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Updated: May 20, 2025
Acting on such knowledge as the police possess in every country, he had arrested the leading members of the Sinn Fein Club. Of two of them he was surer than he was of any of the others. Murnihan was secretary of the club, and the most influential member of it, Denis Ryan had gone about the town looking like a man stricken with a deadly disease ever since the night of the murder.
"Do it yourself, Murnihan," he said, "if it has to be done!" "I'm not asking you to do what I'm not going to do myself. I'm taking the other revolver, and I'll keep the girl quiet!" "But but," said Denis, stammering, "I'm not accustomed to guns. I've never had a revolver in my hand in my life. I'm I'm afraid of it!" He spoke the literal truth.
"Clear out of this, all of you!" he said, "And get home as quick as you can. Go across the fields, not by the roads!" The men stole out of the house. Only Denis and Murnihan were left, and Mary Drennan, and the dead woman. Murnihan took Denis by the arm and dragged him towards the door. Denis shook him off. He turned to where Mary kneeled on the ground.
The lawyer who employed him as a clerk complained that he seemed totally incapable of doing his work. The police felt sure that either he or Murnihan fired the shot; that both of them, and probably a dozen men besides, knew who did. Six men were led into the office one after another. Mary Drennan looked at each of them and shook her head. It came to Murnihan's turn.
She had armed herself with a long-handled hay-fork, which she held before her threateningly, as a soldier holds a rifle with a bayonet fixed. "Put up your hands and stand still," said Murnihan, "both of you!" "Put up your hands!" said Denis, and he pointed the revolver at Mrs. Drennan. The old woman was undaunted. "You murdering blackguards!" she shouted. "Would you shoot a woman?"
They had taken arms and ammunitions where such things were to be found. These, he said, were glorious deeds wrought by men everywhere in Ireland. "But what have you done here?" he asked. "And what do you mean to do?" Michael Murnihan spoke next. He said that he was ashamed of the men around him and of the club to which he belonged.
Murnihan drew two revolvers from his pocket. He handed one of them to Denis. "You'll stand over the old woman with that pointed at her head," he said. "The minute we enter the house we'll call to her to put her hands up, and if she resists you'll shoot. But there'll be no need of shooting. She'll stand quiet enough!" Denis stepped back, refusing to take the revolver.
Six men, keeping in the shadow of the trees, went forward to the house. A single light gleamed in one of the windows. Murnihan knocked at the door. There was no response. He knocked again. The light moved from the window through which it shone, and disappeared. Once more Murnihan knocked. A woman's voice was heard. "Who's there at this time of night?"
"In the name of the Irish Republic, open the door!" said Murnihan. "Open, or I'll break it down!" "You may break it if you please!" It was Mrs. Drennan who spoke. "But I'll not open to thieves and murderers!" The door of an Irish farmhouse is a frail thing ill-calculated to withstand assault. Murnihan flung himself against it, and it yielded.
He tore the mask from his face and flung it down. "Oh, Mary, Mary!" he said. "I never meant it!" The girl looked up. For an instant her eyes met his. Then she bent forward again across her mother's body. Murnihan grasped Denis again. "You damned fool!" he said. "Do you want to hang for it? Do you want us all to hang for this night's work?" He dragged him from the house.
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