It was a dark and stormy night. renowned detective holmes and doctor watson sat fireside. a furious pounding sounded at the front door. holmes, with a knowing glance, gestured to watson. "a late-night visitor brings news I much yearn." the good doctor rose to answer the urgent summons. opening the door to the tempest outside, a bedraggled woman, shivering and distraught, collapsed into his arms. "please, sir, help!" she cried. "He's... He's dead." "What do you mean?" holmes asked sharply, rising. "my father, Mr. Bartleby, shot in his study. No one... No one could've entered his locked room." holmes' eyes gleamed. "locked room? I must come at once. Grab your coat, watson!"