‘He often gets through sixty in half an hour. Hello, there’s a row going on.’

From the doctor’s room came curses and shouts, and a prisoner emerged, red with fury. ‘But I’m really ill, I’ll complain to the Prison Board, I won’t stand it . . . ’

‘Move on, move on,’ said the chief warder, pushing the man out.

‘Malingering scum,’ the doctor was heard to shout. ‘I’ll teach ’em! Next!’

‘Doesn’t look too good today,’ said Batzke, from the other side of Kufalt. ‘If he starts on the first one like that . . . ’

‘Anyhow, we’ll be through quicker. I want to get in some football. Are you coming?’

‘Don’t know yet. My dripping’s all gone, I’ll have to wangle some more.’

‘Will we have to take all our clothes off?’ asked Kufalt.

And Batzke: ‘We had to at Fuhlsbüttel. I don’t know what they do here in Prussia.’

‘Course not,’ whispered Bruhn from the other side. ‘He won’t even look at us.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Kufalt. ‘It says in the Prison Regulations that prisoners are to be thoroughly examined before release as to their health and their capacity for work.’

‘It says a lot in those regulations.’

‘Then you think we won’t have to undress?’

‘What have you got tucked away in your pants, eh? Halves, or . . . ?’

‘Silence over there,’ shouted Petrow; ‘if you don’t want a crack on the head with my keys.’

‘Oh, please, sir, can I be excused? I’ve got such a pain in my guts, I’m afraid to go in to the doctor,’ grinned Kufalt.

‘All right, go and shit then, old codger. Over to the toilets. Now mind—no smoking, or there’ll be trouble with the doctor.’

‘Of course not, sir.’

And Kufalt disappeared into the toilet, and left the door ajar. For safety’s sake he pulled down his trousers; then he stood with his back against the peephole, hurriedly took the note out of his scarf, pushed it down into his sock (‘no halves, Batzke’), stood up, flushed the toilet, and took his place in the ranks again.

Petrow stuck his head round the toilet door to check, and withdrew it with a look of satisfaction. ‘You haven’t smoked—good boy, Kufalt.’

Kufalt felt really touched by this approbation.

But Batzke whispered: ‘Well, Kufalt, how about it? Will you cough it up or . . . ?’

Kufalt parried: ‘What about the fat Jew and the naked tart? Cut it out, nothing doing here!’

‘Aha!’ grinned Batzke. ‘So you too stung the little swine, did you? Good for you, lad!’

From the corner growled a menacing voice: ‘How long am I to be kept on this cold floor in my socks? It’s a scandal. I’ll complain.’

Petrow grinned: ‘Ah, the gentlemen lifers. Medical officer’s orders; I can do nothing.