Exchequer would never see Godfrey's letter. It would be opened, I
supposed, by some kind of clerk or secretary. He would giggle over it
and show it to a friend. He would also giggle. Then unless the
spelling was unusually eccentric the letter would go into the
waste-paper basket. Nothing whatever would happen.

I was, I own, entirely wrong. The Chancellor of the Exchequer did see
the letter. I take that for granted, because the Prime Minister saw
it, and I cannot see how it could have got to him except through the
Chancellor of the Exchequer. The spelling may have been as bad as
Godfrey's spelling usually is, but the letter evidently gave a
detailed account of what had happened, the kind of account which
impresses people as being true. The letter was, in fact, the first
direct evidence the Government got about what Conroy and McNeice and
Bob were doing. I dare say there were suspicions abroad before. The
offer of a peerage to Conroy showed that there was good reason to
placate him. But it was Godfrey's absurd letter which first suggested
to the minds of the Cabinet that Conroy was using his yacht, the
_Finola_, for importing arms into Ulster. Even then I do not think
that anybody in authority suspected how thoroughly Conroy and Bob were
doing the work. They may have thought of a cargo of rifles, and a few
thousand cartridges. The existence of the Ulster artillery was a
surprise to them at the very moment when the guns first opened fire.

So far from having no consequences at all, Godfrey's ridiculous letter
actually precipitated the conflict which took place. I do not think
that it made any difference to the result of the fighting. That would
have been the same whether the fighting came a little sooner or a
little later. But the letter and the action of the Government which
followed it certainly disorganized Conroy's plans and hustled McNeice.

I found McNeice in my study when I got home. I told him, by way of a
joke, about the letter which Godfrey intended to write. To my surprise
he did not treat it as a joke. I suppose he realized at once what the
consequences of such a letter might be.

"They ought to have put him past writing letters," he growled, "when
they had him."

Then, without even saying good-bye to me, he got up and left the room.
In less than an hour he and Crossan were rushing off somewhere in
their motor car. They may have gone to hold a consultation with
Conroy. He was in Belfast at the time.

I