I have already referred plainly to the attitude Headquarters had adopted towards us and our campaign from the beginning, but at this time—the early Autumn of 1920—a change was noticeable. The war was going on even better than we expected. Our men were meeting and beating the British all through the south. The world was looking on in admiration at our struggle, and in spite of torture, burnings and lootings the people were standing by us. It was death for the man who dared to “harbour a rebel,” but hundreds of men and women were every night sheltering our Flying Columns. In spite of an Anglicised Press the people had realised that we were right, that their cause was ours, that Ireland could never have peace or prosperity until we had driven the British out of Ireland. In our delight at the change, Sean and I were becoming almost reckless. The hotter the fighting the better and more perfect the I.R.A. became as an organisation. Headquarters apparently realised that the rank and file were getting too far ahead of them, and they gradually began to take a kind of semi-official responsibility for our actions. In pursuance of this new policy, Headquarters had now actually planned a certain operation for us in Dublin, and it was for that reason we were unable to return to Tipperary as soon as we had arranged. But the plans never matured and we were still kept dallying round Dublin. Still we had something to cheer us up. I got a tip for a race—a “dead cert” that was to come off at a meeting in the Phoenix Park. Luckier still, I had now got the money I won at Croke Park, to make use of the information. All our worldly wealth went on the horse. And he won! Now for a little of the pleasures of lite that we could still enjoy. The money we now had, meant wealth to us. Of course I did not regard it as my personal property—it belonged to our little “Soviet.” Whatever we had we shared, and never were there more real communists than we. Before we could return to Tipperary we had now to spend this money. Any day might be our last in this world. A couple of bullets might make us depart at any moment without having made our wills, and the thought that annoyed us was the possibility that our few pounds might provide the Black and Tans with the wherewithal to drink our health when we were dead. [Illustration: DINNY LACEY.] But we knew we had to be careful and more cautious than usual. The net was drawing round us. An incident that occurred at this time on the night of the 10th October, 1920, shows the dangers which surrounded us. Sean Treacy and I had decided to stay that night at the house of Seumas Kirwan, 49 Parnell Street. We had often stayed there before and had held several meetings there. Seumas was a Tipperary man himself and gave us the full run of his house. All his assistants and employees were I.R.A. men, and whenever we stayed there for the night they were fully armed.