We had a latchkey of Professor Carolan’s house, “Fernside.” It was one of the many latchkeys we had at the time, all given us by friends to whose houses we were welcome whenever we might wish to call at any hour.
I had already stayed a few nights at “Fernside,” having been introduced to the family by Peter Fleming. I well remember how heartily I was received on that first occasion by the family, and how thoughtfully Mr. Carolan himself showed me over the whole house, and especially the back garden. He pointed out a low wall to me as the best means of escape in case of a raid. “I don’t expect you’ll need it,” he said, “but it is no harm to know your way about.” He was a kindly, lovable man whose clear earnest eyes would inspire one with confidence.
The house is one of a type common enough in middle-class suburban districts in Dublin. It is a two-storeyed brick building of eight or nine apartments. There is a small plot in front facing the road, and on the left, as one enters, is a tradesman’s side door, leading to the back. Over this door it would be easily possible for an active man to climb into the yard.
At the back there is a long garden, separated from the adjoining garden by a wall about seven feet high. Close up to the house, and almost under the window was a conservatory.
Every time that we had availed ourselves of Mr. Carolan’s hospitality we had reached the house before 11 o’clock at night. On this occasion we did not arrive until about 11.30 p.m., and as there was no light to be seen we concluded the family had retired, and we let ourselves in as noiselessly as possible, making our way to the bedroom which had been reserved for us on the second floor at the back, overlooking the conservatory. It is certain, of course, that no member of the family was aware of our presence in the house that night.
We went to bed almost at once, both of us sleeping together. Still we did not feel very sleepy and for a while we chatted about our plans for the future and our return to Tipperary. Then our conversation lagged. My mind became possessed of a strange presentiment. Perhaps it was the after-effects of my few recent adventures with the murder gang. I tried to sleep, but for once sleep would not come. Sean, too, was still awake, though not inclined to talk.
I felt half inclined to tell him of the queer feeling that had come over me, but he was himself the first to speak:
“Dan,” he said, “do you find any queer feeling coming over you? I can’t sleep. Can you?”
He had, in fact, put the very questions I was trying to frame. I told him so and we both laughed.