He had almost reached his objective when a heavy-set bearded official entered the office and sat down behind the desk.
Vickers could see him mistily as he set to work with some papers. He swore furiously under his breath, but didn't pause. Throwing open the door, he jumped into the chamber.
In the feeble gravity of the moon, Vickers' leap carried him across the room to the top of the Arab's desk.
The official gasped, tried to rise and call out. His face was turned up to Vickers—a long frightened face with skin like yellow leather.
Vickers kicked him on his pointed chin.
The Arab went over backwards with a crash. Vickers didn't glance at him, but shut the door, attacked the far wall with the atomic knife.
He lifted out a four foot segment. Fralick was on the other side staring at the opening like a startled cat.
"What—" he began, catching sight of Vickers.
Vickers said low voiced: "Shut up. Come on!" Holding out his hand, he half-helped, half-yanked the physicist from the cell.
"Who are you?" Fralick's clothes were wrinkled and he needed a shave. He was gaunt, pale, excited. "I know! You're Vickers!"