In our joy at meeting once more we almost forgot our perils; for the streets of Dublin were being searched that day by hundreds of troops as never before. But our scouts reported that the way to the Mater was now clear as the enemy had left the hospital. The boys were anxious that no time should be lost until I was in skilled hands, and we moved on at once towards the Mater. They took me on a stretcher into the hospital, and as I lay on that stretcher I shook hands with Sean Treacy—for the last time. Little did I think that evening that never again on this earth would I lay eyes on my faithful comrade—one who was dearer to me than a brother. Had I known then that it was to be our last meeting in this world I would have little heart to battle with my wounds. Poor Sean! the comrade of my adventures, the sharer of my hopes. His face is always before me, and until my last hour his memory will make me struggle against blinding tears. When I arrived in the hospital Surgeon Barnaville took me into his skilled hands, and I believe I owe my life and my rapid recovery to his unceasing care and devotion. Next day a friend who visited me gave me a full story of the Drumcondra fight, or at least that portion of it which I did not know myself. Some he had learned from the newspapers, more from our Intelligence Department. It seems that in spite of our precautions we were shadowed to Fleming’s that night, and later to Carolan’s by the very man we had seen outside the theatre. Their Secret Service was able to report that “Breen and ‘Lacey’ had gone to ‘Fernside.’” I have never since discovered whether Sean Treacy was actually mistaken for Dinny Lacey, or whether the similarity of the surnames had confused the spy. At once every “G” man in the Castle was mobilised for the raid, but they refused point blank to go on the job. At this display of cowardice and mutiny the enemy chiefs were incensed; but they could not afford to betray their weakness by letting the news leak out that their whole detective force had refused to go on a raid. So the detectives were not punished for their indiscipline, and to cover up the mutiny the “G” men were ordered out the same morning on a raid on the shop owned by Mr. J. J. Walsh (now the Free State Postmaster-General). Meanwhile the military chiefs had been communicated with and informed of the position. They asked “what kind of a job” it would be, and were told they might expect “plenty of gunplay.”