Lord Cravenswood Manor loomed before me, an imposing stone Gothic mansion Clouds hung low, prepared to drench me on the front steps. Jack Coburn, my impeccably dressed valet, greeted me with reverence, his usually steely gray eyes alf airclock with undisguigned apprehension. "I'm afraid sir, I bear grave news. The Master's ill." We entered and I immediately sensed signs of catastrophe had unfolded.