“The fellow didn’t fall,” corrected Jerry. “He was pushed.”
Captain Dubbins glanced up, meeting the reporter’s gaze steadily. He offered no comment for the man on the seat groaned and rolled over.
“Steady,” said the captain. “Take it easy. You’ll tumble off the seat if you don’t stay quiet.”
“My back,” mumbled the man.
In the glare of the swinging electric light his face was ghastly white and contorted with pain. Jerry judged him to be perhaps thirty-two. He wore tight-fitting blue trousers and a coarse flannel shirt.
“My back,” he moaned again, pressing his hand to it.
“You took a hard wrench when you hit the water,” commented the captain. “Here, let’s see.”
He unbuttoned the shirt, and rolling the man over, started to strip it off.
“No!” snarled the other with surprising spirit. “Leave me alone! Get away!”
Jerry stepped forward to assist the captain. Ignoring the man’s feeble struggles, they pulled off his shirt.