“Come to the club! Perhaps your Herr Balling will go there to fetch the money himself.”
“Yes, but what about the real Balling in No. 15?”
“Well, that’s certainly odd, I grant you. Come along.”
“All right. Perhaps he’ll be there.”
In the club that night there was no play. The curious circumstance had so worked upon the members’ imagination that no one felt the need of trying his luck. Hull was overwhelmed with well-meaning or obtuse advice.
“Emil,” said one of them to the attendant, “what did his car look like?”
“An excellent one, Herr Baron, a twenty-horsepower at the least—a closed car with a body like a royal cradle, if one may use such a comparison nowadays … so smooth and well rounded and polished. It started off with a great bound, and soon vanished. It was a first-class car. I kept a close eye on the gentleman, and I saw that he had the devil’s own luck when he played against Herr von Hull. He played quite straight, however.”
They learnt nothing more about the stranger. Nobody came either to the club or to Hull’s rooms to ask for the twenty thousand marks or to offer him his revenge.
A few days afterwards Hull made acquaintance with a girl who was performing jazz dances in the Bonbonnière. She was partly Mexican, she told him. She soon effected a diversion in his thoughts, and in her company he rapidly got rid of the twenty thousand marks which he could not pay over to the stranger.
“It seems as if you were meant to give the money to a woman instead of to a man,” remarked Karstens, when he told him that he was now free of his worries once more.
II
About a fortnight later the circles to whom the life of the day is only a wearisome burden till the hour of play arrives, when the nerve-tension is once more excited, were all agog with the stories of a stranger who simply loaded himself with money wherever he chanced to play. The tales varied constantly. At one time the stranger was a young sportsman, at another a worthy provincial; now he was a fair-bearded man looking like an artist, and again a robber and murderer who had escaped from justice. Some said he was a dethroned prince, others that he was a Frenchman. Another time they declared him to be a citizen of Leipzig, who was smuggling pit-coal from the Saar into Bavaria by way of Switzerland, or profiteering on the money exchange with New York and Rio de Janeiro. There was endless variety in the descriptions, but the imagination put the various forms together and made one personality out of them.
Circles that were exclusive had ceased to exist. Money was a key that opened all doors, the wearing of a fur coat could conceal any calling, and a diamond scarf-pin shed lustre on any character. A man could go into whatsoever company he desired.
There was no longer any sense of security, and the mysterious gambler might turn up in any place, at any time. He might be anybody’s neighbour. The authorities were constantly notified of swindling players, and though in no case could their swindles be proved, their luck was so continuous that it did not seem possible for it to be due to ordinary play.
Through the Bonbonnière lady Hull frequently spent his evenings in places where gambling was indulged in. He heard much about this swindler at play, and from many different quarters, for theatrical folk are always particularly interested in anything out of the common, especially where masquerading is concerned. But Hull’s brain was of a matter-of-fact and ordinary kind. He did, indeed, still think about the twenty thousand marks, but mostly with the comfortable reflection that they had been used in a very different way from that for which they were destined. Now that the story of his forgetfulness had ceased to haunt him he had become quite convinced that his friends had played an elaborate trick upon him, that his I.O.U. and the twenty thousand marks had been discharged, and the only disreputable part in the affair had been played by Balling, who, on account of Emil’s watch upon him, had not felt himself secure. His astonishment was all the greater, therefore, when a certain Herr von Wenk was announced and the story of that night’s escapade was brought up once more.
Hull refused to discuss the matter, but the visitor told him he was a State Attorney and showed his credentials. In the most polite way possible he continued to question him, saying that his official status obliged him to pursue the inquiry. Had Hull been able to communicate with Cara Carozza, his chère amie from the Bonbonnière, instead of having to face this man by himself, he would have known what to say and how much to conceal. He was greatly enamoured of Cara Carozza, and by no means inclined to go into this matter and rake up bygones for the sake of the country’s morals.
“You will pardon my introducing a personal note, but I understand that you are very intimate with Mdlle. Cara Carozza, of the Bonbonnière?”
“Good Lord! He knows that, does he?” ejaculated Hull to himself.
“Can you make me acquainted with this lady? It would further the task which the State has laid upon me, but I would ask you to introduce me to her as a private individual. It is unnecessary to assure you that I take you for a man of irreproachable character and quite above suspicion. Nothing is known to the detriment of the lady, either. You will be able to render a service to the country and perhaps to yourself as well. Henceforward you are under the direct protection of the police. Do not be uneasy; it
