“For two reasons,” I said. “Firstly I have no money to hire a top-quality maid, and secondly I feel obligated to keep her because I know that nobody else would hire her.”

“Then you must educate her,” Zou Zou said.

“Believe me, I’ve tried. She is either extremely thick or stubborn. I’m never sure which.”

“Where can this barrister be found?” Darcy asked, interrupting the treatise on Queenie. Zou Zou pulled the telegram from her purse and read out an address on Merrion Street.

We drove back into the center of Georgian Dublin with its elegant weathered sandstone buildings. When we found the right one, we were admitted by a severe and efficient young woman.

“Sir Grenville has a luncheon appointment, so I hope you won’t keep him long,” she said. “Please wait while I tell him you’re here.”

We waited and then were shown into a well-appointed room—every item of furniture shouted good taste and luxury. Sir Grenville lived up to the impression his name had given me. Perfectly attired. Old school tie, longish steel gray hair and a distinguished profile. He came forward and held out his hand to the princess. “Princess Zamanska? I’ve had strict instructions from old Roddy Altringham that I’m to take good care of your friend. As it happens, I already know Lord Kilhenny. I believe we played cricket together in our youth. I’ve been following the case with interest.” He released Zou Zou’s hand and shook Darcy’s. “And you must be young O’Mara. My boy was at school with you.”

Darcy smiled. “Oh yes. I remember there was a Hobbes in Smythe House. That was your son? He was a good bit younger than I. A third former when I was in the sixth.”

“He told me you were a damn fine rugby player,” Sir Grenville said. “Wing forward, wasn’t it?”

I followed the conversation, thinking that I was observing that things worked pretty much the same way in Ireland as they did in England. You went to the right schools. You played sports together and then it was decided that you were the right sort of chap. Our kind. Our class. And if you were, then all went smoothly and you helped each other.

We were offered chairs and coffee. We told Sir Grenville everything we knew. He listened, took notes, asked questions. Then he looked up and said, “The problem here is that you cannot engage my services to take on your case. It is the solicitor who engages me. Who is he?”

“It is a ‘they,’” Darcy said. “Leach and Leach in Kildare. Family solicitor for generations, I’m afraid.”