He wiped the blood away again.
We bent forward. Then we saw that obliquely under the heavily bleeding wound there was a second—a little black holein the region of the heart.
"He must have died instantly," said the doctor.
Koster straightened up.
He looked at Gottfried.
The doctor plugged the wounds and stuck strips of sticking plaster across.
"Would you like a wash?" he asked.
"No," said I.
Gottfried's face was now yellow and fallen in.
The mouth was drawn a little awry, the eyes were half-closed, one a bit more than the other.
He looked at us.
He kept on looking at us.
"How did it happen?" asked the doctor.
No one answered.
Gottfried looked at us.
He looked at us. fixedly.
"He can stay here," said the doctor.
Koster moved.
"No," he replied. "We're taking him with us." .
"Can't be done," said the doctor. "We must telephone the police.
The criminal police as well.
Everything must be done immediately to find the culprit."
"Culprit?" Koster looked at the doctor as if he did not understand him.
"Good," said he then, "I'll drive along and fetch the police."
"You can telephone.
They'll be here quicker then."
Koster slowly shook his head.
"No.
I'll fetch them."
He went out and I heard Karl leap away.
The doctor pushed a chair toward me.
"Won't you sit down in the meantime?"
"Thanks," said I and continued to stand.
The bright light still lay on Gottfried's bloody chest.
The doctor pushed the lamp a bit higher.
"How did it happen?" he asked once more.
"I don't know.
Must have been a mistake for somebody else."
"Was he in the war?" asked the doctor.
I nodded. "You can see that by the scars," said he. "And the withered arm.
He's been wounded several times."
"Yes.
Four times."
"A skunk's trick," said the stretcher-bearer. "And all young bastards who were still in their cradles then."
I made no reply.
Gottfired looked at me steadily.
It was a long time before Koster returned.
He was alone.
The doctor put aside the newspaper in which he had been reading.
"Are the officers there?" he asked.