The same evening I had a visit from my sister-in-law, Miss Naughton.  She had a friend, a Miss Cameron, who was sister to the wife of Lawrence Kehoe.  Miss Cameron lived in the house of the Detective Superintendent, along with her sister, Mrs. Kehoe.  In the middle of the previous night—­Miss Cameron told Miss Naughton—­her room being on the same landing as Kehoe’s—­she heard him called, and a man’s voice saying:—­

“We’ve taken Forrester.  Shall we go to Denvir?” There was a pause; then Kehoe said, “No,” adding some words to the effect that he did not think that I was implicated.

I dare say, after the manner of some pious people I know, he had persuaded himself that such was the case.  After he had worked out his full term in Purgatory (for he is dead many years, God rest his soul!), I don’t think St. Peter can have kept the Heavenly gates closed on Larry Kehoe for whatever he said about me that night.  Nay, let us hope that it was even put down to his credit.

Forrester’s explanation, when he was arrested, as to his employment was that he was a hawker.  He had his licence, all quite regular, to show.  Under this he could sell his revolvers.  There was nothing illegal in that, unless a connection were established with the revolutionary movement.

This, it appeared, they were not able to make out; but he was kept in custody, evidently with a view to gain time to establish such a connection.  In fact, his case was the same as Davitt’s, who took up the work of procuring and distributing arms, after Forrester had become too well known to the police in connection with it.  Davitt, too, had a hawker’s licence; and, at first, there was really no evidence to connect him with the Fenian movement.  The farce was gone through of bringing Corydon to identify him—­not a very difficult task in the case of a one-armed man—­though this was the first time Corydon had ever seen Davitt.

The evident explanation of Forrester being kept in custody, and remanded, as he was, from day to day, without being charged with any offence, was that a similar connection might be established, to prove which a little perjury would not stand in the way.

Michael Davitt, who had not yet come under the notice of the police, came to me, along with Arthur Forrester’s mother, on hearing of the arrest.  They had tea with us, and, I need scarcely say, were warmly welcomed in our little family circle, those in the house who were but small children then being in after years proud to remember that they had had such noble characters under their roof.

Mrs. Ellen Forrester was a homely, sweet-looking, little North of Ireland woman.  She was a native of the County Monaghan, and, at this time, about forty years of age.  Her maiden name was Magennis.  Her father was a schoolmaster, which would, no doubt, account for her literary tastes.  Songs and poems of hers appeared in the “Nation” and “Dundalk Democrat.”  She was quite young when she