We stood shivering on the steps, and watched Himself and O’Grady climb into one of the lorries. Himself was wrapped up well enough; but I had a pang at the sight of O’Grady, who was elderly and had on a threadbare overcoat and scarf.

Mrs. Slaney denounced the British Government until the last sounds of the wheels had died away. I listened dazed. A plait of Mrs. O’Grady’s hair hung down her back. The spell was broken by Mrs. Slaney retreating upstairs; but with a bound Mrs. O’Grady outstripped her, and towered above her with her hands raised over her head.

“God forgive you for a wicked old woman! God forgive you, for I never will. You’re a wicked, wicked woman, Mrs. Slaney. Do you hear me?”

“Hush, Mrs. O’Grady!” Mrs. Fitzgerald urged. “Hush. You’ll say something you’ll be sorry for later. Mrs. O’Grady, be quiet.”

“Be quiet! I cannot with himself all perishing of the cold. And the cough on his chest something awful. It’s dead he’ll be before he reaches the Castle. You wicked, wicked woman, you were after knowing those bullets were there.” Her voice rose and cracked, and she became inarticulate.

“Now, Mrs. O’Grady, pull yourself together,” ordered Mrs. Slaney, sharply. “Pull yourself together at once. You’re hysterical. O’Grady will come out of this all right, he’ll come to no harm. Indeed, it will be good for them both to experience what hundreds of our splendid young men are suffering every day. Come upstairs and I’ll give you a little wine. Come up all of you. It’s things like this, trials, that bring us close together. Mrs. Fitzgerald will tell you that. It is trials that have united Ireland.”

Mrs. O’Grady mouthed words that never came. We could only catch an occasional croak of “wicked old woman.”

“We’d better go along, too,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “for Mrs. O’Grady’s sake. We little thought when we watched Desmond drive away that night that the next person would be your husband.”

“No, and I don’t quite know what to do about it, or who to go to.”

“You’ll go to the Castle the first thing in the morning. And if you can’t do any good, I should suggest finding a Unionist solicitor. I can only send you to Sinn Feiners, and they have all been mixed up in court-martial cases, which make them useless as far as the Castle is concerned. If you could get a Unionist for your husband it would be better. You must do everything quickly. Ammunition is a serious charge.”

We had reached Mrs. Slaney’s quarters. They were upside down.

“Look at this!” she exclaimed. “Monstrous! They have no respect for sex or age. They thought they would terrify me; but I’m not afraid, not if the whole British Army were to come. I never flinched once, and the man in charge was abominably rude. I showed them that an Irish woman, and an elderly and helpless one at that, could face them. I never flinched.”

Mrs. O’Grady had recovered her voice.

“It’s black trouble you’ve brought on us all, and it’s worse you’ll bring. Leaving bullets under your bed where little girls can find them.”

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. O’Grady shook.

“You can’t pretend that you didn’t know those bullets were there, not to me, mum. Little Polly Pluck told me on them weeks ago, and it’s little sleep either O’Grady or me has had ever since.”

My mind leaped back to the day Mrs. O’Grady had talked so mysteriously.

“Do you mean to say that you kept such stuff there? Why didn’t you send it to the proper quarters?” demanded Mrs. Fitzgerald. “If you’d told me, I could have had it all taken away by the right people.”

“A few war trophies!” Mrs. Slaney exclaimed. “A few simple war trophies of no interest to anybody?”

“The Auxiliaries thought them interesting,” I retorted bitterly.

“Yes, mum,” chorused Mrs. O’Grady.

“How did I know what they were? Would I have kept them if I did? My son sent his portmanteau home from France and these were a few trophies. I didn’t know they were there. I didn’t know what they were. I told the officer in charge so. ‘Are those bullets?’ I asked him, and you see he believed me.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “that a woman of your age doesn’t know a bullet when she sees it?”

“I don’t believe you, mum,” declared Mrs. O’Grady. “Not if you was to go down on your knees, and what’s more, those never came home from France, for I went through everything in your room at Christmas time meself, and that box, too, and they were never there then. You’ll remember, I was looking for your shoes, which you had with you all the time.”

