“What a circus!” she exclaimed in the car.—“That’s nothing compared to what they did for the commission from the Wehrmacht,” Reinholz commented.—“And those gifts!” she went on. “What are they thinking? That they can buy off SS officers? That’s really a Jewish tactic.” I didn’t say anything: Weseloh annoyed me, she seemed to have started out with her mind already made up; I didn’t think that was the right way to go about it. At the Sonderkommando offices, she explained that the old man with whom she had talked knew the Koran, the prayers, and Muslim customs well, but according to her, that didn’t prove anything. An orderly came in and addressed Reinholz: “There’s a phone call from the Ortskommandantur. They say that someone was asking for a Leutnant Voss.”—“Oh, that’s me,” I said. I followed the orderly into the communication room and took the receiver. An unknown voice spoke: “Are you the one that left a message for Leutnant Voss?”—“Yes,” I replied, perplexed.—“I’m sorry to tell you that he was wounded and won’t be able to call you back,” the man said. My throat suddenly tightened: “Is it serious?”—“Yes, pretty serious.”—“Where is he?”—“Here, at the medical station.”—“I’ll come.” I hung up and went back into the room where Weseloh and Reinholz were. “I have to go to the Ortskommandantur,” I said as I reached for my coat.—“What’s wrong?” Reinholz asked. My face must have been white; I quickly turned away. “I’ll be back soon,” I said as I went out.