The card he had taken from Groves gained him ready admittance. He flashed it once again to the clerk seated at a desk in the inner office. The clerk nodded respectfully and Ostby went through into the main section of the sub-basement; the section housing the slaves.
The stench that struck his nostrils was nauseating. It stank of men too closely crowded, of unwashed bodies, and of inadequate sanitation.
The place was dimly lit.
Ostby waved back the "trusty" who came forward to meet him, and went alone along the stalls. At each gate he paused to look through the thick mesh wire at the hope-deadened specimens who lay apathetically on the uncleaned floor. Some of the prisoners were criminals of the state, but most of them were captive Earth people.
Ostby did not pause long at any compartment until he reached one in the corner of the huge room. He studied the creature seated in a wall-crook staring back at him. The slave's beard was an inch long and his features were hardly recognizable, yet something about him held Ostby's attention.
After a short minute Ostby said, "Detroit," in a low tone.
The prisoner did not move but his eyes glinted in the dim light as he opened them wider. His lips formed the sound, "Tigers," as he answered the code word.
"What have they done with Rohr?" Ostby asked.
"I'm afraid you're too late," the slave answered. "The guard took him away yesterday—through that door, over on the far side. If he's still alive, they're probably torturing him right now."
"I'll be back," Ostby said, and he walked rapidly toward the door the prisoner had indicated.