“I declare I didn’t know what they were. Dumdum, he called them. There were some little ones, too, loose, or he said there were.”

“Have you anything else?” I asked.

She shuffled, but we had got her in hand.

“Well, they didn’t find everything. I told my beads all the time, and they didn’t pull out the shutters. I had some things there. And they must have tripped over a revolver a dozen times. By the goodness of God, they didn’t find everything.”

“You’ll get rid of all those things at once, Mrs. Slaney,” I said. “You’ll burn the papers and get rid of the revolver and whatever else you have. They’ll come back, you may be certain of that.”

“You must get rid of them, Mrs. Slaney,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, taking up the chorus. “Our people haven’t authorised you to keep them. It’s disgraceful.”

Mrs. Slaney sought to pour oil upon troubled waters. “I’ll make you tea,” she suggested. “We’ll all feel better then.” She hurried out of the room to make tea.

“She’s an astonishing woman,” I said bitterly.

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked thoughtful. “She said something about gelignite. You’d better see that she gets rid of that.”

“Gelignite!” I exclaimed.

“If they raid again and find gelignite it will be serious.”

“I don’t feel I can battle with her to-night,” I said. “I’ll see her about it to-morrow.”

“There’s a uniform and a rifle in this very room, too, under the books in that cupboard!” said Mrs. O’Grady. “She’s got stuff stowed away everywhere, and nobody knows it better than myself.”

“But why has she got it?” I demanded, “unless the I.R.A. leave it here.”

Mrs. Slaney came in briskly with the tea.

“The I.R.A. don’t leave stuff with people they can’t trust absolutely,” declared Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I can assure you that they wouldn’t leave it here. Mrs. Slaney, you really must get rid of everything. It will be fatal if anything more is found. Thank goodness, they didn’t search the house the night they took Desmond. Nothing would have made them believe that it wasn’t his.”

Mrs. Slaney was ruffled.

“I call the attitude of you all most extraordinary,” she retorted. “You’re making a great deal out of a very little. We’ll have some tea. It will do us all good.”

She became busy at the tea-tray.

“I’ll tackle her in the morning about it,” I said, getting up. “I’ll see her now about wiring to her son as soon as the office opens. He must claim the stuff.”

“Of course, he’ll claim it,” Mrs. Fitzgerald agreed. “He’ll catch the first boat across to-morrow, and wire ahead to the Castle.”

“You’re not going,” said Mrs. Slaney, as I turned to her. “Have some tea first, it will pull you together. I’m quite proud of my household. You all behaved very well. No Black-and-Tan can boast that he terrorised us.” She beamed on me. “It’s a pity about O’Grady and your husband, of course; but it might have been much worse.”

“I’ve got to straighten up our flat. I must go,” I said. “I want to be at the post-office as soon as it opens. Will you write out a wire for your son to-night, and I’ll send it off.”

“A wire to my son? We can’t bring my son into it.”

“Mrs. Slaney, what do you mean?” Mrs. Fitzgerald exclaimed. “You say the stuff is your son’s. Of course he must claim it.”

“Oh, I know you’re thinking of your husband,” Mrs. Slaney said to me, “and I’m thinking of my son. I can’t bring him into it.”

“Mrs. Slaney, my husband and O’Grady are in prison, do you understand that, and they are charged with a serious offence. I insist on the address.”

“I told the officer I was willing to go instead of them. But he laughed. And now you want to bring my son into it.”

“Your son’s in the army. It’s quite easy for him; and if it isn’t, it’s the least he can do. After all, the stuff isn’t mine! I expect you to get rid of everything you have in the house, too.”

“I’ll do anything, anything. I’m a broken woman. I’ll write the wire in the morning. I promise I will.”

“Very well. Good night. I’m going to bed.”

I was up first thing in the morning; but Mrs. O’Grady was up before me. She looked as if she had not had a wink of sleep.

