“Young priest?” The constable looked thoughtful. “Now, I wonder who that would have been? Father Flannery is over seventy and I can’t think of a parish around here that has a young curate.”

Darcy looked at me. “Interesting,” he said. “Two people who could have been checking on Mr. Roach. Now I’m really interested to find out more about him.” He turned to me. “Let’s head for Dublin right away.”

“What about the stables?” I asked as we climbed back into the vehicle. “Didn’t we say we’d find out what we could there first?”

“Don’t we know all there is to know?” Darcy said shortly. “Either my father doped that horse and was found out and fired, or Mr. Roach had someone else dope the horse and let my father take the blame when the horse dropped dead. Either way he has a strong motive for revenge, doesn’t he?”

“It certainly seems that way,” I agreed.

“And his anger could have been festering all this time, so that when they had that final blowup the afternoon of the murder it was the final straw. He went home, got drunk and then decided to kill Roach.”

We looked at each other for a long moment. It seemed all too plausible, but one of us had to stay positive.

“We need to find out what that final argument was about,” I said.

He nodded. “If we can get the stubborn old fool to tell us.” He sighed. “All right. We’ll visit the stables first since they are right here.” And we drove down that little lane, past the lodge, until we came to a handsome whitewashed building with a weather vane of a galloping horse on top of a red tiled roof. At the center of that building was an arch leading through to a stable yard beyond, and as we watched, a horse was led across that archway, walking with the easy graceful strides of the Thoroughbred. Darcy stared, went to say something, then turned away, and I saw now why he was not anxious to visit the stables. It was too painful for him to visit a place he had loved that no longer belonged to him.

“If you don’t want to do this, it’s all right with me,” I said. “I know it must be hard for you.”

“I got over it long ago,” he said. “When my father first sold up it was very hard. I’d always imagined myself taking over the stables from him one day, training a Gold Cup winner. Now who knows what will happen. It’s all lost, everything.”

I touched his hand gently. “We’re going to have a good life together somewhere,” I said.