All these thoughts flashed through my mind in a mere fraction of the time they take to relate. I had to keep cool, to avoid betraying by the slightest sign that I was excited or panicky. There was nothing for it but the old game of coolness and bluff that had served me so well on the road to Foynes and at Whitehall a few months before. I sat down on the three-seater bench at the rear of the car, just at the top of the steps. Then I pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. Immediately two of the gang sat on the same bench, one on each side of me. A third remained standing right opposite me gripping the railings. The other two went along the centre passage right to the front of the car. I never felt less comfortable in my life. I realised my danger, but saw no way out of it. Neither they nor I made any move. The car started on its journey, crowded with passengers who little realised the drama that was being played beside them. It was after 11 o’clock and everybody was hurrying home, for curfew was at 12, and no one dared to be out after that hour to become a target for a dozen bullets. As the car passed up Parnell Square I began to feel a little reassured. Often before I had had a pleasant journey with detectives and policemen who never recognised me. Perhaps my luck was not out yet. Suddenly both the man on my right and his companion on my left made a simultaneous move. Their right hands went back to their hip-pockets. They were pulling something out. Another second and I had pulled my gun. I had drawn first. They realised my purpose. In another second my three would-be murderers were rushing headlong down the stairs. I was at their heels with my revolver levelled. They sprang from the car on to the street and I jumped at their heels. Now came another moment of hesitation. Would they open fire? It was not a favourable spot to select for a duel. The streets were crowded with hurrying pedestrians. Soldiers or Auxiliaries might appear at any moment. If the three murder-men fired I had no alternative but to return. If they didn’t, I would not fire. But I could not afford to lose much time. There was only one more tram to pass to Whitehall and I had to get that or run the risk of being picked up by a curfew patrol. We were in the middle of Dorset Street, almost facing Gardiner Street Church. I tried a little ruse. I stepped on to the footpath and suddenly ran towards St. Joseph’s Terrace. But I ran only three or four paces. Then I stamped my feet on the pavement, making a noise as if I was on the double At my first move the three men who were a few yards ahead of me ran too. They turned quickly into the little avenue which runs parallel to St. Joseph’s Terrace. They had been deceived by my ruse and evidently ran to intercept me at the other end.