“Is it there already?”
“I have just fastened it there.”
“Then you did it very smartly, for I did not notice anything,” said Wenk, praising him.
“Let us go back. It really is a side-entrance to the other villa.”
“Do you know who is living there?”
“For the last thirty years an old maid has been living there. There certainly is no connection between the two villas.”
They strolled back along the road.
“If you would like to go to sleep, Schmied, I have no objection. I know what I’ve to look out for now.”
“Well, I really should be glad to, sir, for last night I got no sleep, and I must be out there again before four o’clock.”
“I understand. Well then, good night. …”
Wenk continued his patrol throughout the whole of the spring night, but nothing happened, and he noticed nothing out of the common. Next morning he repaired to the hotel at Lindau, the address of which he had notified before leaving Munich. The director told him he had been rung up from Munich, and his man wanted him to know that Count Told most earnestly desired to speak to him as soon as possible. The call had come from his home at Munich. He seemed to be greatly agitated, and begged the man to telephone the message on.
Wenk returned to Munich and rang up the Count, but an unfamiliar voice informed him that the Count had started on a journey.
“Did he leave no message for me?” said Wenk.
“No.”
“Where has he gone?”
“He left no address. Please ring off.”
Wenk was thoroughly perplexed.
XV
That same morning Mabuse had visited Told. “You are not so well, I can see,” said he to him. “Your pupils are very much dilated.”
“Is that a sign … ?” said Told hesitatingly.
“Yes. Don’t talk about your state; put it entirely out of your head. Where is your wife?”
The startled Count could not venture on an answer.
“Your wife did not want to live with you any more—never any more!” went on the Doctor harshly. “That is so, isn’t it? You must destroy the past, break off all relation to it. Call your man here!”
Told rang, and the man came. The Count, with a gesture, referred him to the doctor.
“Has anybody telephoned?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Has anyone rung up from here?”
“I did,” answered Told.
“Whom?”
“Dr. von Wenk.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to speak to him.”
“What did you want to say?”
The embarrassed Count answered, “Only … to speak … to speak to some human being or other!”
“Is your servant a bullock, then, or am I one?” asked Mabuse harshly. “You can talk to me if you want to. What crazy idea has got into your head?”
The Count turned his head away; he no longer had the courage to face his doctor. … “Is he going to cure me?” he asked himself. Then he looked up at him timidly and irresolutely. “You are no human being: you are a devil!” was the secret cry of his heart, but these fierce thoughts soon left him, and he felt suddenly sleepy. “I am always so tired!” he exclaimed.
“Tell your man now, in my presence, to refuse all visitors or anyone who telephones. He must say, ‘The Count has gone on a journey. He left no address. Please ring off.’ ”
Slowly and mechanically Told repeated the order, and the man bowed and withdrew.
“I am really not sure whether I shall go on with your case,” said Mabuse. But Told hardly heeded him; he seemed to feel a slow poison stealing into his veins.
“You are thirsty!” said Mabuse, suddenly.
“Yes, I am,” whispered the Count.
“You are to drink a mixture of brandy and Tokay, as much as you like. Take good long draughts—the brandy will do you good. You must forget everything in your past, your wife as well. When you are convinced that you have succeeded in doing that, you are on the road to recovery. You must destroy the past, you understand. The alcohol will help you there.”
“Destroy the past,” stammered the Count, as if sinking into a bog that threatened to engulf him, “destroy … the … past. …”
“In two years’ time you can think about resuming your ordinary life again. In what time?” he broke off suddenly. “What time did I say?” he thundered.
The Count aroused himself from his lethargy. Horrified at the length of time involved, he answered in a low tone, “Two years.”
“Do you know that your wife wants to put you into a lunatic asylum? She is getting the State Attorney, Wenk, to help her. Was not that the man who rang you up? … I am coming again tomorrow.”
The Count remained alone, dejected and humiliated. It seemed as if elephants were trampling out his brains, that his spirit was a prey to crocodiles and he was covered with mud and slime. “The whole world has forsaken me,” he murmured. The pictures he had collected around him seemed to be celebrating orgies on the walls. He could no longer understand how it was they could ever have pleased him, nor why he had endured them so long. He took a hunting-knife and slit every one of them from top to bottom, hacking at their frames. When he had done it, he sprang back in horror. He held his head in his hands, groaning, “Oh God, am I really mad?”
He began drinking brandy, and he drank it out of a claret tumbler. When he had had three glasses he was intoxicated. Then it seemed as if the doctor had left something behind him and that this lay in front of him. He did
