Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 9 – Clare · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 9Chapter 9
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Dr. Mabuse, master of mystery 9
Chapter 9
ClareEnglish
At four o’clock there was a telephone call from Frankfurt. “George Strümpfli, artist, was born in Basle in 1885, and lived at the address indicated from January 1st to December 10th last year. He has now gone abroad, his whereabouts being unknown. In the records he is entered as of Swiss nationality, and he is a married man.”
From the register of the town inhabitants Wenk learnt that Cara Carozza was described as follows: “Maria Strümpfli, formerly Essert, known as Cara Carozza, dancer, born in Brunn, May 1, 1892, arrived in Munich from Copenhagen.”
Wenk wondered how the pronunciation of “Georsh” instead of George could have arisen, for both these people were South Germans by speech, and “Georsh” was only heard in North Germany.
He went again to see the dancer, who was now in a prison cell.
“I don’t want anything to do with you,” she said in a harsh voice to Wenk. “You say you are going to help me, and yet you put me in prison.”
“It was not I: that is a mistake on your part. It is the examining counsel, as I told you at once. I am only here to clear up one difficulty in the case, and that is the name you called out. That is the point at issue.”
“Indeed! you seem rather concerned about the verdict.”
“Yes, of course we are. If you were prepared to help us we might get over the difficulty. Let me see, you said your husband’s name was Carl ... Carl Strümpfli, wasn’t it?”
“In case you forget it again, his name is George.”
“He is a Swiss?”
“You have evidently been inquiring about him.”
“Certainly,” said Wenk. “And so he is called George. Now tell me, although you may think it a foolish question, had you any special name for him?”
“No.”
“You never called him anything but....”
“George. No, only George. When can I get away from here?”
“Ah, that depends upon the examining counsel.”
“Well then, he ought to be here. It is shameful that a well-known artiste like me should....”
“You see, unfortunately everything must take its prescribed course. ‘Without respect of individuals,’ as the legal phrase runs. I cannot promise you any more than my own help.”
“You are going away again? And without me?”
“For the moment I cannot do anything else.”
The dancer turned away.
Wenk went to the scene of the crime. He had previously studied the list of those living in its vicinity, and especially those in the Finkenstrasse. He took two plain-clothes policemen with him, one of them being the constable who had pursued the criminals as far as the park wall. They examined the wall by daylight; it showed scratches from the tips of shoes, and on the top was a trace of blood. Possibly someone had been lifted up who grasped the top with his hands. In the clear February day the light fell pitilessly on that trace of the murdered Hull.
Wenk entered the houses, many of which, he perceived, led at the back to the park. He spoke to all their occupants separately. Some had heard a noise in the night, but they did not consider that anything unusual, and in the houses themselves, as they told Wenk, they had heard nothing.
He examined the park on the other side of the wall. There was nothing to be seen there beyond a trace of many footprints in one spot, where they had apparently jumped down, for some of the impressions were fairly deep. But this spot had been raked, and carbolic acid thrown upon it. There was an empty tin near, which from its smell had evidently contained carbolic. This precaution was doubtless taken in case the police hounds should be requisitioned, and it might have been put there beforehand, but he did not quite understand the reason, and decided to test it by means of a hound. It took up the scent in the Jägerstrasse, ran to the wall and jumped up on it, but when they lifted it on the other side it went no further. It turned away in disgust at the smell of the carbolic, ran up and down the wall and then back again, always in the same direction, and yet always as if irresolute. It tried to spring into the air.
Wenk had it lifted over the wall again, but when the hound was on the top, and the man on the other side ready to receive it, it escaped from him and ran, barking furiously, along the top. It did not run far, but remained in one spot, barking, with its head downwards, towards the yard of one of the houses, trying to jump down there. Then with one spring the hound was over, running towards the house, where it stood still at the outer wall. This Wenk examined closely, perceiving marks of scratches occurring at regular intervals upwards. Here undoubtedly people had climbed up by means of a ladder, and the tracks led to a window on the first floor. The room it belonged to was empty, and he asked the people of the house how long it had been so. Then all the other lodgers were astonished, for they said it was occupied. One of them exclaimed, “But Georsh is living there!”
Wenk’s heart gave a sudden leap.
“Who?” he said quickly. “What was his name?”
Again the answer was “Georsh.”
“Did you know him?” he asked of one woman.
“Certainly I knew Georsh!” she replied.
“Was that his surname?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who used to call him that?”
“The fellows who were always coming to see him.”
“So his name was George?” went on Wenk, desirous of being quite certain.
“No, he was called Georsh,” answered one of them.
