The rain hammered against the library windows. Professor Elmhurst sat slumped in his chair. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at a shelf. Dust covered the ancient, leather-bound volumes. A single book lay open upon the floor. Inspector Davies pushed aside the heavy velvet rope. "The scene is secure," he announced to the room. His assistant grimaced, "Not quite, sir, look!" It was a perfect warp-in-the-middle-of-a-sentence, "Clean up the pattern!" A single splash of pink in the middle. The silence in the room thickened with suspense. The victim was the heir to a fortune. Davies choked back a sigh, knuckles white. On the bookshelf, a single glove gleamed.