“He was taken, Mrs Slee,” said the vicar, “I’m sorry to say. I was present. You know I went out to-night, for I was in dread of some outrage; and after being about a time, I found that something was wrong, for the men were all waiting as in expectation.”
“He always would mix himself up with these troubles i’stead o’ wucking,” sobbed the poor woman.
“Fortunately I met two of the men I could trust, and found that an attempt was to be made to blow up the works.”
“Ah, but Sim wouldn’t do that, sir,” sobbed Mrs Slee. “He dursen’t.”
“I’m sorry to say, Mrs Slee, that one of the policemen had watched him, and seen him help to carry a barrel of powder to the works.”
“Just like him—just like him,” sobbed Mrs Slee; “but some one else was to fire it.”
“How did you know that?” said the vicar, sharply.
“I only know as he dursen’t hev done it hissen,” sobbed the poor woman. “Poor lad, poor lad, there was nowt again him but the drink.”
“The men I met were in search of Daisy Banks,” continued the vicar; “and we joined hands with the police, who took your husband and that man from London, and afterwards we reached the works, and they are safe.”
“I’m strange and glad they’ve took that London man,” sobbed Mrs Slee; “but poor Sim! Poor, poor Sim! But I must go and say a word o’ comfort to him. Smith, at station’s a good, kind man.”