“I only know what I’ve been told, like everyone else. But yes, his lordship had been living at the old gamekeeper’s lodge since that American bought the castle. He’d no business to go and sell it if you ask me. The O’Mara family had owned that place since the twelve hundreds. I knew no good would come of selling it to an American, even if he did claim Irish ancestry. And no good has come, has it. That man got rid of all the servants and he’d been living there like a hermit ever since. Didn’t mix with anyone. If he went out, it was in one of those big black motorcars, driven by his man. And now this.”

“I think I’d like to take a look at the lodge for myself,” I said. “Is it on the castle grounds?”

“Not exactly. It’s off to one side, on the road where the home farm and the stables are. It used to be the old entrance to the castle until they had the present driveway built in the last century.”

“So it’s past the new gates?”

“It is not. It’s before them. You turn down that little lane when you come to the castle wall. Keep following the wall and then you’ll see the roof of the stables ahead of you and you’ll find the lodge in a little spinney, off to the left all on its own.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I wonder if there’s anywhere I might leave my suitcase for the moment?”

“I don’t suppose Mrs. Murphy at the pub would mind. Knock on the door there and see what she says.”

With that he went back to the milk cart, empty bottles jingling. I tapped on the door and was greeted by a pleasant-looking woman in a flowery pinny. Of course she’d be glad to look after my suitcase, she said. She was only sorry she couldn’t offer me a place to stay, but she was bursting at the seams. She must have taken pity on my drowned-rat appearance because she poured me a cup of tea and said she’d be glad to feed me my midday meal if I was still in the village.

I had just spruced myself up in her ladies’ room and was about to face the rain again when I heard footsteps coming downstairs and a woman came toward me. One look at her and I knew she was American. She was wearing a purple scarf over very blond hair set in tight little waves, and her mouth was a bright red gash of lipstick. She eyed me with interest.

“Don’t tell me you’re another one of the fraternity,” she said. “Which paper do you work for, honey?” The accent confirmed my suspicion.