“That is so, your honour.”
“Is he always alone here, or now and then with a female companion?”
“I do not allow anything of that sort, your honour. We are very strict about our guests’ respectability.”
“Well, I can only say that this guest, in spite of his size, has uncommonly small feet.”
“What does your honour mean by that?”
“He wears ladies’ shoes.”
“Ah now, sir, you are joking.”
“Well, come with me, my good fellow, and see for yourself.”
They went upstairs together. In front of No. 10 they saw a pair of elegant high-heeled shoes of the latest fashion.
Then Wenk cocked his revolver and went in without the formality of knocking. He entered the room quickly, the hotel manager following him. The light was on, but the room was empty. Both the windows were closed and the bathroom adjoining had none. Wenk searched the cupboards, bed, and drawers, but nowhere was any clue to be found. He hurried down to the street, but the stranger’s car had disappeared.
He made the manager inquire who had left the hotel within the last ten minutes. “Nobody but the secretary,” said the commissionaire. At that moment the secretary came from behind a partition, ready to leave the hotel. The man looked at him in amazement.
“You here again! You only left a few minutes ago.”
“I did? I was in the bureau till this very minute,” answered the employee.
Then Wenk knew all he needed to know, and the circumstance was fully explained. For the purposes of disguise the man who had disappeared had prepared the outfit of someone well known in the hotel. He had put a woman’s shoes at his door, for he conjectured, and rightly too, that the pursuer, before he entered the room, would go back to the bureau and inquire about the mystery of the feminine footwear, and he had made good use of the time this took. It was evident to Wenk that he was dealing with a mastermind. He was astonished at the dexterity with which he worked. It immediately recalled the doings of the blond stranger at Schramm’s, and Hull’s Herr Balling.
On his homeward way, and after he reached his chambers, Wenk thought over all he knew about the bearded blond, and tried to compare it with the impressions made on him by the Professor. But, strangely enough, although many details concerning the gambler at Schramm’s were firmly and indelibly fixed in his mind, his impressions of the Professor were wavering and indistinct, although he had encountered him but an hour before.
Moreover, he grew drowsy and it seemed to him as if he had to recover from some more than ordinary fatigue which he had undergone in the course of the day. He began to undress, and a lassitude, almost like that caused by the loss of blood, overcame him. That feeling of an inward lightness of body which had seemed so comfortable when he recalled it at the close of their contest, the nervous tension after the last occurrence, together with the sensation of faintness, now took possession of him entirely. He yielded to it and fell asleep before he had quite finished undressing. In his dream it seemed as if a mysterious and magic castle had been built up all round him, and he knew that if he could interpret the three syllables “Tsi-nan-fu,” or locate that hole in the wall whither The Hague professor’s voice projected them, he would find the key to unlock the door of the enchanted castle.
V
For the next few evenings Wenk did not visit any gaming-house. As his own chauffeur, dressed in leather cap and coat, he drove round the city, bringing his car to a standstill before one or other of its well-known resorts, and observing, from the security of the driver’s seat, the people who entered or left it.
On one occasion, when he was driving to the first of these houses and proceeding slowly along the Dienerstrasse, he was held up by a block in the traffic. While he was waiting, he saw in a tobacconist’s, just in front of which his course was arrested, something which caused his pulses to beat at double time. It was he, the sandy-bearded man! He had his back turned and was buying cigars, but it was certainly he! He was making his choice slowly and carefully as if he defied the danger of being recognized. There was a car in front of the door. Wenk examined it closely, but it was unfamiliar to him. He copied its number down.
Once the chauffeur left it, in order to do something to the back of the car, Wenk, who was behind him, called to him; the man looked up, but put his hands to his mouth as if to signify that he was dumb.
The man in the shop took up his parcel and turned to the door, but the face he disclosed to Wenk was one he had never seen before. People pushed between him and Wenk, so that he saw him for a moment only. Just then the block was released, the string of cars drove on, and the one in front of him set off at a bound, as if hastening to get away from pursuit.
Wenk, however, could not shake off his conviction. He followed. As soon as the other car was free of the rest, it increased its speed, and bore off to the Maximilianstrasse. Wenk was unable to keep up with it. The street was empty throughout its length, and when he had reached the square at the end he saw that the car in front was turning down Wiedenmeierstrasse. He still followed, the distance between them always increasing, but in the moonlight he never lost sight of his quarry throughout the length of the street. When he reached the Max Joseph Bridge, he saw that the car in front was making use of the wide square on the other bank of the Isar to make a detour, and suddenly,
