“He does not believe me,” she said to herself tremblingly. “The Doctor will never believe me again. Strange--and yet, can there be any greater proof to offer that I was always faithful to him? Oh life! base, incomprehensible, disturbing life! This terrible life of mine! Come!” she said, apostrophizing the flask; “we will show him there is nothing to fear from me. We will prove it to you, you ... king of men ... you enchanting murderer! you sublime destroyer! my horror and my bliss!...” She shouted aloud, then she grew fearful lest her cries might endanger the beloved life, and she snatched the stopper out of the bottle. Standing upright in the middle of the cell, she drank, a moment later throwing the bottle out of the window, where the sun streaming in proclaimed the morning of a new day. * * * * * Wenk faced the curator of the women’s prison. “Yes, sir, we were sorry to be unable to inform you, but it was not possible to communicate with you. The doctor says it must have been a heart-stroke, for she was found lying dead in her cell this morning.” Amazed and horrified, Wenk entered the cell. It was empty, the straw pallet bare. Cara’s clothing lay on a stool. Wenk looked round, and was about to leave when he saw something shining on the window-ledge. He went back and examined it, and found it was a small piece of glass, rounded in shape, with a very strong odour clinging to it. Wenk jumped on a chair and found another piece of glass outside. Then he went down into the courtyard, and very soon had collected all the other pieces of the bottle. It had broken against one of the window-bars. He had the glass tested, and there were evidences of poison upon it. He walked back to his chambers--pondering over this new occurrence. “Another victim!” he said to himself repeatedly. One more sacrifice, a real sacrifice, for this one had sacrificed herself. This light-of-love had offered her life as a sacrifice to her love. She had not meant to tell him anything--he realized that now. She merely wanted to put him on the wrong track that she might have a chance to warn the criminal. “I have no success with my women helpers,” he thought sadly, asking how it was that these steadfast souls should be found on the side of evil rather than good--always on the side of evil, it seemed to him. When the dancer was buried next day, he was the only outsider present, and he returned to his chambers slowly and sadly. There, however, plenty of work was awaiting him. His idea was to seize Dr. Mabuse in his own home, and first of all he must ascertain when he was sure to be found at home, and the two confederates must be secured at the same time, the one at the Xenienstrasse and the other in the Schachen villa; there must be no time for one of them to inform the other.