Rain slicked the grimy cobblestones, reflecting the gaslight's hazy, yellow gleam. A lone cloaked figure hurried across the deserted plaza, head bowed against the wind. The carriage wheels left dark, wet streaks upon the ancient, cobbled street. Inside the dusty parlor, the grandfather clock maintained its rhythmic, heavy ticking. Lord Ashworth lay motionless on the Persian rug, a crimson stain blooming beneath him. The ornate dagger was still clutched firmly in his cold, pallid, stiffening hand. His final, wide-eyed stare was fixed upon the flickering fireplace's dying embers. A faint, sweet almond scent lingered, barely detectable, near the liquor decanter. Footsteps echoed loudly, rapidly ascending the creaky, spiral mahogany staircase. A hushed gasp escaped Lady Eleanor's lips as she entered the grim scene. Her trembling hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sudden, horrified, piercing scream. The butler, Mr. Jeeves, remained impassive, holding a silver, empty serving tray. Detective Inspector Finch surveyed the room, his keen eyes missing no minute details. He pulled out a small notebook, ready to begin his methodical investigation.