"Good evening," Hubert said in an agreeable if slightly furred and wandering voice. "I seem to have fallen asleep. Most extraordinary. Most extraordinary."
Nineteen
Yet it was not Hubert Fane in his right senses. Courtney realized this when he noted the expression of the eyes.
He remembered a friend of his who had Buffered concussion of the brain from being struck by the door of a railway carriage. After being knocked out, this friend had got up assuring everyone that nothing was wrong with him, and had gone about his business until he collapsed many hours later.
Hubert, grotesquely neat except for the stain of dried blood down his face, blinked and touched a hand to his forehead.
"Extraordinary," he continued in the same buzzy, benevolent voice. The Tatler slid off his knees to the floor. "Do you know I cannot remember—"
"Steady, sir!"
"May I ask, Mr. Courtney, how you came here? And would you do me the esthetic favor of removing that extremely disreputable coat and hat?"
"Look here-"
"My head does indeed feel excessively odd. Not painful, but odd. I surely cannot have taken that much brandy after dinner."