February 10th.
The door of my room opened quietly, and the little German maid looked in frightened.
“They’ve come again. I have tried to send them away, but they won’t go....”
This is quite the usual thing nowadays. I jumped up from my writing-desk and went across the cold drawing-room. There was no lamp in the ante-room, and in the gloom I saw two soldiers and a civilian near the door.
“What do you want? Me? From the Housing Office? But you have been over our flat before!”
They refused to be denied. Fortunately my mother was out of the way and did not meet them while they were looking over the place. When we reached my room the civilian produced a note-book and bent over it in the lamplight on the writing-table. For some minutes he searched for something in his book, then turned to me suddenly with suspicion in his eyes:
“Is this your room?”
“Yes.”
“We come from the police. We must search it.”