; some have hand luggage, and the others none, and it is not yet ascertainable whether the suspected man will accompany them. One of them bought seven tickets for Offenburg, but the party consists of eight, and one among them looks different and has never been seen here before. It is possible that he may be the leader of the expedition, and in the service of the French. How are we to proceed?”
“Have three plain-clothes police ready. If the eight go by train, let these three go too. If one or more stay behind, let one of the men be left too, so that those remaining are not allowed out of sight. They may be travelling by separate routes.”
The telephone official repeated the order given. “Good. Arrange to speak to me immediately after the departure of the express. Ring off.”
Wenk asked to be connected with Offenburg, and in five minutes he was able to get on to the police there.
“Seven, or possibly eight, men are arriving by the express from Constance. Plain-clothes men are in the same train. See that sixteen armed police are in readiness at the station. It is probable that the travellers will have passes to Alsace. They are forged.... When you arrest the men, be careful to avoid observation, and the only information to be given to the Press is that it was a case of Germans having been enticed into the Foreign Legion; and mind you state expressly that they will be at once set free and returned to their homes. You will know nothing about the forged passports. In case there is a man of the name of Poldringer or Hinrichsen among them, let him be separated from the rest and kept in close custody.”
Shortly after Constance telephoned again: “Seven men have left. It is Poldringer who stayed behind; he went to the ‘Black Bull,’ and is under observation there.”
“Good. Thank you. Please ring up here again at seven o’clock, and should anything important occur in the meantime, notify the Criminal Investigation Department.”
Then Wenk had to hurry, so that he might call for the Countess at the prison at four o’clock. It was then half-past three, and he was alone in the house. He telephoned for his car, and just as he was going downstairs he heard a knock at the front door. He opened it.
An elderly man was standing there. His figure was bent, and he had a bushy snow-white beard, red cheeks and blue eyes.
“Herr von Wenk?” he inquired courteously.
“Please come in,” answered the lawyer, “but I am sorry to say that I am just going out on urgent official business.”
“I will not detain you a moment,” said the other. “My name is Hull, and I am the father of the murdered man!”
Wenk bowed, and led the way to his office.
“Herr von Wenk, I have been told that you are conducting this inquiry. Edgar was my only son, and I brought him up badly, for my whole time was given to my business, and I had vast interests. My wife died when he was but a child. I think many sons in our days have had a similar experience.” He spoke evenly, almost harshly. “But that does not free me from blame. Our sons were our pleasure, our business our duty. It would have been better had it been the other way about. I cannot desire such a life as his to be restored, for what I have heard from various sides about the circumstances of the case is sufficient, and I do not wish to know more, but I have allowed myself the liberty of calling upon you for other reasons. My son used to receive an income of ten thousand marks from me each month, and the only wish left me in this unhappy affair is to be able to spend these ten thousand marks as if he were still living, and add another ten thousand to them. I want the money to be used to help men to make good, and how am I to set about this? Can you advise me, sir?”
Wenk answered in a hesitating tone, “I must first of all confess, Herr von Hull, that your words have taken me aback!”
This man’s bearing moved him deeply. Restrained force of character, suppressed paternal grief, unutterable sympathy ... everything that had thus unexpectedly been laid bare to him, threw him for the moment somewhat off his balance. “Yes. I don’t know ... Herr von Hull, why did you come to me above all men?”
“I can tell you that at once, sir. It is your task to bring the murderers to justice, and I should like to replace with something that is beneficial the harm that has been done by one of my house. I should like the recollection of my son to bear good fruit. I have had nothing of his life, but perchance his death may yield something that may plead for me in eternity.” His voice remained firm until the last word had been uttered. “But I must not forget that you are in a hurry,” he continued. “Perhaps it is this same unhappy affair which prevents your giving me any more time now?”
“You are right,” said the lawyer.
“Can I see you to-morrow or some other day, when we can talk quietly, when you are free?”
“I shall be free to-morrow, my dear sir. Come when most convenient to you, preferably in the morning. You are not obliged to fix an exact time, for I shall be at home all day. I thank you for your suggestion; we shall be enabled to do a splendid piece of work together, I believe.”
“Nay, it is I who must thank you for being willing to help me raise a memorial to my unhappy boy that shall redeem his name among his fellow-men.”
They left the house together, and Wenk drove rapidly to the prison. “The lady left here long before four o’clock,” said the Governor.
“Indeed!” said Wenk, disappointed. “What did she leave for me?”
“Nothing!”
“And you yourself know nothing either? About the matter she had in hand, did she get any results?”
“I did not inquire.”
“Why not?” said Wenk, annoyed by his manner.
