Bob glimpsed the chart at the foot of the bed and learned that the guard’s name was Max Chervinka, and that he was fifty-three years old.
Merritt Hughes sat down beside the bed, while Bob, behind him, leaned against the wall.
“I’ll ask all the questions,” the federal agent told the guard. “Don’t talk unless you have to. Just nod a little in answer and that will do. Understand?”
The guard smiled and nodded.
“Had you noticed anything suspicious about the building recently?”
The answer was negative. Then the federal agent plunged into his questions, how had the attack taken place, what did the man look like, was there more than one, had he seen anything of a paper which might have been tossed from an upper window?
The answers were definite. The guard could not describe his assailant, as far as he knew there had been only one man, and he had not seen anything of a paper thrown from a window.
“Have you ever been offered anything to let anyone in the building who had no business there?” The federal agent rapped out this question sharply and Bob knew that his uncle attached great importance to the answer.
“Never!” The guard’s reply, though in a weak voice, was definite. “There was never any trouble until last night,” he added.
The nurse re-entered the room, noticed the bright eyes and the flushed cheeks of her patient, and spoke to the federal agents.