He stuffed the guard's body into a closet, threw the head in after it. He covered the bloodstains with a carpet, welded shut the harem door with the tip of the atomic knife. Then he ran up the corridor away from the approaching men. This whole wing must be the living quarters of the embassy staff. It was preternaturally quiet like the upper floors of a hotel. He could see a few people in their rooms, one or two in the corridors, which he avoided automatically. The cell block where Fralick was being held was located in the main building. The traffic was considerably heavier there, and Vickers' eyes were never still. They darted here, there, watching one person's progress, judging how many seconds it would take another to reach a certain intersection. His ears were alerted for the first outbreak of the alarm bell. He didn't have time to notice the antique hangings, the exquisite decorations, though he did catch an impression of sumptuousness. The rear of Fralick's cell butted against the back of an office. In advance Vickers had determined to cut through the wall between office and cell and so avoid killing the guard. If he were lucky, he would avoid detection for precious minutes also. He had almost reached his objective when a heavy-set bearded official entered the office and sat down behind the desk. Vickers could see him mistily as he set to work with some papers. He swore furiously under his breath, but didn't pause. Throwing open the door, he jumped into the chamber. In the feeble gravity of the moon, Vickers' leap carried him across the room to the top of the Arab's desk. The official gasped, tried to rise and call out. His face was turned up to Vickers--a long frightened face with skin like yellow leather. Vickers kicked him on his pointed chin. The Arab went over backwards with a crash. Vickers didn't glance at him, but shut the door, attacked the far wall with the atomic knife. He lifted out a four foot segment. Fralick was on the other side staring at the opening like a startled cat. "What--" he began, catching sight of Vickers. Vickers said low voiced: "Shut up. Come on!" Holding out his hand, he half-helped, half-yanked the physicist from the cell. "Who are you?" Fralick's clothes were wrinkled and he needed a shave. He was gaunt, pale, excited. "I know! You're Vickers!" Vickers' eyes narrowed in surprise, but he only said: "Hurry!" The passage outside was still deserted, thank the gods. He pulled the physicist after him, sprinted toward the living quarters in the wing. There were voices ahead. Two men going in the same direction they were, Vickers saw. He slowed down in order not to trample their heels. He was nervous now. He could feel the time running through his fingers.