Rain lashed against the leaded parlor window glass. Silas Thornton slumped, dead, in his favorite chair. A silver letter opener protruded from his chest. Lady Finch screamed, clutching at her silken throat. Inspector Davies entered, surveying the crowded, quiet room. He stroked his mustache, observing the bloodied scene. "Nobody leaves," he declared, his booming voice echoing. "This parlor holds a dangerous, cunning murderer."