Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 6 – Clare · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 6Chapter 6
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 6
Chapter 6
ClareEnglish
Wenk was awakened by a feeling of chilliness, which set him shivering. He pulled his cloak round him, under the impression that the coverlet had slipped off his bed, but he soon became aware of his error. He sat up, feeling giddy and at first unable to recall anything. He came slowly to himself and then he perceived where he was and saw the castle buildings gleaming through the darkness.
He rose hastily and moved away, but he was still dazed, and had to jump about to get any warmth into his body. What could the time be? He felt for his watch, but it was not there, and then he went hastily through his pockets. His purse was missing; so, too, were his pocket-book and his official notebook. He had fallen into the hands of thieves. The strange thing was how it could have happened that he had escaped with his life?
Then sudden dread seized upon him. He held his head in his hands, setting his jaws firmly, striving to subdue his feeling of despair. His notebook was missing, and in this were to be found addresses, reports, information, data, plans of all kinds.... The very first thing he recalled about it was the opening page, on which the Hull affair was fully set forth.... Wenk now hurried straight forward. If only he could recover his notebook! He rushed on till he was out of breath, then stopped and asked himself, “What shall I do? Go to the nearest railway-station? But what is the time? It may be one o’clock, it may be five. How am I to tell? And when would the first train start? It might mean waiting in front of a closed railway-station for four, even five hours!” Then he reflected that if he were to wake anybody in the castle he would have to submit to questioning. No; that would do no good. Should he make a fuss about it? It was clear that the chauffeur had acted in obedience to the blond stranger’s orders. Had the latter really penetrated his disguise and laid his plans so cautiously and cleverly beforehand, or was it the usual thing that anyone who appeared in any way suspicious should at once be put to the test in this way? Could it be merely theft, and the book have been taken from him by accident? He realized that when he seated himself on the cushions he must have set the gas-current free, for there was no gas in the car when he got in. That had been arranged, then. No, it wasn’t that way either. It was something both simpler and safer. The driver could open the gas valve from his seat. Of course that was the way of it.
Thinking thus, Wenk reached the highroad, only half-conscious of his resolve to proceed to Munich on foot. He went as fast as he could, but every now and then he had to stop and wait till a feeling of giddiness had passed. That must be the effect of the gas. What sort of gas could it be that operated so rapidly and yet did so little harm? His foes might just as easily have used a deadly gas, then they would have got rid of him altogether. Why did they use a stupefying gas merely? Was it meant for a warning to him?
Now, at any rate, his notebook was in their hands, and perhaps they wanted nothing more of him than that. It was but an attack on his little notebook. Whose names were to be found there? Karstens’, for one ... and an account of all the occurrences in the gaming-houses with the sandy-bearded man and the old Professor, and in the Palace Hotel likewise. All the places where gambling was carried on were noted there too. It was clearly only his notebook that they wanted, and that they had succeeded in getting, but the book he had lost had meant a good deal to him.
He went faster and faster by the sleeping houses, past the peaceful suburbs and into the quiet approaches of the town. The byways, in which traces of snow still lay, seemed like dragons creeping through the night, bent on spying in the ghostly light on those who went by, and Wenk shuddered at the thought. But when a tram-car drew near he felt more at ease. He soon recognized where he was and hastened to his own chambers. He was thoroughly exhausted when he reached home, threw himself fully dressed upon his bed and became unconscious once more, not awakening until the evening.
The first idea which occurred to him then was that henceforth his life was at stake. He accepted it calmly, for since he was combating evil, it was natural that it should be so. The conflict would be played out on the borderland between existence and annihilation, and for one moment he wondered whether it were worth while to go on. But only for a moment. He immediately told himself that there could be no question of hesitation here. Such men are like beasts escaped from a menagerie, and it was his task, his duty, the justification for his existence, to help to make them powerless for evil. There must be no fear of men, no fear of the body any more than he had had of the soul, since his mind had once succeeded in grasping the crisis through which his country was passing. Since he too had been a witness of its genesis, he must help to overcome its effects.
