Blue-gray dawn light had begun to trickle down the majestic old castle; the schoolyard was deserted, apart from a janitor pulling a cart laden with broken chairs. Münster suddenly felt distinctly uneasy. It was hard to imagine there being more than seven hundred people inside that building. Lights were on in every room, as far as one could see, but the tall, rectangular, pale yellow windows seemed devoid of any sign of life. Around the high tower and the chimneys on the steeply sloping roof swirled croaking cascades of jackdaws. “Ugh,” said Reinhart. “Did you go to this school?” Münster shook his head. “Me neither. Thank God—it must be like being buried under a quarry. Day in, day out. Poor devils!” They stayed in the car for a few minutes, while Reinhart cleaned out his pipe and they put the finishing touches to their strategy. It was always an advantage if the left hand knew what the right hand was doing. Then they braced themselves to face the wind, and hurried across the schoolyard.
