"Tell the commandant to go to—" Holder caught his tongue in the nick of time. He forced a polite smile to his face. "I will be glad to call on the commandant."
"At once," the guard said.
"Certainly," Holder said, rising. With a farewell glance at the framed photograph on his desk, the scientist left the lab. Why was he breathing so heavily?
The commandant was a big man with a bald head and arm muscles that made bulges in the sleeves of his uniform. An ex-spy, to a man the scientists here in this installation hated him. He sat behind a plain oak desk and played with a Turkish dagger that he used as a paper knife. Rumor had it that in the days when he had acted as an executioner, he had used this knife to slit the throats of his victims. He did not bother to be polite to a mere scientist. They were dogs to be used for the benefit of the state.
"You were the last one to see Nocher," the commandant said.
"The last one to see him?" Holder questioned. "I do not understand. Is he dead?"
"I will ask the questions, you will answer them," the commandant stated. "What happened to Nocher?" He was so sure of his power that he did not bother to play his usual game of cat and mouse.
"I do not know that anything happened to him." Holder answered quickly. "He was in my lab, talking, then he went away."
"How did he go away?"
The scientist shrugged. "I didn't really notice. We chatted for a few moments, then I turned my attention again to my work. When I looked up, he was gone. I get the impression from your questions that something is wrong. May I ask—"