This was certainly a suspicious circumstance, and Wenk did all he could to gain upon the other car, and turned round while still on the bridge. Again the other turned into the Maximilianstrasse, and as it was now teeming with traffic, Wenk was able to bring his own vehicle close up.
The strange car came to a halt outside a theatre of varieties. Wenk sprang from his car, and when the stranger left his and, turning his back on Wenk, entered the theatre, he felt the same overpowering conviction that it really was the blond—it could be no other.
In feverish excitement Wenk pushed past the people and got into the theatre. He saw that he would overtake the stranger in the foyer, so he waited among the rest, certain that the other would have to pass by him. … But when he did, Wenk saw a broad, clean-shaven man, with a heavy mouth and large staring eyes. The face was quite unknown to him, and coolly and indifferently the large eyes glanced at him. Disappointed and disgusted, Wenk passed by, intending to go out to his waiting car.
A few late arrivals detained him in the proximity of the cloakroom. It was exactly eight o’clock, and the signal that the curtain was about to go up was already being given. At this moment Wenk realized what a difficulty there would be and what excitement would be created were he to arrest his man then and there. Unwilling to let his quarry escape him, he turned once more, and then saw the other disengaging himself from a group of men who were pushing forward to the pit, making his way quietly to the left-hand entrance to the boxes. This led to the five ground-floor boxes, as Wenk knew. He quickly made up his mind and bought a seat in one of them for himself. It was the last to be had, and the plan showed him that each box held five persons.
Going back to his car, he crept inside, and there changed into evening dress. From the box-office he telephoned his chauffeur to come for the car, and then returned to his box.
It was dark when he entered it, and he tried, but without success, to distinguish the stranger’s features in the dim light. When the light went up again he was equally unsuccessful in tracing him anywhere among the twenty ladies and gentlemen sitting in the lower boxes. It was altogether incomprehensible. This corridor led to the five boxes only, and they were five or six feet above the pit. How had his quarry escaped him?
Now thoroughly uneasy, Wenk hastened to the street to see whether the stranger’s car was still there. To his relief he found it there.
He breathed more freely, and turned to go to his own car and remain there until he could pursue the other, but as he noticed the strange car again, he saw that it had a taximeter. He had looked at the car well before, and was certain that it had no register. Without further reflection, Wenk approached the chauffeur, saying, “Are you disengaged?”
“Yes, sir,” said the chauffeur.
Wenk entered the car, giving his own address. During the drive he intended to consider his next move; then it suddenly occurred to him that the man, who had been dumb when in the Dienerstrasse, answered instantly when spoken to here.
The automobile drove on; a sweetish scent pervaded its interior, which affected Wenk’s mucous membranes.
Something was wrong then! “A little while ago he was dumb, now he can talk,” reflected Wenk. “Before it was a private car; now it is plying for hire like a taxicab. What is it that smells so strongly?” His nostrils and eyelids seemed to be on fire.
In order to decide what the odour was, Wenk drew one or two deep breaths. Then he tried to open the window, for he found the smell unbearable. What did it smell of? He raised his arm, but he saw that it would not rise to its full extent; it did not obey his will. At the same moment it seemed as if a heavy block were pressing on his eyes. Then dread seized him in a fiery grasp. No longer capable of resistance, he began to bellow furiously, flung himself down and kicked with his foot at the handle of the door, but without being able to find it.
For some few seconds he lay on the floor of the car, with occasional gleams of consciousness. Then these were finally extinguished, and complete insensibility overtook him, while the car continued its mad race through the streets.
The chauffeur drove with the unconscious form of the drugged State Attorney throughout the darkness to Schleissheim. There he propped him up on a bench, and then drove back to Munich. In the Xenienstrasse he halted before a residence standing alone. Upon a brass plate might be read:
Dr. Mabuse,
Neurologist.
A man of massive build, covered by a fur coat, came rapidly out of the house and through the little front garden to the car. “He is lying in the Schleissheim Park,” said the chauffeur. “Here is the notebook you wanted.”
“Did you remove the gas-flask from the car?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Drive on!”
But at this moment a woman, closely muffled up, came out of the darkness and stepped towards the car. She held on to the door, murmuring beseechingly, “Dearest!”
Mabuse turned in annoyance. “What do you want? Are you begging?”
The woman answered him gently and sadly. “Yes, begging—for love!”
“You know my answer.”
“But remember the past. Why should this be?” implored the voice.
Mabuse, in wrath, exclaimed, “The past is past. Your part is to obey. My orders are clear, and there is nothing between Yes and No. You have heard from George what my wishes are. Drive on, George!”
He was already in the car. The woman fell back to the garden railings, covered herself
