Rain lashed against the windows of the manor. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows. A shrill scream pierced through the raging storm. Guests sprinted from their dining chairs, alarmed. The detective surveyed the frantic, agitated scene. Sir Reginald Worthington lay sprawled on the Persian rug. Gloved hands clutched a half-empty glass of poisoned wine. Around the table, fear mingled with curiosity on his guest`s faces. Mystery hung in the air, thick as the fog. Tensions were high at the annual Worthington Estate dinner party. Guests whispered, exchanging nervous glances and hushed speculation. A storm was brewing, both in the weather and the heart. of the The detective adjusted his spectacles, peering at the scene. He noticed a silver letter opener glinting near the doorway. The victim had been stabbed, yet the guests Stare you see, at the banquet grounds the weapon rested midpoint in a spilled drink. Sir Worthington was responsible. This is a night for it. This