Koster stood still.
He had not heard what the doctor said.
"Are the police there?" asked the doctor once again.
"Yes," replied Koster. "The police.
We must telephone them to come."
The doctor looked at him, but said nothing and went to the telephone.
A few minutes later two officers arrived.
They sat at a table and took down Gottfried's personal description.
I don't know, but somehow it seemed to me silly to state what his name was, and when he was born and where he lived, now, when he was dead.
I stared at the black stump of pencil which the officer moistened from time to time with his lips, and replied mechanically.
The other officer began to prepare a statement, Koster gave the necessary information.
"Can you say roughly what the culprit looked like?" asked the officer.
"No," replied Koster. "I didn't notice."
I looked across at him.
I thought of the yellow leggings and the uniforms.
"You don't know to which political party he belonged?
You didn't see the badges or the uniform?"
"No," said Koster. "I didnt see anything before the shots.
And then I only thought—" he balked an instant— "of my comrade."
"You belong to a political party?"
"No."
"I mean, because you said he was your comrade—"
"He is my comrade from the war," replied Koster.
The officer turned to me: "Can you describe the culprit?"
Koster looked at me hard.
"No," said I. "I saw nothing either."
"Extraordinary," said the officer.
"We were talking at the time, and not noticing anything.
Then it all happened very quick."
The officer sighed.
"Then there's not much chance of catching the blighter."
He finished the statement.
"Can we take him with us?" asked Koster.
"Actually—" The officer looked at the doctor. "The cause of death is established beyond all doubt?"
The doctor nodded.
"I've already written the certificate."
"And where is the bullet?
I must take the bullet."
"The bullets are still in.
I should have—" The doctor hesitated.
"I must have them both," said the officer. "I must see if they are both from the same weapon."
"Yes," replied Koster, at a look from the doctor.
The orderly pulled the stretcher into position and pulled down the light.
The doctor took his instruments and with a probe explored the wounds.
The first ball he found quickly; it was not very deep.
For the other he had to cut.
He pulled his rubber gloves right up and reached for the forceps and the knife.
Koster stepped up quickly to the table and closed Gottfried's eyes that still stood half-open.
I turned away as I heard the light hiss of the knife.
For an instant I wanted to jump in and thrust the doctor aside, for it suddenly came over me that Gottfried was merely unconscious and that the doctor was now really killing him—but then I knew again.