“I was not instructed to do so,” answered the Governor morosely.
“It is not a question of your exact instructions, but of attempting to track to earth one of the most dangerous bands of criminals Germany has ever known. You don’t seem to realize that. What you and your instructions may be counts for nothing.”
“So much the better. Perhaps another time I may be spared such innovations....”
“You do not seem to feel yourself thoroughly comfortable in your post, Governor. I will say a word for you to the Home Secretary! Good morning.”
“What has happened?” said Wenk to himself. “What is up?” He felt disappointed and angry as he took his seat in the car again.
At seven o’clock that evening the Countess drove to the Privy Councillor’s mansion. She found the same company assembled there as on the last occasion, and this time, too, she saw as little of them. Around her and Dr. Mabuse, her partner at the supper-table, the conversation rose and fell, isolating them from the rest. Her neighbour was more silent than on the previous occasion, but everything he said was spoken with an impressive intent, directed towards a goal which was unrecognizable.
The Countess was divided in her own mind as to whether she should relate her experience in the prison to him, should tell him that she had come in contact with the soul of a woman, strong and fearless as the figures in his own recitals; yea, even stronger, since it was a woman, experienced in renunciation, and carrying on her conflict in resistance and defence.
In imagination she had entered so thoroughly into the struggle, and her encounter with this criminal seemed to open up such unusual circumstances, that the power of the man at her side insensibly seemed to lessen, and this second meeting with him appeared to yield nothing that her passionate anticipation had longed for. The man seemed to decline before her.
She noticed that while he uttered his imperious sentences, both at their first meeting and on this occasion, he kept his eyes fixed on her with a compelling look. They were grey eyes, and their glance was a steely one. She grew somewhat frightened, and in her anxiety yearned for some human being who could warm her breast with his sympathy and afford her troubled spirit peace.
She looked across at her husband. He was sitting near the medium, engaging her in talk, and it seemed as if his words were the mere play of his graceful fingers, on one of which the ring was flashing, as if dominating the whole. Then the woman’s heart was overcome with a strange sad feeling, stilling the fever in her breast--a feeling of lofty womanly sympathy. He seemed such a child, she said to herself. “Without me he would be defenceless. He is like a hoop rolling down the street, its course determined by the obstacles and unevennesses in its path.”
With this feeling upon her, she experienced a renewed glow as she thought of her encounter with the dancer; she was lifted out of her everyday existence, borne onward as in a mighty rush of passion, then again becoming cool and collected as at the contact with something cold and forbidding. It seemed to her then that she was struggling to reach her husband and ever as she approached him she was driven back, encountering the inflexible and steely glance of the man beside her.
Mabuse grew more and more silent. He ate nothing, and he took no pains to conceal his taciturnity. On the contrary, he seemed, as it were, to strive to impress it upon the whole company, just as a mighty African potentate might exercise his tyranny on his patient and long-suffering followers, and the very actions of the others served to accentuate this attitude of adoration of a superior force.
Count Told alone seemed to trifle with graceful gestures about the medium, who, black-haired and deadly pale, kept her unwieldy form pressed close to his side, seeming to have eyes for no other. Then the Countess felt that she hated the man who sat beside her in his sullen mood while her husband’s attitude was thus bordering on the ridiculous. And yet it was not hate she felt, but the inward conflict between the desire to yield herself to the domination of a self-sufficing and stronger heart and brain and resistance to the impulse of subjugation.
The supper-table was cleared and the company stood around talking for a while. Mabuse had left his table-companion and sought the society of Count Told. He engaged him in a discourse on the psychological aspect of gambling.
“I am a born gambler,” said the Count. “When I am losing, I remain as cold as ice, but when I am winning my brain lights up and my phantasies are redoubled.”
Then Mabuse said: “Games of chance are the oldest form, the strongest and most widespread form, in which a man who is not gifted with artistic expression may yet feel himself an artist.”
“That is an interesting idea,” said the Count; “pray follow it up a little further.”
“It is because in a game of chance every man feels that he can force himself to a creative act. Creation, through the principle which underlies all life, draws its force from the parallel powers of volition and accident. By accident we must understand all that is untried, immeasurable, strange, and impossible of expression in itself. This is, too, the mental process of creative work, to which nature has lent a portion of primal force, the work of the artist! Between the poles of volition and accident this power is wielded as in a state of trance. Goethe confessed that to be the case with himself when he was composing his poems. In games of chance there is a like synthesis. Accident gives the player his material--it may be trifling and insignificant, or it may be of dominating power. The player sets his will to work to accomplish a creation of his own from his material.”
“You are a poet yourself, Doctor?”
