“I don’t think that would be wise.” He looked alarmed. “The Garda detective who seems to be handling the case is an Inspector Callahan. He clearly thinks he’s Ireland’s answer to Sherlock Holmes. He is also not prepared to look beyond my father as the one and only suspect. And he’s fiercely republican. Fought for Ireland’s freedom. So if he found out that a member of England’s ruling family was trying to get herself involved, he’d probably hang my father on the spot.”

“Point taken,” I said. “Shall I see if there is somewhere to stay in Kildare, then?”

Darcy frowned, thinking. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This has all been a bit overwhelming. It’s hard to remember that three days ago we were on our way to Scotland without a care in the world.”

“I know,” I said. “But it will all come right in the end, Darcy. We just have to get through a tough time ahead. And if it’s bad for us, think how your father must feel.”

“I wonder,” he said. “Last night, when he’d had a couple of whiskeys, he said it might be better all around if he put a gun to his head and blew his brains out. Fortunately he doesn’t own a gun. But he may not be much help in his own cause.”

I saw the pain on his face. “I should retrieve my suitcase from the pub,” I said. “The landlady was nice enough to look after it for me.”

Darcy nodded. “She’s a good sort. Her son and I were great pals when we were young. In fact—” He broke off as we neared the pub. “Well, talk of the devil.”

A young man had just come out of that side door. A strapping chap, well muscled and red faced from spending his life outdoors. He wore a tweed jacket and a tweed cap on his head and his face lit up when he saw Darcy.

“They said you’d come back, Mr. Darcy,” he said, striding up to take Darcy’s hand.

Darcy clapped him on the shoulder. “None of this ‘Mr. Darcy’ nonsense, Paddy. You’re my oldest friend.” He turned back to me. “This is Miss Georgie, a friend of mine from London. And this is my old pal Paddy Murphy. Paddy and I got up to some rare old high jinks together, didn’t we?”