‘That’s a bit of a puzzle. It doesn’t look like the back or arm of a seat. It’s got all the characteristics of a nice hook to the jaw. I wouldn’t care to say definitely, of course. Sir James has seen him.’ (Sir James Curtis was the Home Office pathologist.) ‘He thinks it looks like a punch.’

‘Ah. Yes, so he said. It’s no use my asking, of course, when the boy may recover consciousness?’

‘I’m afraid no use at all. Can’t tell.’

‘Or how much he will remember?’

‘The usual thing is complete loss of memory for events occurring just before the accident.’

‘Alas.’

‘What? Oh, quite. You must find that sort of thing very frustrating.’

‘Very. I wonder if it would be possible to take the boy’s height and length of his arms, would it?’

‘He can’t be disturbed.’

‘I know. But if he might be uncovered for a moment. It really is important.’

The young house-surgeon thought for a moment and then nodded to the sister who folded back the bedclothes.

‘I’m very much obliged to you,’ Alleyn said three minutes later and replaced the clothes.

‘Well, if that’s all – ?’

‘Yes. Thank you very much. I mustn’t keep you. Thank you, Sister. I’ll just have a word with the constable, here, before I go.’

The constable had withdrawn to the far side of the bed.

‘You’re the chap who came here with the ambulance, aren’t you?’ Alleyn asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You should have been relieved. You heard about instructions from Mr Fox concerning the boy’s fingernails?’

‘Yes, I did, sir, but only after he’d been cleaned up.’

Alleyn swore in a whisper.

‘But I’d happened to notice – ‘ The constable – wooden-faced – produced from a pocket in his tunic a folded paper. ‘It was in the ambulance, sir. While they were putting a blanket over him. They were going to tuck his hands under and I noticed they were a bit dirty like a boy’s often are but the fingernails had been manicured. Colourless varnish and all. And then I saw two were broken back and the others kind of choked up with red fluff and I cleaned them out with my penknife.’ He modestly proffered his little folded paper.

‘What’s your name?’ Alleyn asked.

‘Grantley, sir.’

‘Want to move out of the uniformed arm?’

‘I’d like to.’

‘Yes. Well, come and see me if you apply for a transfer.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Trevor Vere sighed lengthily in his breathing. Alleyn looked at the not-so-closed eyes, the long lashes and the full mouth that had smirked so unpleasingly at him that morning in The Dolphin. It was merely childish now. He touched the forehead which was cool and dampish.

‘Where’s his mother?’ Alleyn asked.

‘They say, on her way.’

‘She’s difficult, I’m told. Don’t leave the boy before you’re relieved. If he speaks, get it.’

‘They say he’s not likely to speak, sir.’

‘I know. I know.’

A nurse approached with a covered object.