Daniel was removed—­he did not go:  he was removed, by two bare-headed constables.  Samuel wanted to have speech with him, and could not.  And later, Samuel stood in the porch of the Town Hall, and Daniel appeared out of a corridor, still in the keeping of two policemen, helmeted now.  And down below at the bottom of the broad flight of steps, up which passed dancers on the nights of subscription balls, was a dense crowd, held at bay by other policemen; and beyond the crowd a black van.  And Daniel—­to his cousin a sort of Christ between thieves—­was hurried past the privileged loafers in the corridor, and down the broad steps.  A murmuring wave agitated the crowd.  Unkempt idlers and ne’er-do-wells in corduroy leaped up like tigers in the air, and the policemen fought them back furiously.  And Daniel and his guardians shot through the little living lane.  Quick!  Quick!  For the captive is more sacred even than a messiah.  The law has him in charge!  And like a feat of prestidigitation Daniel disappeared into the blackness of the van.  A door slammed loudly, triumphantly, and a whip cracked.  The crowd had been balked.  It was as though the crowd had yelled for Daniel’s blood and bones, and the faithful constables had saved him from their lust.

Yes, Samuel had qualms.  He had a sickness in the stomach.

The aged Superintendent of Police walked by, with the aged Rector.  The Rector was Daniel’s friend.  Never before had the Rector spoken to the Nonconformist Samuel, but now he spoke to him; he squeezed his hand.

“Ah, Mr. Povey!” he ejaculated grievously.

“I—­I’m afraid it’s serious!” Samuel stammered.  He hated to admit that it was serious, but the words came out of his mouth.

He looked at the Superintendent of Police, expecting the Superintendent to assure him that it was not serious; but the Superintendent only raised his small white-bearded chin, saying nothing.  The Rector shook his head, and shook a senile tear out of his eye.

After another chat with young Lawton, Samuel, on behalf of Daniel, dropped his pose of the righteous man to whom a mere mishap has occurred, and who is determined, with the lofty pride of innocence, to indulge all the whims of the law, to be more royalist than the king.  He perceived that the law must be fought with its own weapons, that no advantage must be surrendered, and every possible advantage seized.  He was truly astonished at himself that such a pose had ever been adopted.  His eyes were opened; he saw things as they were.

He returned home through a Square that was more interested than ever in the facade of his cousin’s house.  People were beginning to come from Hanbridge, Knype, Longshaw, Turnhill, and villages such as Moorthorne, to gaze at that facade.  And the fourth edition of the Signal, containing a full report of what the Stipendiary and the barrister had said to each other, was being cried.

In his shop he found customers, as absorbed in the trivialities of purchase as though nothing whatever had happened.  He was shocked; he resented their callousness.