“In the first place, I want to assure you that no brotherhood man had anything to do with this,” and he waved his hand toward the wrecked freight-house and the blazing cars.
“We know who did both,” said Allan quietly. “The man who set fire to the cars was a union man.”
“Who was it?” asked Simpson quickly.
“Rafe Bassett.”
Simpson’s face grew a shade paler, and his eyes lighted with a grim satisfaction, as he realized how this discovery vindicated the course he had taken with regard to the strike.
“Bassett was not a union man; he was suspended from the lodge last night,” he said, quietly. “He would never have been reinstated. I suspect him of having had something to do with that outrage at Cincinnati, and I believe all this was done simply to revenge himself on the brotherhood and give it a black eye.”
“And you were going to carry on the strike for a man like that?”
“No, Mr. West, we were not,” answered Simpson earnestly. “After Bassett was run out of the hall last night, a committee was appointed to wait upon you in the morning and declare the strike off.”
Allan’s face brightened wonderfully.
“Without condition?” he asked.