He leaned out the window and looked around.

“No, thank you,” Silbermann was quick to respond. “There’s no need. It’s very kind of you, but I know the way. Good-bye.”

He left the compartment and clambered out of the train car, gripping the handrail with weak hands, then headed slowly back to the gate.

The truth is that all I’ve lost is time, he tried to persuade himself, a little time off my life. Nothing else. Not even the money could be of any real help. I’ve already seen that.

But this reasoning brought no consolation, because Silbermann realized beyond all doubt that he’d been dealt a decisive blow, that along with his money he’d been robbed of his ability to resist, his one point of support. Compared with this disaster, which he believed would determine the rest of his life, all the other dangers he was facing seemed completely insignificant.

For the first time something has happened that can’t be rectified, he thought, and even when he tried to escape into a listless indifference as a kind of self-defense, he was unable to do so completely. He walked down the stone steps. Along with the money I’ve lost all hope of buying time, he thought: there’s no more time in my account.

He stood outside the door with the sign: BAHNPOLIZEI.

Silbermann turned the door handle, opened the door, and looked into the room.

A surly voice greeted him with “Heil Hitler!”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, then turned around and went to the bench where he’d been sitting earlier.

Should I file the report? he wondered. Report the thief? To whom? He let out a helpless, angry laugh. They’ll just arrest the person who was robbed and put him on trial instead of the thief!

He sank back into the bench so it made a slight cracking noise. He rested his hands flat on the seat, splaying his fingers. I’m done for now, he thought. Completely finished! Then he jumped up and took a few steps in the direction of the station. “I’m going to report the thief,” he muttered. “I’m going to report the thief to the robber!”

The door to the station opened and an official stepped out. He looked at Silbermann questioningly: “Is there something you want?”

Silbermann turned around without saying a word.

I have to think it through, he thought. No hasty decisions. He went back to his bench and sat down. The official observed him for another moment, then went on his way. Silbermann watched him leave.

“My briefcase,” he whispered to himself. “I want my briefcase back! This can’t be! I had it just an hour ago!”

His head sank onto his chest.