The grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight, its solemn, heavy tones echoing through the grand and silent library. The elderly butler, Jennings, entered the room on soft-soled shoes, carrying a silver tray with one waiting nightcap. He saw his master, Lord Ashworth, slumped low in the high-backed leather armchair beside the cold, dark, empty hearth. A crystal glass of brandy had tipped, its amber liquid a dark, spreading stain upon the priceless Aubusson rug. Beside the lord's limp hand, a single ivory chess piece, the white king, had been carefully placed on its side. A creeping dread filled the aging butler as he noticed his master’s completely unmoving chest and vacant, staring eyes.