“So have I!” said the General; “but I fancy a wagon would be more likely to supply hiding-places!”
“Oh yes, sir, but the police inspector searched my wagon, and did not find any.”
“You would have no objection, of course, being perfectly innocent,” said the General, “to some of my men searching your wagon?”
“Of course, I shouldn’t like it, sir, but—”
“But? Ah, you mean conquest gives me the right of search?”
“It’s like casting a slur on a man’s character, sir.”
“But it makes it shine out the brighter when you are proved to be innocent! Here, sergeant, this case begins to be interesting! Search our friend’s wagon.”
Anson tried to master a wince, and merely shrugged his shoulders, standing with his hands in his pockets while the sergeant and his men commenced their task, examining every part of the wagon while the officers waited patiently, lighting up and smoking their cigars until the sergeant came back to make his report.
“Well, what have you found?”
“Nothing but these, sir,” replied the sergeant stiffly. “Tucked away behind the doubled tilt they were, sir,” and the man held out a revolver, Anson’s sword-stick, and his little mahogany flute-case.