This time, I concluded, there was no chance for me. I was to be caught like a rat in a trap. I went to the front window again. Outside was a line of khaki and steel. Beyond that was a throng of curious sightseers. Some, I suppose, were full of anxiety and fear lest any soldier of Ireland should be caught in the trap. Others no doubt were proud of the Empire’s Army, and hoping it would gain another little laurel. As my eyes travelled along the line of spectators I saw the figure of Mick Collins. Later I learned why he was there. He had seen the troops moving in the direction of the district in which I was being nursed, and had actually collected a few of the boys to be ready to attempt a rescue. Their services were not needed. The soldiers raided almost every house in the locality, including the house next door, but never came into the place where I was. All the same I felt grateful to Mick. As I have already explained, he was the only member of G.H.Q. who stood by us consistently. It was considered advisable to remove me again. I was taken to Dun Laoghaire to the house of Mrs. Barry early in November, 1920. Miss O’Connor and Miss Mason were both constant nurses of mine while I was there and my recovery became rapid. I had been there only three or four days when almost every house in the avenue was raided, except that of Mrs. Barry. Evidently the British spies were hitting the trail but losing the scent. I was in Dun Laoghaire on “Bloody Sunday,” November 21st. On that morning fourteen British Intelligence officers were shot dead in their lodgings in Dublin by our men. These officers, living the lives of ordinary civilians in private houses, were really spies, and the brains of the British Intelligence Department at that time. In every land spies pay the death penalty during war, and even the British Ministers of the time justified all their actions by saying they were “at war with Ireland.” But there could not be one set of war rules for their men and another for ours. The operation was one of the most successful carried out in Dublin. The I.R.A., however, suffered some losses. Frank Teeling was captured and sentenced to death, but escaped from Kilmainham Jail before the sentence was carried out. Paddy Moran was later captured and tried for taking part in one of these executions although he was four miles from the scene. He was hanged in Mountjoy early in 1921. I knew poor Paddy well. I first met him at the home of my friend Mrs. O’Doherty in Connaught Street, Dublin. He was a lovable character, and a faithful soldier of Ireland. There were two terrible reprisals that day for the execution of the fourteen spies. In broad daylight the same afternoon hundreds of soldiers and Black and Tans drove to Croke Park where 10,000 people, who had not even heard of the shootings that morning, were witnessing a football match between Tipperary and Dublin.