Scott gasped in astonishment. He had rather expected Foster to attempt some personal revenge but it had never occurred to him that his cowardice would ever drive him to use such an expedient as that. It was a move too degraded for Scott to understand.
“When I refused,” Hopwood continued, “he tried to kill me for fear I would tell on him.”
Scott was silent a moment. “I don’t suppose that will prevent him from getting somebody else to do it,” he said gloomily.
“I doubt it,” Hopwood said. “If it burns now, everybody will know who did it.”
“Could we have him arrested for assault?” Scott asked.
Hopwood shook his head. “There were no witnesses except his own family and they would swear to anything.”
“Did he hurt you badly, Hopwood?”
“No,” Hopwood answered, “not very, but if it had not been for my iron hat he would have killed me. He hammered me with a heavy club, bruised my shoulders and cut my face. I’m all right now.”
Scott glanced questioningly at the bed.
“Oh, I don’t have to stay there,” Hopwood replied with a laugh. “But since he knocked me crazy the first time I am always careful when I get hit on the head.”