Wu and he stopped at an office door.
The room was hung with cloth banners, lettered in red and white. They called for democracy all over the world and asked the common people, who loved peace, to stand fast against American Fascism. A long table had been set up. Many people stood around the table, all of them gabbling at the same time. Only one man sat — a haggard but cheerful young Chinese with a tremendous long mop of uncut hair. When he saw Dugan, he looked up, pushed the hair away from his face, and said to Wu: "What person is this you bring in?"
Dugan answered first. "My name, Comrade Mayor, is An, and I am a sort of deserter from the Red Army of the Soviet Union."
"You speak Chinese?"
"A little," said Dugan.
The chairman looked up at Wu. "Take him to the Sergeant."
Wu grunted.
The other people sneaked looks at Dugan without staring directly at him. There was something to this Sergeant business which they understood and feared.
Wu took Dugan's arm, led him out of the room, down the corridor. The corridor was unswept and un-aired. At the end there was a little door. Wu pushed Dugan through that, said, "Down there," and stopped.
Dugan looked down a flight of spiral steel stairs. The Japanese had built well. The lower part of the staircase was pitch black. Dugan thought that "Take him to the Sergeant…" might be code for "Take him to the cellar and shoot him in the back of the head…" and was a little restless at the prospect.