"I mean torture," Leslie said. "I am an Interrogator because it is my duty to the State. Treason must be unmasked, the enemies of the State destroyed. It is necessary." Leslie looked up, and there seemed to be pity in his eyes. "Just one question, Kroll. Doesn't it bother you, when you go home? _How do you know you're right and we're wrong?_" Kroll started to say something, then saw there was no point in bothering. "Prisoner is dead," said the Inquisitor. "Take him away," ordered Kroll. The day was over. * * * * * What Leslie had said preyed on Kroll's mind all the way home. He got out of the tube and made his way to his austere room with his mind fixed on one question--the snarling words the dying prisoner had hurled at him: _How do you know you're right and we're wrong?_ They _had_ to be wrong, Kroll told himself firmly. The State had to be right. It was necessary; it was logical; it was the way things had always been. But the thought obsessed him, and the image of Neil Leslie's face, bloody but undefeated, hung before him as he went about his evening's activities. The face was still in his mind as he prepared to go to bed. Odd, Kroll thought. This was the first time he had been disturbed after a torture session. He had seen hundreds--no, thousands--pass through the Inquisitor, come out shambling rags of bone and flesh, and it had never bothered him, because they were enemies of the State and deserved no more. He dropped off into an uneasy sleep. But suddenly, in the small hours of the night, he sat bolt upright in bed, a cold, clammy perspiration breaking out on him. Leslie had just asked the question for the hundredth time. And Kroll had had no answer. He _didn't_ know who was right. He just didn't know. His mind, unswervingly loyal for so many years, swayed in an agony of doubt. He got out of bed and paced back and forth across the floor of his room. "The State is wrong!" he said aloud. But it didn't sound right. It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. "Stupid!" he told himself. It was stupid to distrust the State--and wrong. "Wrong! Criminally, disgustingly wrong!" There! He felt better. He had rid himself of his foolish doubts. "How could I have been so foolish?" he said aloud. His nerves felt better now. Once again he was ready to do his duty as a loyal officer of the State. Smiling to himself for being so easily disturbed by the remarks of disloyal traitors, he climbed back into bed and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he was asleep. In the morning, everything seemed to be all right; the terrors of the last twelve hours were pale things of the past, no longer exerting pressure on him. He caught the tube and headed to the Ministry. He donned his uniform in the locker room and took the elevator to the Interrogation Floor. He stepped into his office. It was empty. No prisoners this morning? It didn't seem likely.