Yet one more thought. Was he a match for his opponent? Must he not fortify himself if he were henceforward to pit his life and strength in such a struggle? His adversary seemed to have the advantage of him, for he worked in the dark. Were his own hands strong enough to seize and hold the evil powers advancing upon him and to crush them? Had he the strength to fight the age, for his opponent was more than a cheat, a criminal--he was the whole spirit of the age, a spirit torn through the catastrophe of the war from the hellish depths where it was created, to fall upon the world and the homes of men. He realized that against such an opponent he must spread his nets more widely if he hoped to ensnare him. He must have an organization equal to the criminal’s own. He must not, as hitherto, consider it sufficient to rely on his confederates, those who were entirely of one mind with himself. He must seek his helpers in the enemy’s camp.
At once he thought of the lady whose strange and questionable escape he had assisted. He drove quickly to Schramm’s. Yes, there she was, but, as usual, a spectator merely. He sat down beside her.
“You are not playing, sir?” said she.
“No, your example has made watching more interesting than playing to me.”
“Watching,” laughed the lady lightly, “when carried on by a high legal official is not good ... for the players!”
Wenk had a slight suspicion that this was said with a double meaning, but whether mockingly or warningly he could not decide; in any case, it was said to serve the purpose of some other, who possibly was sitting there at play. Perhaps they worked secretly in partnership.
He observed her closely, but she sat quietly idle. Her bright eyes roved in all directions. He said to her, feeling his way:
“You have yourself seen a high legal official caught in the toils of the gaming-devil. His jurisdiction is troublesome to the other player!”
He said “the other,” and waited to see whether she would start, or twitch nervously, or give the player some sign or other. But she did none of these things, merely remained still and accepted his words with a friendly smile.
“She is a beautiful woman,” he thought, “and there is some secret reserve strength in her. Men play for money, but it would be more worthy of their manhood to play for such a woman as this.”
After a few moments she leaned towards him, saying lightly and with a playful impressiveness:
“I was present when Basch lost so heavily!”
“I know you were,” said Wenk, astonished and inquiringly.
“And you were playing then, too.”
“Yes, I was playing. I have just confessed it!”
“Ah, but I mean you were really playing then! The first evening, when you came with Hull, you took part in the game, but you were not really playing. And the evening when the old Professor was there--well, I don’t quite know, there was some sort of atmospheric disturbance ... wasn’t there now?” she said, turning to him with a melting and wholly feminine gesture of friendliness.
Wenk was taken aback. He replied:
“That evening when the old Professor was there? What old Professor?”
“The evening you came as a country cousin,” she answered roguishly.
At last Wenk comprehended that she had recognized him, and his face showed his disappointment, but she begged him not to mind her having found him out.
“You were well disguised,” she said, “but I could not believe that here in Munich there would be two such quaint little monkeys on a cherry-tree, conjured so cleverly by a Chinese jewel-cutter out of an amethyst. When I first saw the ring, flanked on each side by stupid diamonds on stupid fingers, I noticed it with pleasure.”
Wenk looked at her, awaiting something more. Who could she be?
“At any rate, it struck me as curious that there could be two men, even in such circles as ours”--here she glanced round the table--“who had some amount of taste....”
“Your sarcasm,” said Wenk, entering into her vein, “does not require either Yes or No, for the fact that you noticed my ring and so correctly guessed its origin proves that you belong to a very different circle from the one you find yourself in here.”
“Oh, I was a stewardess on a steamer bound for Asiatic ports, but the war has taken both our ships and our calling from us!”
“May I then hazard the suggestion that you have withdrawn from your former calling at some advantage to yourself?”
“Oh, I am not stupid!” she smiled back.
“There is nothing which it is more unnecessary to assure me of, Countess.”
There was a momentary flutter in the beautiful woman’s eye, and an imperceptible something within her seemed to come to a standstill. Had he known who she was and wanted to play with her a little, and would he now blazon abroad the fact that she frequented such places secretly?
Wenk laughed aloud.
