“Oh, I know you’re thinking of your husband,” Mrs. Slaney said to me, “and I’m thinking of my son. I can’t bring him into it.”
“Mrs. Slaney, my husband and O’Grady are in prison, do you understand that, and they are charged with a serious offence. I insist on the address.”
“I told the officer I was willing to go instead of them. But he laughed. And now you want to bring my son into it.”
“Your son’s in the army. It’s quite easy for him; and if it isn’t, it’s the least he can do. After all, the stuff isn’t mine! I expect you to get rid of everything you have in the house, too.”
“I’ll do anything, anything. I’m a broken woman. I’ll write the wire in the morning. I promise I will.”
“Very well. Good night. I’m going to bed.”
I was up first thing in the morning; but Mrs. O’Grady was up before me. She looked as if she had not had a wink of sleep.
“I’m after getting your breakfast now,” she said to me. “I’ll send Polly up with it. Sure, I thought I heard them coming a hundred times, and you’re looking washed out yourself, mum.”
Ten minutes later Polly clattered up with an ill-fried egg upon an ill-warmed plate. She expressed excitement in every movement. Her eyes snapped as she put down the plate in front of me.
“Polly,” I said, “I want you to go up to Mrs. Slaney. Take this pencil and paper and ask her to write out a wire to her son. I’m ready to go as soon as you come back.”