"By Allah!" he began.
Vickers cut off his head.
The head hit the floor with a thump, rolled a little, came to rest on its stump, staring at Vickers out of open, startled eyes.
It upset Vickers, made him a little sick at his stomach. He swallowed, glanced about quickly.
Three men, he discovered, were approaching around a bend in the corridor. He had perhaps a minute or a minute and a half before they came into sight.
He stuffed the guard's body into a closet, threw the head in after it. He covered the bloodstains with a carpet, welded shut the harem door with the tip of the atomic knife. Then he ran up the corridor away from the approaching men.
This whole wing must be the living quarters of the embassy staff. It was preternaturally quiet like the upper floors of a hotel. He could see a few people in their rooms, one or two in the corridors, which he avoided automatically.
The cell block where Fralick was being held was located in the main building. The traffic was considerably heavier there, and Vickers' eyes were never still. They darted here, there, watching one person's progress, judging how many seconds it would take another to reach a certain intersection.
His ears were alerted for the first outbreak of the alarm bell. He didn't have time to notice the antique hangings, the exquisite decorations, though he did catch an impression of sumptuousness.
The rear of Fralick's cell butted against the back of an office. In advance Vickers had determined to cut through the wall between office and cell and so avoid killing the guard. If he were lucky, he would avoid detection for precious minutes also.