“Or can it be that the coroneted handkerchief comes from the trunk of some countess travelling to Asiatic ports, as Sherlock Holmes would argue? No, dear lady, we are quits. We shall both comport ourselves more circumspectly in future when we are among our fellow-mortals. I shall put a stupid diamond on my finger, and you will use a monogram without a coronet on your handkerchiefs, Countess....”
“Hush!” she said, in agitation.
“But even such precautions would serve no turn!”
“I do not understand you.”
“You force me to pay you compliments. I am seeking vainly for a suitable way of expressing myself so that I may convey to you my conviction that the ‘countess’ in you cannot anyhow be suppressed.”
“He will be asking me to sup with him directly,” she said to herself. “He evidently wants to start a romance,” and the idea amused her. From sheer exuberance of energy she had come hither, seeking nothing in her masquerade but relief from boredom, and lo! she had landed a prize like this!
“At any rate, I need not have taken a circuitous route to Schramm’s!” she said laughingly.
At the gaming-table nothing sensational was going on. She decided to feint with him, and said sarcastically:
“You try to disguise your compliments as well as you do yourself, Herr von Wenk. I am obliged to accept them, since they take me unawares.”
“I merely mean,” persisted Wenk, “that the removal of the coronet from your monogram cannot remove the stamp of nobility from your brow.”
“I hope you are still masquerading!”
“As an enraptured reader of sentimental romances, you mean? In any case, dear lady.... But is this quite the place to carry on a conversation which aims at a more serious turn?”
She answered, looking him up and down haughtily and deliberately: “Does that mean that you are inviting me to sup with you?”
“I would certainly not venture to do that,” said Wenk hastily, recognizing her meaning. He saw that she suspected him of desiring to establish an intrigue, and that he would begin it in the ordinary way of a champagne supper. “Now,” said he to himself, “if I am to win her over, I must act in such a way as not to deceive her and yet not fulfil her expectations, and since she thinks she has guessed me aright, I must not allow her a feeling of superiority over me. I do not want her to think me a blockhead. The coronet on the handkerchief seems genuine enough, and she does not come here for money, for she never plays. Therefore someone present, or an adventure of some sort, must account for her being here, and if I am to win her to my side I must prove myself stronger than the unknown attraction here,” he argued.
“What have you to offer me?” she asked in a frivolous tone; but Wenk seemed to find something real behind the thoughtless manner, and he answered intuitively, fearing defeat as soon as the words had left his lips:
“I can offer you a great adventure, a really great adventure!”
“With you?” she rejoined, equally without pausing for reflection. “As a lover or as an agent of the State?”
“With me--as a detective!”
“Can you?” she asked disdainfully.
“Shall I give you proofs? Last night I was decoyed into a car and left in the freezing cold lying on a bench in the Schleissheim Park, stupefied by gas. To-day, but twenty-four hours later, I am aware that the man who did this, or ordered it to be done, is the same whom you saw playing recently as the old Professor, and that this same learned old fellow is also the sandy-bearded man to whom you saw Basch lose his money here.”
“Is that true?” she asked in a serious tone.
“Absolutely.”
“The man ... with the reddish beard ... who ... sat ... there?”
“The man who sat opposite Basch like a beast of prey!”
“And what am I ... what have I to do with it?”
“To help me find this man, from whom others must be rescued.”
“I can’t help admiring him!”
“I do not minimize his powers, but there are powers which are evil in their influence.”
“And yet more really human and greater than those that are called good!” she cried; and her bosom, slender and youthful as a girl’s, swelled as she confronted Wenk.
“Ah, now I understand you, dear lady. Listen. Not more really human or greater, for power is power. One display of it cannot be measured by another; it is only its essence we can judge. Everything is human, the good as well as the bad. Evil forces only reap their advantage through the destruction of good ones, and this advantage is for the destroyer alone. The forces of good benefit all without yielding their possessor that gross material gain which he who practises evil strives to attain. Which is the nobler? That is what you must ask yourself, and if there is an exuberance of energy in your temperament which you cannot make use of in the class of society to which you belong, and yet do not desire to keep inactive.... However, these people are beginning to notice our talk. I expect the blond has his spies everywhere. Allow me to take leave of you and request an opportunity of continuing this conversation.”
