“You needn’t have been.”
“Was your experiment a success?”
“Can’t tell yet. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Ten minutes later Bruno’s fingers were still crossed as he examined Gregson. Parsons and Morrissey were present. The physicist kept making notes, but Morrissey stood silent and watchful.
There was very little to be seen as yet. Gregson lay in his bed, the shaved spots on his head white against the dark hair, his features relaxed and peaceful. The typical anxiety expression was gone. Bruno opened the man’s eyes and flashed his light into them. Contraction of the pupils seemed normal.
“Can you hear me, Gregson?”
Gregson’s lips moved. But he said nothing.
“It’s all right. You’re feeling fine, aren’t you? You’re not worried about anything, are you?”
“Headache,” Gregson said. “Bad headache.”
“We’ll give you something for that. Now try to sleep.”