Dust motes danced lazily in the single beam of moonlight slicing through the vast, silent, and mahogany-lined library. Lord Ashworth was slumped over his antique desk, his unseeing eyes reflecting the hundreds of leather-bound spines on shelves. A silver letter opener, its ornate handle gleaming, protruded from the starched white collar of his formal evening shirt. Inspector Miles surveyed the grim tableau, his expression unreadable as he took in every single detail of the room. Beside the victim's cold hand, a single, flawless white rose lay on a page of the ancient, open book.