“Come and see me to-morrow; come at tea-time please. Ask for Countess Told, at Tutzing.”
She gave him her hand. Wenk, to whom her name supplied the clue to that mysterious flight when Count Told had entered the room, kissed her slender fingers, yielding himself momentarily to her charm and beauty, and toying with the foolish notion of abandoning his chase of criminals and yielding to the pursuit of this woman. With these thoughts in his mind, he said farewell.
Left to herself, the Countess reflected: “We women have no imagination. I was looking for an adventure among these gamblers absorbed in their play, and when it presented itself I imagined it was but an intrigue. But this is a man, indeed! He devotes his life to his task, and no man can give more than his life, and there is nothing greater or more beautiful than life. If only I had the chance of doing likewise!” She resolved to follow Wenk’s leading and do all that she could to help him.
Among his letters next morning Wenk noticed a small registered parcel. He opened it, to find his watch and his purse with the money intact. The notebook alone was missing, and on a card these words were typed: “I am no ghoul. The things my subordinate took from you in error are returned herewith. I am keeping the notebook because its contents concern me.--BALLING.”
Wenk was scarcely surprised. This man had thousands at stake; what were a few beggarly hundreds and a gold watch to him? He did not need this to convince him that it was really himself, and more particularly his notebook, that was concerned. He put away both watch and purse and let his thoughts linger on the alluring Countess.
In the afternoon he was received at her house, a mansion sumptuously arranged, but in a style that offended Wenk, for since yesterday his ideas of the Countess had made considerable advance, and it would have been pleasant to find himself more in sympathy with her tastes than this home of hers evidenced.
In the very entrance-hall the walls had been painted all over in Cubist forms and conventional designs tortured into weird shapes in endless succession, with splashes of colour here and there, as if to create an impression of the ardent temperament of the designer. “You are cold and passionless,” said he to himself; “of so calculating and cold a nature that if one among you disappears, the others have not enough red blood in their veins to notice his absence?”
The butler, the dark severity of whose livery was lightened by small silver buttons and blue lappets, took his hat and coat from him and announced him to the Countess, who was sitting at the tea-table.
“We shall not be alone long,” she said; “my husband will be home at five o’clock.”
But the decorations of the house had made Wenk feel unsympathetic, and before he answered he cast a hasty glance at the walls of the room. The Countess noticed it.
“That is all my husband’s doing,” she said. “To me it appears simply hideous. What are you to make out of it, if one paints a peasant, indicates some freshly painted barns, and then tells the beholder that it is a symphony of Beethoven’s? However, every one to his taste--or are you perhaps a ‘Futurist’ also?”
“I cannot say that,” said Wenk, “but you seem to imply that they are the only moderns. Yet all men in secret speak the same language. Our freedom to express ourselves comes only from individuality!”
“You want to be free?” said the lady. “Are you not your own salvation? Does not your calling, your expenditure of energy, give you your inner freedom? There is no salvation from without!”
“That is quite true,” said Wenk simply; and the womanly image which had haunted him since yesterday, and which seemed to be lost on entering this house, once more returned to his mind. “It is really what we were talking of yesterday, this balance of the forces of good and evil, and I wanted to talk to you about that again to-day.”
“I understood you aright,” answered the Countess. “I will confess to you that at first I thought you were on the search for an intrigue, and the idea amused me considerably, for God knows I seek something very different in the gaming-houses.”
“You will find what you are seeking in my work, Countess,” rejoined Wenk quickly.
Suddenly the butler, in his black livery, with its blue lappets and silver buttons, appeared noiselessly, and bent down whispering something to his mistress.
“My husband!” said the Countess to Wenk, fixing a steady and lingering glance on him, and as the Count came forward she introduced the two men.
Count Told was an extremely thin man, and gave an impression of excessive sprightliness. He was surprisingly young and very fashionably dressed. He gesticulated a good deal, and the movement of his hands gave prominence to a ring he wore, set with an unusual gem, such as Wenk had never before seen.