“I’m after getting your breakfast now,” she said to me. “I’ll send Polly up with it. Sure, I thought I heard them coming a hundred times, and you’re looking washed out yourself, mum.”

Ten minutes later Polly clattered up with an ill-fried egg upon an ill-warmed plate. She expressed excitement in every movement. Her eyes snapped as she put down the plate in front of me.

“Polly,” I said, “I want you to go up to Mrs. Slaney. Take this pencil and paper and ask her to write out a wire to her son. I’m ready to go as soon as you come back.”

I had scarcely poured out my tea before Mrs. O’Grady came back in place of Polly.

“The mistress says she’ll not give you the address. The meanness of her. ‘I didn’t know the bullets were there,’ sez she to me, ‘and when they showed them to me I didn’t know what they were.’ ‘I don’t believe you, mum,’ sez I. ‘Not a wink have I slept this night,’ sez she. ‘I was just after settling down when you disturbed me. No one thinks of me. You can just take that pencil back,’ sez she.”

I got up. “Thanks, Mrs. O’Grady, I’ll tackle her myself. I’m going to get that address.”

Mrs. Slaney called “Come in” to my knock. She had prepared a line of defence.

“I’ve been awake thinking of you all night,” she said. “I haven’t closed my eyes. I know it’s a terrible thing for you; but I don’t think we should wire to my son. It can do no good. I’ll just go along this morning and see one or two men I know. Men with wise heads, who will advise us well.”

“What objection have you to wiring to your son? I am sure your son would hate to know his bullets had got two men into difficulties.”

“My son is so highly strung. He was a shell-shock case, and he’s never been the same.”

“My husband was worse than a shell-shock case.”

“If it was a question of that, I would say nothing; but my son has a sprained ankle.”

“A sprained ankle!”

“They’re not at all sure that he hasn’t seriously hurt his foot. They may have to operate. They may have to do it to-day.”

“And if they do he can still send a wire. Mrs. Slaney, time is very precious. I can’t leave those two men there without making some effort.”

“They were only war trophies.” Then to my relief she took the pencil reluctantly. “What do you want me to write?”

“Simply his address. I’ll do the rest.”

She put the pencil down.

“Hadn’t I better write to my son? Yes, that would be better. I’ll write straight away now, and then I can explain things so much better.”

“I’m going to write to your son, Mrs. Slaney, you needn’t do that. But the wire’s to go too.”

She gave in, and ten minutes later I was sending the wire.

Then I went to the Castle.

The Castle yard was full of lorries, there were soldiers and Auxiliaries everywhere, and men in mufti walked busily about, though as far as I could see they had no business.

It is an easy matter to get a husband locked up; but, until I faced the Tommies at the Castle gates and stated my case, I did not know what a difficult matter it is to get one unlocked. Ammunition sounds so simple. It sounds so simple to say that it belonged to somebody else, and you had no knowledge of it. But the word ammunition changes the expression on every face in Dublin Castle.

There seemed no one to go to. I was sent from guardroom to guardroom. I sat upon hard forms while weary Tommies dawdled off to mysterious inner rooms with a paper which I had filled up and signed. At last there came one Tommy, brighter than the others, who returned and said briskly, “This way,” and I grew hopeful.

This way proved to be across the yard and into another building with other ill-swept corridors, with other stairs which proclaimed that unwiped feet had climbed them for many years. The Tommy left me and disappeared through a door.

I sat beside a small table, and one or two men eyed me. After some time the Tommy emerged.

“Wrong,” he said cheerfully. “Fill this up.” He pulled another slip of paper out of a box, and, while I wrote on it, argued with one of the lounging men as to which was the best place to take me.

“Room 8,” declared one man at last. “He’s shifted lately, but I think he’s Room 8. Anyway, Room 8 will tell you.”

Once more we made our way along dirty passages, and climbed up and down unswept stairs.

“It’s Room 11,” declared Room 8 to our inquiries. “You’ll find what you want there.”

“They’ve been shifting,” the Tommy apologised to me. He stopped a man he knew. “Who’s the best person to go to?” He jerked his head in my direction.

