Father Engelmann was in the library, wrapped in his goose-down coat. He pulled aside the blackout curtain and saw Fabio hurry to the door and hold a conversation with whoever it was outside. ‘Can you tell me what the matter is? … This is an American church! … We have no food or fuel! …’ But with every sentence, all Fabio got in reply was another ring on the doorbell, the rings becoming increasingly angry and impatient, frequently interrupting him before he had finished as if engaging him in an argument. Father Engelmann rushed to the door of the workshop building and made sure it was firmly locked. Then it occurred to him that it was actually more of a risk to keep the door locked because the intruders would realise there was something inside worth locking up, and might break in, thus putting the girls hidden in the attic in greater danger. He took the bunch of keys which hung from his belt and, with trembling hands, tried one after another until the door finally opened. He fumbled his way through the darkness and called up to the trapdoor in the ceiling: ‘Listen, girls!
