“’Strue as I stand here, sir,” cried the landlord eagerly, “I knowed nowt of it.”
“But you knew that secret meetings were held here?”
“I knowd they’d their meetings, and a lot o’ flags and nonsense, sir; but I niver thowt it was owt but foolery, or they shouldn’t hev had it here.”
“I ask you as a man, Robinson, did you know they meant to blow up the works?”
“No, Mr Selwood,” cried Robinson, indignantly; “and if I had knowed I’d have come and telled you directly.”
“I believe you,” said the vicar.
“I knowed they talked big, sir,” continued Robinson; “but when men do that ower a pipe and a gill o’ ale, it’s on’y so much blowing off steam like, and does ’em good. Bud look here, sir, there’s about a dozen of ’em up in big room now. Come on up, and we’ll drift ’em.”
He led the way to the club-room, to find it locked on the inside, and on knocking he was asked the pass-word.
“Dal thee silly foolery,” cried the landlord, in a passion, “there it is;” and, stepping back, a few paces, he ran furiously at the door and dashed it off its hinges; entering, followed by the vicar, Harry, and Tom, who kept close to protect him from harm.
There were about fourteen men present, and they rose with more of dread than menace in their aspect, half expecting to see the police. “Look here, lads,” began the landlord—“Allow me, Mr Robinson,” said the vicar, stepping forward and looking straight before him. “My men, I look at no man here; I recognise no man as I say this. Smarting under injury as you thought—”