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.