“What, they get agitated or something?”

“Too true they do. They get scared some of them. They’ll stare at you. You’ll be taking reflective armbands or something, but they’ll be staring at you like you’re God, not hearing a word you say.”

“As if they ever do,” said Korschak from the far side of the cabinets.

“Fred,” Gebhart called out. “You have the biggest ears. I’m going to miss them.”

Felix looked down the list. He didn’t recognize any of the teachers’ names.

“The rumours will be flying today, I tell you,” Gebhart said, and nodded toward Schroek’s office. Felix looked up from the list.

Gebhart had a printout of notes from yesterday.

“You heard Himmelfarb?” Gebhart went on, scanning the paragraphs. “He went though the whole list, I think. Did he actually say Russians at one point, even?”

“I don’t think so. If he did, I didn’t hear him. Did you?”

Gebhart stared at some point beyond Felix’s head.

“Huh,” he said. “I wonder if there was any sleep at Himmelfarbs’ last night.”

He looked to Felix then for corroboration, but his eye was taken by whatever he saw through the blinds on the glass that opened out to the public office. A short man with Gandhi glasses and a Gandhi hairdo had stepped in.

“Shit,” said Gebhart. “Already.”

He walked to the doorway.

“The Kontrolinspektor is on the phone,” he called out.

Felix watched the man’s reaction. A smile, a glance at his wristwatch, a hand holding a small device.

“Keep him waiting,” said Gebhart when he came back. “Do him good.”

“Who is he?”

“A scribbler, from the Kleine.”

“A reporter? The Kleine…?”