“Got anything for me?” he asked. She nodded and took a piece of paper from within the breast of her black dress. He stuck it within his raincoat. “Right,” he muttered dreamily. Then he kissed her again on the lips and patted her cheek. He took a pace away, but she grabbed at him. She held him, looking beseechingly into his face. “Have ye got nothin’ to say to me, Dan?” she whispered, almost sobbing. “For goodness’ sake, Kitty, have sense,” he muttered savagely. “This is no time for jig-acting.” He put a finger to his throat. “I’m up to here in it. The whole Organization is in danger.” “O Lord! What is it, Dan? Tell me.” “An informer. See ye to-morrow. Let me go. Good night.” He kissed her on the forehead. Her arms loosened. He was gone. She looked after him dejectedly. Then she shivered and gripped her breasts. Gallagher walked up Titt Street. Here and there a workman recognized him and saluted respectfully. He did not acknowledge the salutes. He wheeled sharply in at the door of No. 44 and knocked. The door was opened almost immediately by Mary McPhillip. She also started and put her hand to her breast when she saw him. “Good evening, Mary,” he said gently, holding out his hand. “May I come in? I want to speak to your mother.” “Yes,” said Mary excitedly; “mother is in the kitchen, but you had better come into the parlour. Father is in the kitchen, too, and there would surely be a row if he saw you.” “Oh, that’s all right,” said Gallagher. “Is there anybody else there?” “No, everybody else is gone.” “Who is that yer talkin’ to, Mary?” came Jack McPhillip’s voice from the kitchen. “Nobody atall, father,” cried Mary. “Don’t I hear a man’s voice,” cried the father. “Who is he?” “Hist! It’s all right,” whispered Gallagher, pushing past her as she tried to speak again. “He won’t bite me. It’s just me, Mr. McPhillip. How are you? I’m very sorry to hear of your trouble.” The two of them met at the kitchen door. They stared at one another for a moment. Then Gallagher made a movement to come forward and McPhillip with a little start, moved backwards. He did not speak until he was near the bed again. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said angrily. “An’ what brings you here at this hour of the night?” Gallagher took no notice of him. He turned to Mrs. McPhillip who was still in the same position by the fire, telling her rosary beads. “I am sorry to trouble you, Mrs. McPhillip,” he said gently and respectfully, “in the middle of your . . . eh . . . but there’s a question or two I have to ask you for the sake of him that’s dead. Would you be kind enough to——” “And what right have you to ask a question or two?” cried McPhillip, raging because Gallagher had refused even to talk to him. He was sitting on the bed now. He sat on the bed timidly, as if he were in somebody else’s house. Gallagher turned to him slowly and looked at him fiercely in the eyes. “I have the right,” he said, “of a revolutionary to track a traitor to the cause.”