The whip-man

           Oneevening,afewdayslater,K.waswalkingalongoneofthecorridorsthatseparatedhisofficefromthemainstairway-hewasnearlythelastonetoleaveforhomethatevening,thereremainedonlyacoupleofworkersinthelightofasinglebulbinthedispatchdepartment-whenheheardasighfrombehindadoorwhichhehadhimselfneveropenedbutwhichhehadalwaysthoughtjustledintoajunkroom.Hestoodinamazementandlistenedagaintoestablishwhetherhemightnotbemistaken.Forawhiletherewassilence,butthencamesomemoresighs.Hisfirstthoughtwastofetchoneoftheservitors,itmightwellhavebeenworthhavingawitnesspresent,butthenhewastakenbyanuncontrollablecuriositythatmakehimsimplyyankthedooropen.Itwas,ashehadthought,ajunkroom.Old,unusableforms,emptystoneink-bottleslayscatteredbehindtheentrance.Butinthecupboard-likeroomitselfstoodthreemen,crouchingunderthelowceiling.Acandlefixedonashelfgavethemlight."Whatareyoudoinghere?"askedK.quietly,butcrosslyandwithoutthinking.Oneofthemenwasclearlyincharge,andattractedattentionbybeingdressedinakindofdarkleathercostumewhichlefthisneckandchestandhisarmsexposed.Hedidnotanswer.Buttheothertwocalledout,"Mr.K.We’retobebeatenbecauseyoumadeacomplaintaboutustotheexaminingjudge."Andnow,K.finallyrealisedthatitwasactuallythetwopolicemen,FranzandWillem,andthatthethirdmanheldacaneinhishandwithwhichtobeatthem."Well,"saidK.