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.