as you can recollect, exactly what happened on the night your mother was
murdered."

Mary Drennan, white faced and wretched, told her story as she had told
it before to the police-officer. She said that her father was absent
from home, taking bullocks to the fair, that she and her mother sat up
late, that they went to bed together about eleven o'clock. She spoke in
emotionless, even tones, even when she told how six men had burst into
the kitchen.

"Could you recognise any of them?" said Major Whiteley.

"I could not. They wore masks, and had hay tied over their clothes."

She told about her mother's defiance, about the scuffle, about the
firing of the shot. Then she stopped short. Of what happened afterwards
she had said nothing to the police-officer, but Major Whiteley
questioned her.

"Did any of the men speak? Did you know their voices?"

"One spoke," she said, "but I did not know the voice."

"Did you get any chance of seeing their faces, or any of their faces?"

"The man who fired the shot took off his mask before he left the room,
and I saw his face."

"Ah!" said Major Whiteley. "And would you recognise him if you saw him
again?"

He leaned forward eagerly as he asked the question. All depended on her
answer.

"Yes," said Mary. "I should know him if I saw him again."

Major Whiteley leaned across to Mr. Chalmers, who sat beside him.

"If you've got the right man," he whispered, "we'll hang him on the
girl's evidence."

"I've got the right man, sure enough," said Chalmers.

"Miss Drennan," said Major Whiteley, "I shall have eight men brought
into this room one after another, and I shall ask you to identify the
man who fired a shot at your mother, the man who removed his mask before
he left the room."

He rang the bell which stood on the table.

The sergeant opened the door, and stood at attention. Mr. Chalmers gave
his orders.

"Bring the prisoners into the room one by one," he said, "and stand
each man there"--he pointed to a place opposite the window--"so that the
light will fall full on his face."

Inspector Chalmers had not boasted foolishly when he said that he had
taken the right men. Acting on such knowledge as the police possess
in every country, he had arrested the leading members of the Sinn Fein
Club. Of two of them he was surer than he was of any of the others.
Murnihan was secretary of the club, and the most influential member of
it, Denis Ryan had gone about the town looking