“A thousand women and five hundred men,” shouted Mabuse. “Doctor,” said Spoerri hesitatingly, struggling with the intoxication overcoming his senses, “I did not hear; I do not know this Hull. What am _I_ to do with him? 34, Hubertusstrasse.... Do you really mean _me_, Doctor?” Then Mabuse all at once stood upright, intoxicated as he was. “Yes, you!” he thundered, and then gave Spoerri a heavy blow with his fist, full on his forehead, knocking him senseless to the floor. “I am going to bed, George,” he shouted, overcome with rage. He left Spoerri lying where he was, and went out. When he came into the dining-room again next morning, Spoerri was sitting there. Mabuse had breakfasted in bed. “Show me your notes!” he ordered in a harsh voice. He ran through them quickly, found Hull’s address traced in drunken characters, and returned the book to Spoerri. “That’s all right,” said he, and Spoerri fawned upon him like a cur watching to avoid a kick. That attitude of his did Mabuse good; it soothed and reconciled him, and he became talkative. Spoerri was quietly delighted to find the master friendly towards him, to know that the dread will of this imperious man inclined him to be amiable, as if recognizing his devotion. “Spoerri,” said the Doctor, “I shall go to Constance with you. We mustn’t let those young men do anything stupid!” Spoerri brightened up. “Oh, when they once see you, Doctor, there’ll be no trouble at all.” The two men remained all day long at the villa. Mabuse drank, but no longer compelled Spoerri to do so. By midday he was already intoxicated. Spoerri, tired out by the carousal of the previous night, watched over Mabuse devotedly. He tried many simple devices to persuade him to stop drinking, but Mabuse soon saw through them, and ordered full bottles to be brought and no tricks to be played. Alcohol was a necessity to him; it inflamed his wild and evil spirit, and in the phantasies of intoxication he found all his great ideas. There was no thwarting of his will from without, and when drunk he felt himself enclosed as in a castle of the _Arabian Nights_. Nobody could understand that to him alcohol was the bringer of magic, the stream which intensified life and gave him creative power. He bathed in it as he might do in the love of some fair woman, yielding himself to it wholly, bridging chasms, attempting new feats, working unrestrainedly and overcoming all obstacles.... He became a law unto himself, a world of which he was the sun. “Spoerri, how do you like Europe?” he stuttered. “Oh, very much, Doctor,” answered Spoerri unreflectingly. Then Mabuse broke out vehemently, “You shall _not_ go to Citopomar, to my Empire! Europe is a filthy, lousy country, fit for none but grubs and earthworms. It is the home of parasites, of all creepy, crawly creatures, but when I am in Citopomar--CITOPOMAR ... Spoerri, I shan’t take you with me. I am going to sleep now, and will see you later.”