He looked closely into Weltmann’s eyes, taking in all his features. His was a powerful, muscular figure, and in imagination Wenk divested the face of its false moustache, eyebrows and wig, seeing beneath it the smooth-shaven, well-formed cranium of Dr. Mabuse. Wenk would have recognized him now beneath all his disguises. He gazed at him calmly, and the other’s glance flickered. The large grey eyes seemed to withdraw into their own fiery depths. For a time the performer paid no attention to Wenk. He concentrated on those who were advancing. No sooner had one of them set foot upon the stage than he unexpectedly turned right round again and hurried back into the hall. One after another did this; a dozen, and even more. Those below were laughing heartily, and the little hall re-echoed with their merriment. More and more pressed forward, but the effect was the same on all. With one hand Wenk grasped the wrist of the other, anxious to see whether he retained consciousness of nerves and muscles. He meant to resist. The welling-up of generous and magnanimous feelings had rapidly cooled. He hated, menaced and execrated his enemy now, and prepared himself for the final conflict. His eager blood was inflamed against his foe, and he watched him warily, while still upon his defence. Somewhere in his being a stringed instrument like a guitar seemed to be playing a melody, and he began to listen to this mysterious music. It was so tender and yet so distant, but then he fell back again upon his position of guard and defence. Suddenly a strange idea occurred to him. How would it be if he too did like the rest, and ran as if impelled down there along the gangway past the chairs--that gangway of safety and escape--to where the big door stood encouragingly open ... to escape and at the same time to do his duty ... to go to the nearest telephone and summon the police ... to carry out a daring trick ... and then do like the others, return, still in the same dreamlike state ... return to the hall and wait--wait for the police, the rescuers?... It would be a daring trick! Already some of the muscles in his legs were twitching.... Then Weltmann called out harshly to Prewitz, “Why don’t you pay attention? Cock your revolver! Don’t you see that this criminal is trying to escape?” He pointed at Wenk, and Prewitz cocked the revolver with a dreamy nonchalance, an indifference that excited horror and dread. He raised the revolver to Wenk’s face, and Wenk saw in its little orifice the dark hell of danger before him, for he knew that the weapon was loaded. “The first step that he takes, without my orders, you will shoot,” said Weltmann with an ambiguous smile.