“Oh, no, I am a physician practising psychotherapy.”
“Such people are our most modern poets. For they give our knowledge of the unconscious, or rather the subconscious, its perceptible form, and the subconscious world, which is now firmly established, produces our psychic existence. We will have a game of baccarat afterwards, shall we not?”
“Agreed!”
The hypnotic subject was about to begin her test. A doctor led her forward and threw her into a hypnosis in which she would recall her wonderful recollections. On the first evening, as Count Told informed Mabuse in an awestruck whisper, she had related her mental experiences during her first attempts to walk.
While the Count was speaking he felt an unnatural warmth stealing over the back of his head. He turned round, but there was nothing behind him save the tapestried wall, upon which pictures of the old school, to which he was quite indifferent, were hanging.
The patient did not respond to the hypnotist’s suggestions. She did indeed fall into a state of trance, but all the spectators could see that gradually the expression of her eyes indicated that she was returning from a far-off view, until suddenly they looked straight ahead and were wide awake again, awake and indignant.
“Someone is tormenting me,” she said.
“No one is tormenting you,” said the hypnotist in a monotonous and measured tone. “We are guiding you to the early home of your youth--one, two, three ... you are sleeping--one, two ... you are sleeping!”
He passed his hand slowly and lightly over her forehead, continuing to count, “Three ... one ... two ... where are you now?--how old are you?”
“I am ten months and three days old.”
“What did your mother do this morning when she took you out of the cradle?”
“She unwrapped me and hurt me and ... and ...” She breathed a deep sigh, then awoke suddenly and said, “There is someone here who ought to go away. Who is tormenting me?”
“We can obtain no results to-day. There are some disturbing influences which I do not recognize and therefore cannot remove,” said the hypnotist.
The Privy Councillor approached Mabuse. “How would it be, Doctor, if you were to make an attempt? After the tests of your power which I have already seen, I think we can promise to get rid of these disturbing influences,” he said.
Mabuse declared himself willing to try, at any rate, though he could not vouch for the result, as he was suffering from a slight chill which affected his head. He at once took a short step towards the medium, however, and they saw that she moved slightly in his direction as if attracted by a magnet. Mabuse did not utter a word, but he let his glance wander over part of her body. The girl became even paler than before, if possible, and although she made no movement, it was easy to see that she struggled against something invisible, that her resistance grew quickly weaker and that her eyes fell before him.
Then Mabuse said in a rapid and violent tone: “You are lying in swaddling clothes. Your arms are bound fast to your side. You are six months’ old. It is evening, and you are crying. Why are you crying?”
And from the heavy body of this girl, sleeping with wide-open eyes, there came a piping, fretful voice: “I have a pain in my stomach.”
“That is only wind. You’ve had too much to drink. Who gave it you?”
“I got it from the breast of a woman,” answered the baby voice.
“Do you love that breast?”
Then the girl grew deathly white, and into the childish voice there crept a piercing and angry note, “No.”
“What did you want to do?”
“I wanted to bite it with my gums!”
“Why?”
Then the girl was seized with trembling, which passed over her whole body, and Mabuse said, “Every minute that prolongs this endangers her life. I must bring the experiment to an end!”
He laid the girl down on a sofa, and with reassuring movements he released her from sleep and bathed her face, and when she came to herself again recommended her being put to bed.
The conversation now turned upon Mabuse’s experiment, and everyone was asking questions, speculating on what she would have said.
“That was a fairy-tale,” said Told; “a fable of the preconscious existence! Doctor, you are a genius. But what did she want to say that made her tremble so?”
A lady came forward with the same question on her lips, but Mabuse’s eyes sought the Countess, and she, too, came forward to ask. Then Mabuse answered, “She wanted to say, ‘Because I hated her so!’”
The Countess shrank back and the others were silent, painfully affected. Then the Countess leaned forward, saying coldly, “A baby cannot hate!”
“How do you know that?” asked Mabuse roughly.
“I know it ... of myself,” she replied.
“Then you can rejoice over yourself, for you are not only a genius at recollection, but also an angel in disposition!” retorted Mabuse sarcastically.
Conversation broke the company up into little groups. Count Told alone remained silent. There was still that unnatural warmth at the back of his head. He looked behind him, and he felt his head; there was nothing there. He went to a mirror, but nothing was to be seen. He sat down again and it seemed as if he were falling asleep, yet he saw them all and heard everything. He wanted to say something, but it seemed as if the words were plucked from his mouth like ripened fruit ready to fall.
After a short time had passed thus, he rose and went to the group wherein Dr. Mabuse was standing, saying, “We were going to play baccarat!”