“Has he lived here long?”
Nobody knew exactly; some thought it was about a year, but he was hardly ever at home. He tried to get a description of the man, but then a curious fact came to light. Even about the colour of his hair they could not agree. One said he was blue-eyed, another declared his eyes were dark. He was rather tall and thin, and dressed like a sailor. Again, he looked rather like an athlete.
“What was he then? What was his calling?”
“They said he was a commercial traveller.”
It was curious that there was no mention of this Georsh as an occupant of the house; he was not on the list given to Wenk.
Wenk went to the Town Register Office, and with the help of the officials he ascertained that one occupant of the house had been a George Hinrichsen from the Elbe district. He had left the place about a month before, and said he was going to Ravensburg, and after that the room had been taken by a commercial traveller named Poldringer.
It was quite clear to Wenk that Hinrichsen and Poldringer the traveller were one and the same person. It was just a month ago that Hull had had that memorable conversation with Wenk. And Hinrichsen and Poldringer were the same individual as the murderer of Hull, or at least the person who directed the murder, and it was his name that the dancer had called out. Possibly the direction Hinrichsen had taken in departure also agreed with this, for Constance lay near Ravensburg, and Switzerland could be reached from there.
Wenk telegraphed to the Constance head-office, with special reference to the passport stations. A few hours later the police officials there telegraphed back that a man named Poldringer had notified his arrival there. He gave Bavaria as his native State, and this had struck the registering official as curious, because the man used a dialect that was unmistakably North German. On that account the police kept him under surveillance. They ascertained that he frequented the society of people who were suspected of smuggling goods across the Swiss frontier. He often travelled by the steamer to Lindau. “Expect me to-day in Constance,” telephoned Wenk finally.
Wenk immediately prepared for a journey. He could reach Constance before night if the little monoplane belonging to a friend of his, which was always at his service, were ready for a flight. He telephoned to him and ascertained that it was.
At four o’clock he departed, and in the deepening twilight he descended at the Petershaus aerodrome near Constance. The police described the locality in which these profiteers and smugglers were to be found. He disguised himself as a chauffeur and went to one of their inns to get some supper. He addressed one man whom he thought to be of their party, saying that he could get hold of two cars, and also some sort of export licence, as long as it wasn’t looked at too closely, but if he had the help of one or, better still, of two bold fellows it could be done quite easily. There would be a profit of about ten thousand in it, for the cars were bought in the autumn of 1918 and had been kept hidden ever since. They were first-class cars that had belonged to two generals.
The other did not take long to consider. He would broach the matter to a friend of his, and the three of them would soon pull it off. They went together later to another tavern, which the friend often frequented, but he did not appear.
“What is his name?” asked Wenk. “Perhaps I know him.”
“He is called Ball, but you may have known him under some other name. Most of us find it convenient to have one or two different names here; you know all about that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” said Wenk.
Then he grew suddenly pale, for just then a man entered, in whom he thought he recognized the chauffeur who had driven him to Schleissheim in the car filled with poison gas. Everything was at stake. Wenk’s disguise was rather a sketchy one. Supposing this man were the Ball they were expecting! If he came to their table and sat down, he would probably recognize Wenk, and the whole story would come out. He employed all his powers to regain his self-control, and tried to disguise his features by contracting his facial muscles. He had already taken the precaution of seating himself in a dark corner.
But the new-comer sat down at some distance from him at a large table where several young fellows were already sitting. He had his back to Wenk, but the lawyer felt he must not venture any further, and promising a rendezvous for the next evening, he hastily took his leave.
He went to the police-station, stated where he had been, and described the suspected man. The sergeant of police sent for a constable, who said that according to the description the man must be Poldringer.
“Could we be certain of that? I should like the fact established during the night. But I beg of you to proceed cautiously in the matter, for this man is armed at all points!” urged Wenk.
Then he thought it would be better not to go there, said the constable. It was but a small town, and all the police officials, even the plain-clothes men, knew these profiteers. His sudden appearance might give the alarm.
“Well then, I must manage without that. Do you know where he lives?”
“Certainly.”
“Then take me there at once.”
The sergeant took Wenk to a byway where stood a shabby old inn, which was divided into many courtyards at the back. Wenk at once recognized that it would be extremely difficult to carry through any arrest here without a large body of police, and so many constables could not be quickly and easily procured in a small town like this.
Opposite the house was an iron-foundry. Here Wenk spent the next forenoon in company with a constable who knew Poldringer, the two concealing themselves behind a dust-begrimed window.
When, about eleven o’clock, the man whom Wenk knew as the sandy-bearded 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.
