Three days later Inspector Chalmers, of the Royal Irish Constabulary, and Major Whiteley, the magistrate, sat together in the office of the police barrack stations. “I’ve got the men who did it,” said Chalmers. “I’ve got the whole eight of them, and I can lay my hands on all the rest of their cursed club any minute I like.” “Have you any evidence?” asked Whiteley. “Any evidence on which to convict?” “I’ve no evidence worth speaking of,” said Chalmers, “unless the girl can identify them. But I know I’ve got the right men.” “The girl won’t know them,” said Whiteley. “They’re sure to have worn masks. And even if she did recognise one of them she’d be afraid to speak. In the state this country’s in everyone is afraid to speak.” “The girl won’t be afraid,” said Chalmers. “I know her father, and I knew her mother that’s dead, and I know the girl. There never was a Drennan yet that was afraid to speak, I’ve sent the sergeant to fetch her. She ought to be here in a few minutes, and then you’ll see if she’s afraid.” Ten minutes later Mary Drennan was shown into the room by the police-sergeant. The two men who were waiting for her received her kindly. “Sit down, Miss Drennan!” said Major Whiteley. “I’m very sorry to trouble you, and I’m very sorry to have to ask you to speak about a matter which must be painful to you. But I want you to tell me, as well as you can recollect, exactly what happened on the night your mother was murdered.” Mary Drennan, white faced and wretched, told her story as she had told it before to the police-officer. She said that her father was absent from home, taking bullocks to the fair, that she and her mother sat up late, that they went to bed together about eleven o’clock. She spoke in emotionless, even tones, even when she told how six men had burst into the kitchen. “Could you recognise any of them?” said Major Whiteley. “I could not. They wore masks, and had hay tied over their clothes.” She told about her mother’s defiance, about the scuffle, about the firing of the shot. Then she stopped short. Of what happened afterwards she had said nothing to the police-officer, but Major Whiteley questioned her. “Did any of the men speak? Did you know their voices?” “One spoke,” she said, “but I did not know the voice.” “Did you get any chance of seeing their faces, or any of their faces?” “The man who fired the shot took off his mask before he left the room, and I saw his face.” “Ah!” said Major Whiteley. “And would you recognise him if you saw him again?” He leaned forward eagerly as he asked the question. All depended on her answer. “Yes,” said Mary. “I should know him if I saw him again.” Major Whiteley leaned across to Mr. Chalmers, who sat beside him. “If you’ve got the right man,” he whispered, “we’ll hang him on the girl’s evidence.” “I’ve got the right man, sure enough,” said Chalmers.