“Weak,” said Clive.
Bush looked round at Hornblower, hoping that he would ask the questions that Bush wanted asked. Hornblower’s face was set in a mask without expression. His glance was fixed penetratingly on Clive, but he did not open his mouth. It was Lomax, the purser, who asked the question in the end.
“Is he sensible?”
“Well—” said Clive, glancing sidelong at Buckland. Clearly the last thing Clive wanted to do was to commit himself definitely regarding the captain’s sanity. “He’s too weak at present to be sensible.”
Lomax, fortunately, was inquisitive enough and bullheaded enough not to be deterred by Clive’s reluctance.
“What about this concussion?” he asked. “What’s it done to him?”
“The skull is intact,” said Clive. “There are extensive scalp lacerations. The nose is broken. The clavicle—that’s the collarbone—and a couple of ribs. He must have fallen headfirst down the hatchway, as might be expected if he tripped over the roaming.”
“But how on earth did he come to do that?” asked Lomax.
“He has not said,” answered Clive. “I think he does not remember.”
“What?”