“The I.R.A. don’t leave stuff with people they can’t trust absolutely,” declared Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I can assure you that they wouldn’t leave it here. Mrs. Slaney, you really must get rid of everything. It will be fatal if anything more is found. Thank goodness, they didn’t search the house the night they took Desmond. Nothing would have made them believe that it wasn’t his.”
Mrs. Slaney was ruffled.
“I call the attitude of you all most extraordinary,” she retorted. “You’re making a great deal out of a very little. We’ll have some tea. It will do us all good.”
She became busy at the tea-tray.
“I’ll tackle her in the morning about it,” I said, getting up. “I’ll see her now about wiring to her son as soon as the office opens. He must claim the stuff.”
“Of course, he’ll claim it,” Mrs. Fitzgerald agreed. “He’ll catch the first boat across to-morrow, and wire ahead to the Castle.”
“You’re not going,” said Mrs. Slaney, as I turned to her. “Have some tea first, it will pull you together. I’m quite proud of my household. You all behaved very well. No Black-and-Tan can boast that he terrorised us.” She beamed on me. “It’s a pity about O’Grady and your husband, of course; but it might have been much worse.”
“I’ve got to straighten up our flat. I must go,” I said. “I want to be at the post-office as soon as it opens. Will you write out a wire for your son to-night, and I’ll send it off.”
“A wire to my son? We can’t bring my son into it.”
“Mrs. Slaney, what do you mean?” Mrs. Fitzgerald exclaimed. “You say the stuff is your son’s. Of course he must claim it.”