It was not a pleasant prospect.
Indeed, it was quite the contrary.
And it would, in all probability, hurt my standing in the force, and give my envious enemies a handle for sneers and innuendoes.
Some of these—and I knew I had enemies—would not hesitate to hint that there was "a nigger in the fence;" in other words, that I was not as innocent as I tried to make out.
I am afraid that I uttered an oath or two. In fact, I am quite sure I did.
But how to help myself?
Was I to stand there like a stake until I was reached and collared by the gardener and hostler, who had been hastily roused, and whom I could now hear coming with heavy tread down the stairs inside the house?
All the thrashing around of Woglom and his pal had not started the spring guns.
This thought flashed across my brain.
Ha!