he set the stronger ones against each other. He had no friends; when
he had completed his training and was released, the others were happy.

The unusual skill that Max Mechenmal, because of his technical gifts,
had developed in making keys and opening difficult locks he would
very gladly have used for breaking and entering, and burglary; he
would have liked to have become an infamous burglar. The proceeds
from the burglaries would have permitted him to dress elegantly, to
show off with the finest women. The sickening, massive fear of being
caught prevented him. He was content to seduce the daughters and
servants of the masters for whom he worked, and to commit occasional
burglaries that involved little risk. His ambition remained
unsatisfied.

By chance the direction of Mechenmal's life was changed. At the end
of a day's work, tired and in a bad mood, he was walking the streets.
Lights were scarcely visible, although it was very dark. In an
elegant ground-floor room, an elderly lady was arranging the fold of
her body.

In front of a basement, dirty little girls were singing the song of
the Lorelei. The windows were etched into the pale, sleeping houses
like black panes with bright crosses. The conglomeration of houses
resembled large, venturesome ships, which lay at anchor or were
gliding to a distant, beckoning sea. The little locksmith thought
about the last six women he had loved. His attention was attracted
by the hideously ringed eyes of a horribly hunch-backed gentleman who
smilingly, with marked pleasure, although somewhat fearfully, was
looking at him. The locksmith thought: hm--for fun, he remained
stopped; with his clear eyes, which shone like polished black buttons