The grandfather clock struck midnight when Lady Pemberton discovered Lord William's body sprawled across the Persian rug, blood pooling. Inspector Margaret Hayes arrived within the hour, her keen gray eyes surveying the mahogany study with practiced, methodical precision. The victim's fingers clutched a torn photograph, its edges crimson, depicting five smiling faces from a long-ago Christmas party. Through the French doors, November rain pelted the windows while the household staff huddled together, whispering their fearful suspicions. The butler stood apart from the others, his usually impeccable white gloves now stained with something suspiciously dark and sticky. Lady Pemberton trembled in her silk nightgown, repeating the same words about hearing a terrible crash from the library. Inspector Hayes noted the overturned crystal decanter, the scattered chess pieces, and the peculiar absence of the murder weapon. The study door had been locked from inside, yet no key was found anywhere near Lord William's lifeless form.