"He was taken yesterday morning," she said.
"Do you mean arrested?" I exclaimed, unwilling to believe the staggering news.
"They entered his apartment early in the morning and seized him in bed. Ach! it is dreadful!" And she buried her face in her hands.
"But surely," I added soothingly, though with an icy fear at my heart, "there is no need to despair. What is an arrest to-day with all these regulations...."
The woman raised her face, pallid beneath its paint, to mine.
"Kore was shot at Moabit Prison this morning," she said in a low voice. "That young man brought the news just now." Then she added breathlessly, her words pouring out in a torrent:
"You don't know what this means to us. Haase had dealings with this Jew. If they have shot him, it is because they have found out from him all they want to know. That means our ruin, that means that Haase will go the same way as the Jew.
"But Haase is stubborn, foolhardy. The messenger warned him that a raid might be expected here at any moment. I have pleaded with him in vain. He believes that Kore has split; he believes the police may come, but he says they daren't touch him: he has been too useful to them: he knows too much. Ach, I am afraid! I am afraid!"
Haase's voice sounded from the inner room.
"Hedwig!" he called.