This miraculous bleeding, which caused Ireland momentarily to hold her breath, as if supernatural intervention was coming, became a nine days’ wonder, and then was no more. This week it was: next week it was not. Perhaps it could not survive the arrival of the _Daily Sketch_ reporter with his gimlet eye, his notebook, and his camera. Once or twice I passed 47 in the street, but he took no notice of me, and I let him go in case he had business on hand. He would not come to see us, as the acquaintance might be unhealthy, and we did not like to look him up without an invitation. Finally, I dropped him a line telling him to meet me in the Botanical Gardens if he were free. I wandered down to the water in the hollow, and there he was coming across the little bridge. A yard or two off he waved a hand in salute; we joined up and strolled down a sheltered walk. He took a cigarette from me, and started to smoke without saying a word. “How do you like life?” I said. “It’s interesting,” he admitted. Looking up, he added grimly, “Are you finding your way about?” I agreed Dublin was interesting. “What have you seen?” he said. “Plenty of your chaps about. At least everybody says they’re in your line. Every man serving the Government seems to be called a Black-and-Tan, but now and then some more exact person than the rest hisses into your ear, ‘Those men are secret service.’” 47 said quietly, “Those fellows you see aren’t the old secret service. They’ve been got together to meet this emergency.” He proceeded to wind up. He was not a talkative fellow; but he could be communicative when he liked. I have no doubt I was the only audience he had had for many a day. “A secret service isn’t built up in a day. An agent should be chosen after long, long observation. After courage--more important than courage, really--your man should possess the power of holding his tongue. “Our service has always been limited, and it was a good deal chopped up in the war. Then we were faced with this business. We had to be reinforced holus bolus. The men had to be trustworthy, and the authorities decided to enrol ex-army officers. I dare say this was as good a choice as any other. But it has its drawbacks. We work in all strata of society, and we should belong to all classes of society. The military man is limited. He is likely to be loyal and courageous; but his caste prejudices are his ruin. He calls his enemies Shinners, and smiles at their efforts.” 47 stopped, looked round suddenly and said, “Have you seen our mutual friend since you came over?” “Not once,” I told him.