In two minutes the whole garrison were out tripping over one another in their eagerness to get solution and patches and the other necessaries. Inside the door I could see dozens of printed notices and official documents pasted on the walls. Amongst them, I have no doubt, was an elaborate description of Dan Breen, and a promise of a huge reward for his capture. When the job was finished I thanked the Peelers most profusely for their kindness and rode away. I suppose it was discourteous of me not to have left my card with the sergeant. That night I reached the borders of Tipperary and Offaly and met the others. A few days later all four of us were safely settled in Dublin, which was to be our new headquarters for months to come. Within a few weeks we were planning to arouse the world by shooting the very head of the British Government in Ireland. CHAPTER XIV. ON THE TRAIL OF LORD FRENCH. When we got to Dublin in the Autumn of 1919, there were many signs that the war with the British was soon to develop. Any good judge of the situation at the time could have foreseen the intensive guerilla struggle that was to ensue for a year and a half. Raids for arms were becoming more numerous, and attacks on police patrols were by no means rare. But open warfare had not yet developed. British soldiers and police could go about with comparative safety. Our great danger while in Dublin was from the “G” men, Dublin’s Scotland Yard. These were the detective branch of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, paid by the ratepayers of Dublin to track down criminals, but now mainly employed on political or military work. So far from devoting their attentions to the criminal classes we knew that many of them actually made use of criminals as “touts” or “spotters” to shadow men, or to get information. In the Autumn of 1919 the “G” men, of whom there were a few score all told, were principally engaged in assisting and guiding the British military in midnight raids on the homes of Sinn Feiners, or in raids to seize Sinn Fein literature. They even made their way into Sinn Fein gatherings to take a note of the speeches, and though many of them were known by appearance to almost every person in Dublin they were not afraid, for at that time they seldom got more than a hiding if identified. Day after day one read in the papers of raids on the houses of inoffensive people who never handled firearms in their lives. It was this form of petty tyranny that goaded many into action. Boys and girls, not to speak of men and women, were imprisoned for such offences as having a copy of an Irish song. It was more than flesh and blood could stand.