“Can I see the State Attorney?” he asked. “He is not at home. Give me the letter.” “I was to give it to him personally.... When will he be back?” “I do not know.” “Has he gone away for long, or shall I be able to hand him the letter this afternoon?” “His honour did not leave word.” “Ah, then I must rely on you,” said the messenger. “You will be sure to deliver the letter, won’t you?” “Certainly, give it here,” and the man glanced at the address, but it was directed to the State Attorney, Dr. Müller, and he said, “You are making a mistake. Herr von Wenk is the barrister who lives here.” “Good heavens, so they’ve given me the wrong number! I always say, ‘Write it down, gentlemen.’ And so I’ve made a mistake here. Where does the gentleman I want live?” “I don’t know him at all.” “Well, there’s nothing for it but to go back! Good morning!” The pseudo-messenger went off, knowing only half he wanted to know. On the way, enlightenment came to him. “Of course,” he said to himself, “he must have gone by aeroplane, and I can guess why....” For an instant a mist swam before his eyes, so acutely did he feel this discovery of his. For the first time he measured his adversary’s powers. No one had ever used such means against him before. George had not yet sent off the discharged smugglers. Were they the reason of this hasty visit to Constance? Had his--Mabuse’s--band of watchers failed him? The matter became more difficult and dangerous every day, and recently several agents of the Foreign Legion had been discovered and arrested. “If Wenk has the whole gang imprisoned,” thought Mabuse, “one of them might blab enough to bring the inquiry home to me, and then for the first time I shall no longer be safe. I must have him got out of the way.... Why did George let him go, if he had even a suspicion that it might be the lawyer? A plague upon the soft-heartedness that allowed him to escape us at Schleissheim! My life is not safe until he is wiped out of existence! I shall have to prepare for flight, and I will be off to the Swiss frontier unless I know for certain by eight o’clock to-night whether George is arrested or not. Where did George see him? If I only knew that, for it all depends upon that! I am consumed with impatience, and my hatred of this destroyer of my peace is burning me like a fever. Supposing I never reach my kingdom of Citopomar!” Then Mabuse went home again, carrying a parcel for himself under his arm. He must be prepared for all eventualities. Should his dwelling be already secretly watched by the police, he was a messenger who had something to deliver, and there were cigars in the parcel. But his chambers were empty, and there was nothing suspicious in the neighbourhood.