John Barry was at that time a commercial traveller, and, strangely enough, on one of his trips, he found himself in the same railway carriage with two detectives who were in charge of the arms on their way to the metropolis.  John, as everybody acquainted with him knows, “has the music on the tip of his tongue;” the racy accent acquired in his childhood in his native Wexford.  But he can put it off when the occasion requires it; and the two police officers were quite charmed with the social qualities of the genial commercial “gent” who was their fellow-traveller, never suspecting him to be an Irishman.  They chatted together in the most agreeable manner, making no secret of their mission to London, and letting drop a few facts which proved useful to the counsel for the defence in the subsequent trial.  Reaching London, they asked the commercial “gent” to spend a social evening with them and some of the witnesses in the case, which had some connection with the arms intended for “Mr. Kershaw.”  He could not do so, he said, as he had a previous engagement—­which happened to be with Arthur Forrester and some witnesses on the other side.  But, he continued, he would be glad to see them on the following day.  Where could he see them?  At Scotland Yard; and at Scotland Yard, accordingly, he met them, where they showed him, as an evidence of the desperate characters they had to deal with—­his own case of arms!

They told him of the pleasant evening he had missed, the only drawback being, they said, that one of the witnesses, named Corydon, got drunk and was very troublesome.

This reminds me of another case, in connection with which I, at the time, fully expected to be arrested.  The reader can form his own conclusion, but my impression was, and is, that I owed my safety to a gentleman I shall now introduce.  Detective Superintendent Laurence Kehoe, of Liverpool, was a very decent man in his way.  He was by no means of the type of John Boyle O’Reilly or the Breslins, who have shown that in the British army and in the police force there have been men, mostly compelled by adverse circumstances, who have for a time worn the blue, or green, or scarlet coat of Britain without changing the Irish heart beneath.

No; Larry (as he was generally called) was nothing of the kind.  Still, I believe he faithfully did his duty according to his lights, in the service in which he was engaged.  He was a conscientious Catholic, and a son of his is a most respected priest in the diocese of Liverpool.  He was a kind-hearted, charitable man, always ready to do a good turn, particularly for a fellow-countryman.  If an Irish policeman called his attention to some poor waif of an Irish child who had lost its parents, or was in evil surroundings—­having parents worse than none, or in danger of losing its faith—­Laurence Kehoe would take the matter in hand.  He would not always go through the formality of bringing the case of such child under the notice