“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.