Maid
Crap.
Lots of it.
EVERYWHERE.
Hogan figured if Klink didn't start breathing soon, it'd be pretty hard for Shultz to explain the circumstances of the Kommandant's death. "Why … I … Hoga … hgggkk …" Klink gasped.
Smiling genially, Hogan nodded. "Yes sir? Is something wrong?'
The increasingly pale Klink turned. "Why," he screeched, "Is my office covered in, in..."
"Feces?" Hogan suggested helpfully.
"YES!"
"Hmmm," Hogan mused. "Maybe it's from the horse."
"WHAT HORSE?"
"Oh, the bay. You know, Captain Haas'."
"What Captain Haas?" Klink's voice almost sounded … dangerous? No, that couldn't be. But just in case, Hogan decided to lay it on a little thicker.
"Well, he and Sergeant Sauer ... ha! Sour. That's quite funny …"
"Hogan!"
"Sorry. They came here about three hours ago, with some horse they said was for the Fuhrer. You didn't have a stable, so they decided the best place to put it was in your office."
Klink's face reddened a little more; from anger or fear, Hogan didn't know. "And then they got their summons by radio not five minutes before you got here. Isn't it incredible! I had no idea a horse could do so much damage in just two hours."
A baleful eye was turned onto Hogan. "I know this is some scheme of yours. So your men are going to clean it up."
A shocked gasp. "Klink! How is this our fault? We didn't tell him to come in here..."
"Hogan! Enough! You will have to pay."
Even after a good 15 minutes of haggling and whining, the Kommandant would still not change his mind.
And the worst part was, this time Hogan was telling the truth.