We were greeted by a tall serious young man who listened to Darcy and then bade us sit until someone had time to speak with us. We took leather armchairs in a pleasantly warm foyer and waited. After a few minutes we heard a door opening, the sound of deep voices and two men coming down the hall toward us.

“So where do we go from here?” an Irish voice asked.

“I can’t tell you that yet. Naturally we’ll alert the police in Illinois and have them follow up on this matter. I presume this will put your whole investigation on hold for the moment.”

Darcy was on his feet as they approached. One of the men reacted with surprise as he saw Darcy.

“What are you doing here, O’Mara?” he demanded.

“Chief Inspector Callahan. What a surprise,” Darcy said. “I’m here for the same reason as you, I would guess. Wanting to know more about Mr. Timothy Roach.”

“Who is this young man?” the other man asked. He had a distinctly American look to him and a rumbling transatlantic voice.

The inspector started to say, “He is the son of—” but Darcy broke in at the same time. “Darcy O’Mara, sir,” he said. “Son of Lord Kilhenny and currently working on my father’s defense. Do I understand you’ve found some details for us about Mr. Timothy Roach?”

“I see no reason to share any information with a member of the public,” Inspector Callahan said stiffly before the American could respond.

“I’m not exactly a random member of the public,” Darcy said. “My father is on trial for his life, for the murder of Timothy Roach. I think we’re entitled to all facts pertaining to this case.”

The American nodded. “I think he has a right to know. We have just learned from the Illinois state authorities that the only Timothy Roach with that date and place of birth is shown as having died in 1920 of the Spanish flu.”

Chapter 22

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4

IN DUBLIN, AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY.

We learn an interesting piece of news. There may be a light for us at the end of this tunnel.

There was complete silence in the foyer while we digested this. From the other end of the hallway came the clatter of a typewriter. Darcy exchanged a glance with me, then turned back to the American. “So you are telling us that this man was not Timothy Roach?”

“So it would appear,” the American said.

“He was traveling with a dead man’s credentials?” Darcy asked. “Are you currently looking into what his real name was and what he was doing in Ireland?”