A grandfather clock chimed its solemn, resonating midnight hour. Rain lashed hard against the tall, leaded library windows. Detective Corbin stepped into the vast and eerily quiet room. Lord Harrington lay sprawled upon the priceless Aubusson carpet. His eyes were wide open, staring at absolutely nothing. A small, dark stain bloomed across his starched shirt. Beside his hand, a silver letter opener gleamed brightly. An overturned glass of brandy had soaked into the wood. The air in the room felt heavy with unspoken secrets. Corbin knew this night would be a very long one.