While their running footsteps were still resounding on the pavement the last tram from the city appeared. I jumped on the platform as it passed, and left the murder gang behind, probably searching the side streets for me. What I can never understand is why their two companions who had come on the tram with them did not come in pursuit of me when I chased the other three from the car. Possibly loyalty to comrades was not part of their creed, if it involved danger. It was one of these five men, I found out, who later tracked us to “Fernside,” the night of the terrible fight there. I slept that night at Fleming’s, of Drumcondra. Next morning I told Sean Treacy of my adventure and he laughed heartily, consoling me with the remark that I could hardly escape much longer. However he regarded the incident in a more serious light later on when we discussed it. Finally we made up our minds that never again would either of us go out alone; that we would both go out together or both remain indoors. It seemed the natural compact to make now that the trail was getting hot, and since we had passed through so many dangers together. That Saturday morning we went out to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s in Hollybank Road, almost beside Fleming’s. Mrs. Fitzgerald was herself a Tipperary woman, and we had often before enjoyed the hospitality of her home. We were tired and sleepy that day so we spent most of the time in bed. The following day we went to Croke Park, the headquarters of the Gaelic Athletic Association, and only seven minutes’ walk from Hollybank Road. It had been our custom for many Sundays before that to visit Croke Park when we had nothing else to do. We generally had a game of cards—our favourite was “Forty-five”—with officials of the G.A.A. who might happen to be present, particularly Luke O’Toole (the Secretary of the Association), Andy Harty, and D. P. Walsh (both countymen of our own) and Alderman Nowlan, the President. They were all good friends of ours, and gave us many pleasant evenings in Luke’s house when the matches of the day had finished. I remember this Sunday well, because it indirectly led up to the fight at Drumcondra, strange though that may seem. The stakes were never high, but to men in the position of Sean and myself at the time a few shillings seemed like riches. The evening I speak of the game proved unusually exciting; the “kitty” or pool gradually grew to a nice sum, and I don’t mind admitting that I eyed it jealously as it grew. Luck favoured me—even in gambling! I won the pool, and seldom was money more welcome to my pocket. Now at this time our plans were not very definite. They were not altogether in our own making. Dinny Lacey had returned to Tipperary about a fortnight before, and we had promised to join him within a week. Contrary to our usual habit we had failed to keep our appointment, but the fault was not ours. It was due to the action of Headquarters.