"That is not true!" I cried. "Why, there were fifty men on the train with us leaving Belfast; and before we left Tyrone there were two hundred. I saw them myself. They are there now with all their equipment, eager and happy and boisterous with delight."
"That is a different story from what we were told," said my father.
"Mine is the true one," I returned. "But don't accept my word for it. Call in the other girls and question them."
"Ask them to come in."
I went out to the girls and said that my father would like to see them. They came in; they all knew my father but he did not know them all, so I told him all their names.
"Tell me, girls," said my father, "how many men you saw in Tyrone before you left, Belfast men particularly."
Their story was practically the same as mine. When he had heard them all, my father asked one of them to call in the guard who was on duty in the corridor. When the guard had entered the room, or rather stood at the door, my father said to him, "Call the officer of the guard."
Shortly afterwards the officer of the guard knocked on the door. I opened the door and he came inside, saluted and said, "Yes, sir?"
"Send in five men who know the city thoroughly," said my father.
"Yes, sir," said the officer as he saluted again.