The man rubbed his chin with his forefinger. He thought for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he said at last.

“Have people never been here to inquire before?” I asked the Tommy.

“Lots,” he replied cheerfully. “Things have been shifted round a bit lately. I was in armoured cars before. Wait here.” He disappeared from my sight into Room 11. I propped up a wall and waited.

Presently the door of No. 11 opened cautiously, and a pair of eyes stared at me.

“Come in here,” ordered the owner of the eyes mysteriously, as soon as he had made up his mind that I was not dangerous.

It was a medium-sized room filled with photographs. There were photographs all over the walls, all over the table, all over the chairs. The Tommy withdrew.

The people in attendance upon the photographs, both male and female, stared at me curiously.

“Fill this up,” said my mysterious acquaintance. He put a form before me in secretive fashion.

“Haven’t I filled up enough before?” I asked, looking sadly at the slips in his hand. I dipped the pen in the ink, and prepared to write again.

The man leaned over my shoulder confidentially. “You’ve come to sign on as a woman searcher?”

“What?”

“A woman searcher?”

“Good Heavens, no!” I cried. “If you had troubled to read those papers you are holding you wouldn’t have thought that. Your people arrested my husband last night because they found ammunition....”

The look of horror on his face stopped me. I glanced all round at frozen faces. Everybody seemed to have been turned into stone. At last the spell was broken. My mysterious acquaintance jerked himself to life and pushed me out of the room.

“The wrong department,” he hissed. “Good God, you should never have got in here!”

The Tommy slid slowly off the window sill. “All right?” He seemed an old and tried friend.

“The wrong department,” I said drearily. “Why, don’t you know your way about your old Castle?”

“It’s a tricky sort of a place.” He scratched his head at the thought of its trickiness.

An officer was crossing the yard. I hurried after him, stopped him, and poured forth my wrongs. He listened attentively, guiding me as he walked by my side with gentle motions of the hand.

“Room 13,” he said with a smile, as we stopped outside it. “I think you will find what you want in here.” He knocked on the door and went in, leaving me outside. Presently he came out again.

“Go in. This is right.”

“To the last day of my life, I’ll never forget your goodness,” I murmured.

He nodded and disappeared round a corner.

Room 13 was an agreeable surprise after my dreary journey. Here was comfort; here a fire; here the carpet was swept and fairly new, and the tables were dusted. Over six foot of man rose from behind one of the tables.

“So you’ve had trouble getting in?” He was polite. “Come over near the fire.” He indicated an armchair, and his manner was helpful. “Now what can I do for you?”

“It’s about my husband,” I began. The fire gave me confidence. Ammunition seemed a milder charge in here. I poured forth my woes. He made no comment until I finished. “Well?” I ended.

“Of course, he is a perfectly innocent man?”

“But he really is. Would you expect my husband to know what was under another woman’s bed?”

“I’d make it my business to know in these times,” he declared. “Your house hasn’t much of a name. Figgis was probably up to no good there. Fitzgerald was arrested there. And now this charge of ammunition. Why should I believe your husband? Of course, I’m not suggesting that he isn’t innocent. But, good God, if you’d heard that story as often as I have! Do you know that Figgis was seen going into that house only two days ago?”

I shook my head.

“It’s true.”

“If the ammunition was such a crime, why not arrest Mrs. Slaney, and earn the thanks of us all?”

“Ah, there you have me. Look.” He walked over to the window and pointed to a large building opposite. “Irish Office. Causes us more trouble than all the Shinners put together. We can’t arrest half the people we would like to because of them. They tie us hand and foot. The public is so sentimental. Women can always get interest roused, and questions asked in Parliament. Yet we know the women are as deeply in it as the men. Oh, we know all that is to be known about them; but we’ve got to leave them alone.”

“I see. Then you intend to keep my husband?”

“I don’t know about that. Mrs. Slaney’s son should communicate with us soon, and if he can establish his claim to the stuff, your husband will be released. Do you know any one who would be ready to answer for him?”

