Mabuse’s first thought, when he heard the Secret Service agent’s announcement, was a doubt whether he should have ventured on this public appearance, but he soon dismissed the troublesome idea. Yes, he had been right, for it provided him, in concentrated form, with the nourishment upon which his mind battened. With such hypnotic powers as he possessed he must always be in relation with a larger and unknown public. To feel his power over the narrow circle to which his professional duties bound him, the members of which were known to him, was not enough for his insatiable ambition. His sphere must know no limits, and with these weird and mysterious gifts of his he could exploit the triviality and credulity of his fellows and at the same time give full play to his hatred and his lust for domination.
Upon such a stage as this he felt as if born anew. It was here that he had inaugurated his reign of power, when the war sent him from his South Sea plantations back to his home, a ruined man, and this domination of his he could not renounce. While these thoughts were passing through his mind he went to the detective and asked what had happened. “You must inquire of the State Attorney, sir,” said the man. “Dr. von Wenk is just outside.”
Mabuse turned pale and walked away, going rapidly towards the Privy Councillor, whom he saw still sitting in the front row. As he went, he felt in his pocket to make sure that his revolver was safe, and sensations of hatred and defiance went through his whole body, fastening as it were like a brand upon his mental image of Wenk.
“First of all you, and then …” he said to himself, but he was already smiling in the Councillor’s face.
“Your hypnotic powers,” said the latter, “seem to be giving the State Attorney some trouble!”
“Is that Dr. Wenk?” said Mabuse, drawing back as if astonished.
“I saw him just now going from seat to seat and fixing an eagle eye on everybody here, as if to pierce through coat, waistcoat and shirt to reach a guilt-burdened conscience. He does not seem to have found his man, however.”
Mabuse’s breast heaved, inflated at the thought of his success. He felt like a horse in sight of its manger after a long and weary road. Although he clearly understood what the words implied, he nevertheless asked the Councillor, “How do you know that?”
“It is quite simple, for if he had found his man, he would have let one of the detectives take him out without disturbing your lecture.”
“That is true,” said Mabuse. “Let us go.”
He pressed towards the door, taking the Councillor with him. He was thoroughly on the alert, looking behind him to see that he did not lose touch with Wendel, and also ahead, where lay the danger he wished to avoid. Whenever any movement threatened to separate him from the elderly savant, he used all the cunning at his command to get near him again. It was above all essential not to leave the hall exposed to Wenk’s gaze as a solitary individual. The Councillor, who was old and well known, must help him to throw the hound off the scent. He was aged, however, and could not hurry; but Mabuse dared not be the last one to leave, closely eyed as he would be by a disappointed man who had not found the quarry he sought. There were still some others behind him, to whose party he might attach himself, so that he need not be the last.
One thing was certain. It was he, and none other, whom the State Attorney was seeking, but Wenk did not know that Mabuse was his quarry, or he would have had him arrested on the platform. How had he got upon the track? Was it a mere guess that had started him off? Was there treachery in it? No; he would never be betrayed. Could Wenk have recognized him, one of those evenings at the gaming-table? No; it was impossible, his disguises were too perfect for that, so. …
Then a hand touched his, and Mabuse looked into Spoerri’s inquiring eyes, and saw beside him another man of his bodyguard, and he immediately looked away again unconcernedly. Spoerri and his accomplice were pressing towards the exit in front of him. Mabuse went on thinking, and came to the conclusion that mere chance had put Wenk on this track, some faint resemblance or recollection, some movement or action. … In any case, Wenk must see as little of him as possible, and since his back would be exposed to him longer than any other part, he put his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and thus altered his appearance.
And now he had reached the exit with the Privy Councillor. He quickly pushed him in front, following closely on his heels. At the moment when Wendel stepped to the door, Wenk was ordering a detective to tell two men who were lingering on the stairs to move on. Mabuse heard the man say, “Shall I arrest them?” Then he looked ahead and saw that the order referred to Spoerri and his subordinate. Mabuse sought to catch his eye; he took his pocket-handkerchief out with a flourish and blew his nose loudly. Spoerri saw it and understood, and at once withdrew with his companion.
Mabuse saw Wenk shaking hands with the Councillor. Then it was his turn to come forward, and Wendel introduced “Dr. Mabuse.” Without taking his eyes off the door, through which the light from the hall was now streaming, Wenk shook hands with Mabuse, saying courteously, “You won’t be annoyed with me for carrying out my duty, I hope, Doctor?”
Mabuse answered with affected friendliness, his hand on the revolver in his pocket, “Certainly
