Schraenker : An outsider is ruining our business and our reputation. Measures taken by the police and the daily raids to catch this child murderer are hampering our activities to an almost unbearable degree. We can no longer tolerate the fact that we're not safe now in any hotel, bar, cafe or even private home from the clutches of the police. Criminal Syndicate Member : Very true. Schraenker : This state of affairs must end. Things must return to normal or we'll go under. Our coffers will soon be depleted. If we can't get funds to support the wives of these members who currently enjoy room and board at state expense, I don't know where we'll find the money to carry out our plans. Our reputation is suffering as well. The police seek the murderer in our fold. Gentlemen, when I run head on into an officer from the squad, he knows the potential risks, and so do I. If either dies in the line of duty, fine. Occupational hazard. But we must draw a firm line between ourselves and this man they're looking for! We conduct our business in order to survive, but this monster has no right to survive! No, in my condition, I can't eat anything like that. Without money or compassion! Gentlemen, our members must be able to go about their business again without frantic cops in their way at every turn.

Hans Beckert : I can't help what I do! I can't help it, I can't... Criminal : The old story! We never can help it in court! Hans Beckert : What do you know about it? Who are you anyway? Who are you? Criminals? Are you proud of yourselves? Proud of breaking safes or cheating at cards? Things you could just as well keep your fingers off. You wouldn't need to do all that if you'd learn a proper trade or if you'd work. If you weren't a bunch of lazy bastards. But I... I can't help myself! I have no control over this, this evil thing inside of me, the fire, the voices, the torment! Schraenker : Do you mean to say that you have to murder? Hans Beckert : It's there all the time, driving me out to wander the streets, following me, silently, but I can feel it there. It's me, pursuing myself! I want to escape, to escape from myself! But it's impossible. I can't escape, I have to obey it. I have to run, run... endless streets. I want to escape, to get away! And I'm pursued by ghosts. Ghosts of mothers and of those children... they never leave me. They are always there... always, always, always!, except when I do it, when I... Then I can't remember anything. And afterwards I see those posters and read what I've done, and read, and read... did I do that? But I can't remember anything about it! But who will believe me? Who knows what it's like to be me? How I'm forced to act... how I must, must... don't want to, must! Don't want to, but must! And then a voice screams! I can't bear to hear it! I can't go on! I can't... I can't...