“So we were!” answered Mabuse. “Shall we be likely to find enough players?”
Then Told grew wide awake and eager. “It will be fine, playing baccarat with you. Herr Wendel, will you join us, eh?”
“I must attend to my social duties among the ladies,” answered the Privy Councillor, “but you will soon be able to find partners!”
Six gentlemen quickly gathered round the card-table which stood in a part of the room leading to the conservatory. The lamp with its enormous shade hung low over the table, leaving the rest of the room in the half-light. In the conservatory, to which a glass door led, the ghostly branches of foreign palms could be seen outlined against the glass, and in the moonlight they looked like stiff forms stretching their dark limbs heavenwards.
They cut the cards to see who should be the first to hold the stakes. The visitors crowded round the card-table and Countess Told stood in the dim light, looking down upon it. Mabuse saw her smooth white skin gleaming from the rich dark red dress she wore. His bearing was cold and gloomy, and scarcely a word escaped his lips. The feelings that arose within him were sternly suppressed, and his thoughts were busy with Count Told alone. When anyone addressed him, he answered abruptly. He seemed to pay great attention to the game, but he played by leaps and bounds.
Soon the gentlemen who had begun their game with modest stakes began to imitate his example, and there was no unanimity in the value of the stakes. Beside a stake of a mark or two there stood a fifty-mark note, and then one for two hundred. The small stake seemed to feel ashamed; it rapidly became twenty, and still faster it grew to a hundred, to two hundred.... Very soon there was no player who ventured less than a hundred marks. When they began they found time for conversation between the end of the hand and the fresh deal, but after a time the talk grew less, and then ceased. The onlookers, too, became silent. The contest between the players grew more pronounced, the game feverish, and this excitement spread to the spectators.
The Countess noted the high stakes her husband wagered. “He has never played before,” she thought. “What is the matter with him?”
The Count was winning. He let his winnings accumulate. It seemed as if he were a horse, urged and threatened onward by an eager rider. He threw his money down. It was now his turn to hold the stakes. It seemed to him as if the moment in which he should deal the cards and undertake the manifold risks of gain or loss would be a supreme experience for him, yielding rich secrets of wonderful joy. He grew excited, and his phantasies played about the room.
The Countess turned aside in the half-light, constrained at her husband’s incomprehensible actions. Suddenly the full light of the lamp fell upon her, revealing where her slender breast rose white and stately from the enclosing circle of her gown.
“North and south!” said Mabuse, as he contemplated her lovely figure, “north and south, your turn is coming,” and his tone was sinister and threatening. Then he turned his glance away, and it fell upon Count Told’s hands as he took over the bank at this moment. He dealt the cards out, and hesitated a moment as if perplexed at some strange occurrence. He was relieved when he had distributed the pack. He won considerable sums, and it was singular that the same feeling of perplexity recurred. He won a second time, and now this seemed to happen continually. Players and spectators alike were astonished at the run of luck the Count’s game exhibited.
“Look at your husband,” said someone, turning to the Countess; “he is winning every hand.”
They all cast a glance at the Countess and then quickly returned to their cards. The Count dealt the cards once more. He disclosed his cards; he had two picture cards and was about to buy another.
“Halt!” cried a voice suddenly, like the voice of a drill sergeant, and a hand was laid roughly on the table, reaching the white and delicate hand of the Count, on which the jewelled ring was sparkling, and turning it over. Then all the company saw that the Count had been about to take a card from underneath the pack instead of the one that lay on the top. The card was a nine.
“Aha, a nine! Now I understand your luck, you gudgeon! You are a common cheat!”
They all sprang up in confusion. Count Told sat still in his chair, in a state of utter collapse. He seemed absolutely crushed, finding no word to say.
“Give the money here!” cried the harsh voice again. “All of it!” The tone was threatening.
The spectators and the players were crowding together, and a cry rang through the obscurity. Through the hasty movements of the powerful man who had seized the Count, one man had fallen to the ground, dragging another down with him. The latter clutched at the tablecloth, and it was pulled off, money and cards being strewn over the floor, people flinging themselves upon it. Suddenly the electric lights went out, but Dr. Mabuse, who had waited for the cry from the dark corner, rushed to the fainting Countess, lifted her in his arms and with one spring bore her under the palms and out into the garden under the moonlight, through the shrubbery and to the wall leading to the street. He lifted her over, and from the other side someone helped him with his burden. An instant later a car was stealing swiftly down the street.
“The northern and southern hemispheres,” he shouted aloud furiously during the drive. “Now I hold you both!”
The Xenienstrasse was empty. The car came to a sudden standstill. He carried the Countess, still unconscious, into his house.
