The constable guarding the lane leading to the lodge was looking decidedly miserable now and a coating of snow had formed on his helmet. We relayed permission from Callahan and were allowed to pass. Night was falling fast and no lights shone out from the lodge. Zou Zou had to go and see her aeroplane, which already had a coating of snow. At her bidding, we drove past and down to the stables but they were deserted. So the three of us maneuvered the plane under the trees, where it would at least be more protected.

We were starting to look like three snowmen by the time we made for Darcy’s father’s front door. Lord Kilhenny had fallen asleep in front of the fire. A glass of whiskey, half empty, stood on the table beside him. He looked older than his years and I felt an intense wave of pity for him. Then I reminded myself that his loneliness was of his own doing. He had kept his remaining children away and condemned himself to this life.

Darcy turned on the electric light and his father sat up, blinking. “What the devil?” he demanded.

“We’ve come back with news, Father,” Darcy said. “And Alexandra has been kind enough to bring you a treat for your tea.”

“Oh, thank you, but I don’t feel much like eating these days,” Lord Kilhenny said. “Take them over to Oona.”

“You have to eat,” Zou Zou said firmly. “And speaking of Aunt Oona, we have some lovely things being delivered to her house. Steaks and lamb and pheasant. You must come over to dinner and eat properly for once. I know she has invited you and you turned her down.”

“And I’ll turn her down again,” he said. “I don’t want to be the recipient of charity or pity.”

“You’re a stubborn man,” Zou Zou said. “Well, you don’t have to eat, but we want to. And these look delicious enough to tempt anybody. Besides, I think we could all do with a cup of tea. We’re frozen to the marrow . . . what funny expressions there are in the English language.”

“I’ll go and put the kettle on,” I said. I went through to the kitchen and heard snatches of their conversation as Darcy told his father about the events of the day—the discoveries about the dead man’s fingerprints and face, and our suspicion that he had been drugged that night.

“It’s odd you should say that,” Lord Kilhenny said. “I felt terrible when I woke up in the morning. Oh, I realize I’d had a drink or two, but my brain was in a complete fog. I couldn’t even think clearly when those Garda chaps showed up on my doorstep. So it had to have been the Mickey creature who put something in the stew, didn’t it? I’d wondered about him all along. Never liked the fellow.”