I mentioned 47’s name, and he became interested. “He’s away now,” I said, “or I would have gone to him at once.”

“He’ll not be back for some weeks,” said the man. “If he can vouch for your husband, it will be all right.”

“Some weeks! My poor man will be dead by then.”

“Not he. He’s very comfortable where he is. You can send him in anything you like. He has others with him, and they’re all very happy.”

“There’s nothing more that I can do?”

“Nothing at the moment.”

“A solicitor can always see him, I understand?”

“Certainly. Any time that you like.” I got up to go. “I haven’t been able to give you much satisfaction; but you’ll get him back as soon as Major Slaney claims the stuff.” He walked to the door and opened it for me. “If there’s anything I can do for you, come along and let me know.”

“There’s nothing, thank you.”

The Tommy had either died or deserted. I found my way back into the Castle yard. As I hesitated there, a man detached himself from a group and came smiling upon me in the warmest fashion.

“Good morning,” he cried. “So you came along to look us up?”

I tried to place him, but the effort was too much for me.

“You don’t remember me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He laughed the heartiest of laughs. “Your memory is short. Why, I arrested your husband last night.”

“Did you? Then perhaps you can tell me how he is?”

“He’s splendid. We’re F Company. We take special care not to manhandle our prisoners. We take a pride in getting them to the Castle in good condition. Shall I see you to the gate?”

“Thanks, I know the way.”

My coldness did not chill him. He smiled pleasantly after me.

I travelled far that day; but the end of it brought no reward to my efforts. Mrs. O’Grady had become dumb, and had resigned herself to the worst. Mrs. Slaney had retreated into the fastness of her bedroom, where I followed her to do battle about the gelignite.

“You call this gelignite, I suppose,” she said, unearthing a tin and showing it to me.

“Where did you get it?”

“It’s wonderful for pot plants,” she declared. “I got it to make the plants grow.”

She put it away like a squirrel storing a nut.

The following day I went to a solicitor.

He was pessimistic. “It’s not much of a job going to the Castle!” he exclaimed. “There are Sinn Feiners always watching. I shall be shot as a spy.” But for all that he went. Returning to lunch, I met Mrs. O’Grady in the hall.

“No news, mum?”

“None.”

“And her upstairs going about this way and that just as if it wasn’t her fault. ‘God forgive you, mum,’ I sez, ‘for I never will.’ She thinks nothing of me, never a word, but it’s ‘Mrs. O’Grady, have you swept the stairs?’ ‘Mum,’ I sez, ‘the stairs can wait with them two away like this.’ ‘Nonsense, Mrs. O’Grady,’ she sez, ‘rubbish! Work will pass the time for you, so it will. Nothing like being up and doing, and keeping yourself occupied.’”

“How I wish they’d take her!”

“It’d be a charity, mum; but there’s not one of us but would wear ourselves thin to get her out.”

“I wonder. Mrs. O’Grady, send up lunch as soon as you can, please. I’m off to see what I can do this afternoon.”

“Shall I order something in case they get back for dinner?”

I shook my head. “Time enough when we see them, Mrs. O’Grady.”

“It’s a drop of gin I’ll have ready for my man, God help him, if the life’s still in him.”

The next day at five o’clock I walked into the solicitor’s office. Himself was there. A chastened, saddened Himself. An older, dirtier Himself; but a free man.

The solicitor was laughing. His success had exhilarated him. “Take him home and feed him!” he said.

“Where’s O’Grady?”

“He’s on the way.”

“Go home and tell Mrs. O’Grady, and get a bath.”

“You keep out of sight of the Castle now,” said the solicitor. “Look me up again. I didn’t hope for much success, I can tell you. I thought it would be a court-martial. When I was at the Castle I got in touch with somebody over the telephone, who said, ‘Ask your client if he knows anything of the I.R.A.’”

We departed home.

Mrs. Slaney was in the hall to greet us. She wrung Himself by the hand.

“What an experience!” she exclaimed. “Now you will be able to write about what happens every day to our splendid young Irishmen.”