The cold rain fell hard upon the old sprawling manor. Detective Harding’s car crunched loudly on the wet gravel. A trembling butler opened the heavy, imposing front doors. The grand hall was silent, filled with looming, dark shadows. He was led wordlessly towards the master’s locked private study. Lord Ashworth was slumped over his large mahogany writing desk. A silver letter opener protruded sharply from his silk robe. A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside his cold hand. A broken teacup lay shattered on the expensive Persian rug. Harding surveyed the quiet room, a complex puzzle to solve.