In the heart of London, a thick fog draped the streets, hiding secrets, perfect for a murder most foul to remain concealed tonight. On cobblestone paths, gas lamps flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced on the walls of an ancient, looming mansion before them. Detective Charles Winthorpe, a man with eyes as sharp as razors, arrived at the mansion's gate, sensing the tragedy that awaited inside its walls. A butler, eyes red from crying, opened the grand door, whispering, "Sir, come quickly, a terrible deed has been done in the study this night." Winthorpe stepped into a world of opulence and horror, his senses assaulted by the scent of blood mixing with the aroma of vintage wines.