Once inside Ostby flashed his card at the guard sitting on a desk, paring his fingernails. "Where's the spy?" he asked briskly.
"Straight through," the guard answered. "Inspector Boorrls is working on him now."
In the back room Ostby closed the door behind him and stood with his back against it. The two men standing in the center of the room turned to look at him. He let the silence grow thin without speaking. It was with an effort that he kept his eyes from the figure that hung by its wrist tendons, on steel hooks suspended from the ceiling.
The taller of the two men shifted his feet uncomfortably, and wiped his right palm along the leg of his trousers. "What do you want?" he asked irritably.
Ostby drew his card from his pocket and showed it to them. "I'm direct from the Imperator," he said. "Which one of you is Boorrls?"
"I am," the tall man answered.
"Have you made him talk yet?"
"No. He's stubborn as all hell. But he'll talk soon or I'll kill him."
"That's what the Imperator was afraid of," Ostby said bleakly. "And that's why he sent me. Now get out while I try to save what you may have lost already with your stupidity."
For a moment the inspector seemed determined to bluff it out. "What did you say?" he asked pugnaciously.