Leaflets had been pasted at every corner. Agreements had been concluded with the owners of the meeting halls.
The executive committee had met once more and by two o’clock that morning preparations had been completed. And now, instead of the rest that everyone stood in so much need of, a raid. Seven or eight of the comrades suddenly became aware that the blankets were being torn roughly off them.
They all scrambled to their feet in silence, heavy as lead, staggering from want of sleep. Senzomoto was in despair. He had feared this before, but still a faint ray of hope had sometimes lightened his heart. “These dogs want to arrest our speakers the night before Tanaka’s reactionary government should resign! It’s a favourite trick of theirs! Just what one would expect of them.”
Sakanishi, nicknamed by his comrades “Don Quixote,” was still half-drunk with sleep. He asked one, of the intruders.
“Well, what’s up now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Don’t try to fool me!”
The officer was silent.
The police started to search among the books and papers.
“If you lazy hogs would work more, you wouldn’t have the time to go poking your nose in everything! It’s all your own fault,” said one of the police to Senzomoto in a loud, insolent tone so that everyone could hear him. Senzomoto snapped at him:
