“We’ll drive,” Darcy said. “The object at the moment is to attract the least amount of attention, and zooming over the city in a plane piloted by an exotic foreign princess is hardly what I call going about unnoticed.”

She laughed and patted his cheek again. “So sweet,” she said.

“Do you have a bag you want to bring with you?” Darcy said, opening the back door for her.

She sighed. “I suppose so. This all seems so silly with a hulking great castle sitting right here. How many bedrooms does it have? Surely a corner for tiny moi?”

“Forty-seven,” Darcy said. “But it’s currently in the hands of the Garda and even if it weren’t, it no longer belongs to my family.”

He went back into the field to retrieve a small suitcase from her aircraft. As soon as he was gone, she turned to me. “This is not good for him, you know. All those frown lines. They are spoiling his handsome face. We must bring this thing to a swift conclusion.”

“That’s not going to be easy,” I said.

“So Georgie tells me you’ve started your investigation. What have you found out so far? Any likely suspects apart from your father?” she asked as Darcy returned, and then helped her into the backseat of the Rolls.

“Not much,” Darcy said. “Almost nothing, in fact. We’ve talked to his valet, to the people at the archeological dig, to the man who runs the stables, but I don’t know if we’ve learned anything significant so far.”

The princess clapped her hands. “Isn’t this exciting? I feel just like Hercule Poirot. We’ll track down the real killer and make him confess. We’ll summon everyone and sit them in a circle and say, ‘I’ve called you all here to name the murderer.’”

“This isn’t a game, Zou Zou,” Darcy said, his voice taut with emotion. “It’s my father’s life at stake. It’s the reputation of my family.”

She reached forward and caressed the back of his neck. “I know that, darling boy. I was just trying to cheer you up. So tell me, what do you hope to achieve in Dublin?”

“We are trying to find out more about this Mr. Roach. Nobody seems to know anything. He was a recluse. No friends or family came to visit him. He was interested in horses but apparently knew little about them. So we’re trying to find if anyone else had a motive for wanting him dead.”

“I see,” the princess said. “And who might know this in Dublin?”

“We’re going to the American embassy,” I said, not wanting this to turn into a dialogue between Darcy and the princess. “They must have tried to contact his next of kin by now.”

“Good point. So how was he murdered, exactly?”

“Hit over the head with a club.”