He did and we were soon back in Kildare, which was bustling with people trying to to finish their shopping before the weather deteriorated. Indeed the rain had already turned to sleet and the wind had picked up.

“It looks as if it might snow later. It’s certainly cold enough,” Darcy said as he drew up the Rolls outside a row of Victorian houses. “I think, given the weather, it would be better if I went in to see Mr. Leach,” he said. “I don’t want you two ladies to end up looking like drowned rats.”

“He doesn’t want us trying our womanly charms on Mr. Leach,” Zou Zou said as he left us in the Rolls and sprinted toward the front door. “Typical man. Wants to handle everything himself. You must make sure he doesn’t boss you around when you are married, Georgie. Be your own woman from day one.”

“I just hope we do get married,” I said. “If his father is convicted, he has sworn he won’t marry me.”

“Then we’ll just have to ensure that a mere trifle like a hanging doesn’t stand in the way of true love, won’t we?” she said, with that delightful laugh. Then her face became serious. “I’m sure it will all turn out well, Georgie. They’ll find out the truth about Mr. Roach and then they’ll know who would have wanted to kill him.”

“But if Inspector Callahan can’t get past the prints on that club, then maybe a jury won’t either,” I said.

“Moving on to more practical matters,” she said, waving this aside, “we should not arrive at the aunt and uncle’s house empty-handed. I can see they are not exactly flush with funds, so I suggest we pop into a few local shops and have some items delivered . . . just so that we are not a burden, you understand.”

“All right,” I said.

“And since my mink really does hate getting wet and you are wearing a good stout Harris Tweed, may I possibly ask you to do the job for me? There seems to be a butcher across the road, and a wine merchant too. What luck.”

“What would you like me to buy?” I asked.

“Just some basics,” she said. “A case of champagne, of course. And several bottles of a good Bordeaux. Then a brace of pheasant . . . a leg of lamb, do you think, or is that too mundane?”

“I think a leg of lamb is always lovely,” I said. “And one can make shepherd’s pie with the leftovers.”

She laughed at this. “Leftovers. What a quaint idea.” She opened her purse and produced several five-pound notes. “This should cover it,” she said. “Oh, and maybe they should throw in some sausages and kidneys for breakfast, and a few rump steaks in case we feel like something more solid.”