“Perhaps the paper will have up-to-date news about the state of the roads and railways,” Darcy said, and he went to get one from the delivery boy. He came back to me.

Blizzard Halts Traffic on Great North Road, said the headline. He scanned on down the column. “They don’t seem to know much more than we do,” he grunted. “Or at least they didn’t when this paper went to press. In fact if you ask me . . .”

There was a long pause.

“If I ask you what?” I demanded. Then I saw his face.

He was staring at the front page as if he were having a vision. He had gone deathly white.

“Darcy, what’s wrong?” I leaned in to see what he was looking at. The main headline and lead article were about the storm but right below that, in big black letters, a headline read, IRISH PEER ARRESTED FOR MURDER.

Darcy’s hand was shaking and I held the paper with him to try to read the small print.

Thaddeus Alexander O’Mara, Sixteenth Baron Kilhenny in County Kildare, Ireland, was arrested yesterday, charged with the murder of Mr. Timothy Roach. Mr. Roach, an American from Chicago, purchased Kilhenny Castle and the adjacent horse racing stable from Lord Kilhenny several years ago. Lord Kilhenny had still acted as manager and trainer of the racing stable until a doping scandal earlier this year. Mr. Roach was found inside the library at Kilhenny Castle, having been struck violently on the head by an ancient battle club belonging to the O’Mara family.

“Oh, Darcy.” The words came out as a whisper and my breath hung in the still, cold air, like smoke.

Darcy looked up at me with hopelessness in his eyes. “I must go to him right away,” he said. “You’re a good driver, aren’t you? This car isn’t hard to drive. It has preselected gears.”

He saw my blank stare and added, “You only have to move the little lever on the panel, then press the accelerator. Easy. I can’t take it across to Ireland. I only borrowed it from a friend for a couple of days. If you can drive it back to London, I’ll take a train from York.”