His feet were wet.
He looked down and saw that the bottom of his cell was covered by water. "A pipe broke somewhere," he thought. Looking up toward the TV camera on the ceiling, he yelled, "Hey! You had better repair that pipe before you drown one of your prisoners."
There was no question in his mind as to what lay ahead for him. He would be questioned for days, for weeks, if necessary, until they had gotten his secret from him. The new commandant, and the powers above him, would use up any number of political commissars to achieve their goal. Political commissars were cheap. Secrets such as the one John Holder possessed were very important.
The water was up to his ankles. He saw, then, the purpose of this cell. It had been constructed so that water could be turned into it. The helpless wretch who had been left chained to the wall here could either confess or he could drown. The cell was actually a death trap.
Now he understood why no one else had taken the place of Rat-face!
In dazed horror, he watched the water rise to his knees. The sound was now that of a roaring torrent. He knew that his unseen watchers had opened the valve still wider.
The water rose to his chest, constricted a cold band there, then surged upward to his throat.
"Help!" he screamed involuntarily.
Instantly he heard the valve close. The sound of the torrent stopped.
"Do you talk now?" the speaker on the ceiling asked.