From one of the pockets he drew a hypodermic syringe with a plastic vial filled with light green liquid. He pushed the needle into the flesh of the hanging man's leg, and pressed the plunger home. A moment later the suspended figure sighed once, long and gratefully, and was still. They would never be able to torture him again. Ostby studied the mechanism that held the hooks, but could find no way to lower the body. Impatiently he pulled a chair over and stood on it. He probed the body's thin left forearm with his thumbs until he found the spot he sought. Drawing a sharp scalpel from his vest he cut a thin slit through the flesh. When he felt the blade touch something solid he probed deeply into the cut and brought out a small, innocuous appearing capsule. The cut did not bleed and Ostby pressed its sides together. It appeared no different than many of the other cuts on the emaciated body. He hesitated no longer than it took to pick the exact spot he wanted on his own forearm. If they had been unable to find the hiding place on Rohr, it should serve as well for him. With almost surgical skill he cut a small slit in the flesh of his forearm. Probing with the scalpel until he had opened a small pocket, he placed the capsule in the opening and forced it down. From the vest he removed a flat carton and sprinkled sulpha powder into the cut. In a few days time it would heal and there would be no mark left of the hiding place. If he could only buy that few days' time! Ostby stepped through into the outer office. Boorrls and his aide were nowhere about. That could be dangerous. His time was undoubtedly running short. Ostby walked back to the stall of the prisoner he had conferred with earlier, at the same time motioning the trusty over to him. "Open this stall and let me in," he commanded. "Lock it again and leave us alone," he said to the trusty as he entered. The trusty obeyed and left. Ostby turned immediately to the prisoner. "This is it," he said. "We'll have to move fast." He took a flat tube from one of his vest pockets and tossed it over. "First, get rid of that beard. But be sure to leave a mustache and a chin beard like mine." The slave applied the depilatory to his beard. "What about Rohr?" he asked. "Dead," Ostby answered laconically as he removed his clothes. Neither said anything more as the slave washed his face and wet his hair from a trough of dirty water. In the meantime Ostby dirtied his own face and hands. The slave stripped and they exchanged clothes. "Rattle on the gate," Ostby said after they finished. "It's not very bright in here, and with that mustache and beard you should pass for me without any trouble. But don't give them more chance than necessary to spot the deception by wasting any time." Five minutes later Ostby was alone--just another grimy slave curled up in his filthy sty. A perfect hideout. The last place they would look for him. * * * * *