At the same time people were brought to the Castle and tortured for information. Letters were opened in the post; hotel servants were bribed, and an elaborate and speedy system of telephonic code was arranged for the touts and spotters. Is it surprising that in such circumstances I was often hard-pressed to escape? I was being shadowed at every step and I knew it, but I always carried my gun strapped to my wrist, and concealed by the sleeve of my coat, ready to meet whoever challenged me. At last came an adventure which I thought would prove my last. I was standing one Friday night alone at the Henry Street corner of Nelson’s Pillar. I had arranged to spend the night at Carolan’s, between Drumcondra and Whitehall. The Whitehall car came along and I jumped on board, going on top. At once five men sprang on to the same car and came up the stairs at my heels. Two of them I immediately recognised as members of the Castle murder gang which had recently been organised by General Tudor, Commander of the notorious Auxiliaries. This murder gang consisted of a number of Irishmen and Englishmen who were instructed to shoot any prominent I.R.A. officer whenever they got the chance, whether he was a prisoner in their hands or in whatever way they got the chance. This, of course, was known to Sir Hamar Greenwood and had his approval, the members of the gang being not only specially paid, but assured that no matter what evidence was brought against them they would never even be tried. They did, as a matter of fact, succeed in murdering a good number of our men here and there through the country. One of the leaders of the gang was a Head Constable, who had served as an ordinary constable a few years previously in my own part of the country round Tipperary. The organisation of this murder gang was kept a close secret, even from military and police officials. We, of course, knew all about it from our own Secret Service. We knew most of the members’ names and the murders in which they had taken part. In addition, Headquarters had supplied photographs of some of them to our Brigades. So when I recognised two of the gang on the tramcar that night I did not need to be a Sherlock Holmes to make up my mind that their three companions were also of the same ilk. But it was not the history of the murder gang I was recounting when I realised my predicament. I was in a tight corner. To attempt to retreat from the car would be a plain invitation to them to open fire. Besides there was the bare possibility that their presence on the car was a mere coincidence. Perhaps they did not recognise me at all. Perhaps they were really on some other job.