Then I have always a feeling as though that thing were
bulging out my pocket; and the police must be missing it by this
time.
HAUSER. Oh, tear out the page on which your name appears and send
it back anonymously.
BEERMANN. Impossible. My name appears on almost every second page.
HAUSER. Oh ... so.
BEERMANN. What shall I do when the police ask me for the book?
HAUSER. There is only one way; you know nothing about it.
BEERMANN. But they will be dead certain that I have it.
HAUSER. Remain firm. For Heaven's sake don't fall into the trap
that by confessing you will improve this fine job. [A loud and
prolonged ringing of the electric bell is heard.]
BEERMANN [frightened, exclaims]. There, do you hear that?
HAUSER. Some visitor, I suppose.
BEERMANN. This is no time to make visits. [Anxiously picking up
the diary.] What shall I do with the damned thing? [Takes out a
volume of the encyclopedia and wants to hide the diary in it but
hesitates, and then puts the volume back on the shelf.] Lord,
where shall I put it?
HAUSER. Come, give it to me.
BEERMANN [Gives him the book and Hauser puts it in his side
pocket.]
HAUSER. No one will search me for it.
BEERMANN. Stay here with me ... please.
HAUSER. If it gives you any pleasure, yes; but man alive, pull
yourself together. Suppose it really were the police; you are
trembling all over.
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