It might have been a flame topaz, with streaks of blood-red across it, trailing off into milky whiteness at the edges and emphasizing the clear honey colour of the transparent stone. In the middle of it, just where its lightning rays were most dazzling, was a tiny pearl, an islet, hardly larger than a freckle, but of a blue that put the sapphire into the shade, and....
Thus Wenk was thinking to himself, unable to keep his eyes from the jewel.
“It is a trifle too big for my hand,” said the Count, answering his visitor’s unspoken thoughts, “but the stone is so ... how shall I describe its originality? Well, I can only say that it is like a recital by Endivian, whom you doubtless know, and it was he who gave it to me. He brought it back from Penderappimur.”
“Is he the fashionable jeweller nowadays?” asked Wenk, who seemed somewhat at sea.
“Herr von Wenk,” said the Countess gravely, “Endivian is the fashionable young Goethe of this season.” Then she laughed. “No! Endivian the poet received the jewel at the Court of Artimerxes II, instead of the goblet, from the poem of his spiritual father ... you know it, ‘Give me no golden chain’ ... and when he returned, he announced in Germany, much as the Pope announces the Golden Rose, that his greatest admirer should have it. The choice fell upon my husband. It would have been better if he had given it me.”
“Why don’t you enthuse about him as I do?” asked the Count, with a pleasant smile, looking at her very tenderly as he spoke.
“Peter Resch dedicated his rubbish to him, and that was enough for me,” was the Countess’s laughing retort.
“Pooh, Peter Resch, indeed!” said the Count. “He is one of the Impressionists who has arrived. By the way, dearest, I have got something new.”
“From the Jennifer gallery?”
“Can one get a real picture anywhere else? There is nothing left.... And one has a clear and incontestable and direct impression. If the artistic temperament would only renounce colour ... it would be the beginning of really abstract thought, of the detachment from everything which needs the help of another consciousness to interpret its vision.”
The Countess replied, with apparent earnestness: “Thank Heaven, we do get a little further. If in the realm of music, too, genius had any prospect of renouncing the crash of sound when it desires to express itself, the world would soon be attaining its aim.”
The Count went on enthusiastically: “A sublime atmosphere of space ... in two blues ... which project into the cosmogony and play upon each other between storm and lightning....
“Whereupon the Almighty leaves His seat, dear Herr von Wenk, saying, ‘My creation has surpassed Me; I take My leave!’”
The conversation continued in this tone for awhile, and an hour later Wenk took his leave. He felt depressed as he drove home, but he had hardly sat down to dinner when a note was brought him, and he read:
DEAR HERR VON WENK,
I am sorry that our meeting to-day fell out differently from the one we had planned. That is not why I am writing to you, however, for we can continue our conversation in another place and at another time. But you may have left our house under the impression that my husband was “nothing but a fool,” and in his wife’s eyes too, and that would have been my fault, so I want to entreat you not to allow yourself to take up a depreciatory attitude. It is true that the Count buys Futurist pictures, but that must be understood more or less symbolically. I have always found that the more “foolish” a man appeared at one’s first encounter with him, the more approachable he became when one met him in his more serious moments.
Au revoir ... but when, and where?
Yours sincerely,
LUCY TOLD.
“So Lucy is her name? And indeed she is rightly called Light. If she were my light of life!... Oh, what a fool I am,” said he, as he felt an unaccustomed warmth steal over him--a warmth for which he always yearned.... Then he stood up, shaking off these delicious tremors, and saying sternly to himself, “This is a pretty way to reach a criminal ... through falling in love with a beautiful woman.”
The telephone rang: “Hull speaking!”
Hull told him that a new gaming-house had been opened, and he really must visit it. The saloon was not only arranged to accommodate a large number of people, at least a hundred, but it had certain mechanical contrivances which could turn it into a music-hall if the police were to appear. He did not know how it was done, but Cara had written to him about it and she was always au courant of any new sensation of this kind. They were going there, and taking Karstens with them, but Hull did not know the address of this place, and they would trust to Cara’s guidance. Of course, she knew nothing about his writing to Wenk.
A rendezvous was arranged, and at ten o’clock Wenk drove to the Café Bastin, whence they were to set out.
