90.................... 7.................... 7.................... 90.................... 7.................... 7.................... 90.................... 7.................... 7.................... Freder closed his eyes. But now the numbers were within him. He saw them flame up, sparkle, go out ... flame up, sparkle, go out. Was that—no ... or yes? Did not these numbers, some time ago, what seemed to him an immeasurably long period ago, also convey something to him? 99 — — — 90 — — — Suddenly a voice in his head said: Ninetieth Block.... Ninetieth Block.... House seven ... seventh floor.... Freder opened his eyes. Over there, on the house just opposite, the numbers jerked up, asked and called.... 90................ 7................ 7................ Freder bent forward over the railing so that it seemed he must hurtle into space. The numbers dazzled him. He made a movement with his arm as though he wanted to cover them up or put them out. They went out. The shining border went out. The house stood in gloom, only half its height washed around by the shimmer from the white street. The stormy sky, becoming suddenly visible, lay above its roof and lightning seemed to be crackling. In the faded light, over there, stood a man. Freder stepped back from the railing. He raised both hands before his mouth. He looked to the right, to the left; he raised both arms. Then he turned away, as if removed by a natural power from the spot on which he stood, ran into the house, ran through the room, stopped still again.... Carefully ... carefully now.... He reflected. He pressed his head between his fists. Was there among his servants, one single soul who could be trusted not to betray him to Slim? What a miserable state—what a miserable state—! But what alternative had he to the leap in the dark, the blind trust—the ultimate test of confidence? He would have liked to extinguish the lights in his room, but he did not dare to, for up to this day he had not been able to bear darkness about him. He paced up and down. He felt the perspiration on his forehead and the trembling of his joints. He could not calculate the time which elapsed. The blood roared in his veins like a cataract. The first flash of lightning flickered over Metropolis, and, in the tardy responding rumble of thunder the rushing of the rain at last, mixed itself soothingly. It swallowed up the sound of the opening of the door. When Freder turned around Josaphat was standing in the middle of the room. He was dressed in workman’s uniform. They walked up to each other as though driven by an outward power. But, halfway, they both stopped and looked at each other, and each had for the other the same horrified question on his face. Where have you been since I saw you last? To what hell have you descended? Freder with his feverish haste, was the first to collect himself. He seized his friend by the arm.