Helping The Police With Their Enquiries

The doorbell rang at around 11.00 last night- not a regular occurence. It was the police, investigating the incident on Friday night when a number of back gates were kicked. I hadn't reported it, but someone else had. The police seem to think there's a link with a spate of low-level burglaries that have been committed in the area. Really?  Were the characters I glimpsed in the darkness of the back alley carrying a sheet of lead? I don't think so. And if they had been, would they have advertised it by making such a hell of a noise? Anyway I co-operated fully. I even took the very pleasant young man out into the alley, bare-legged in my dressing gown, to show him the scene of the crime. But here's the oddest thing: I wasn't frightened, but all the time he was here I was shaking uncontrollably. It got worse and worse- and then as soon as  he left it stopped. I've never had any bad experiences with the police- except once in Switzerland which hardly counts- but I seem to be allergic to a blue uniform. I wonder why?