Detective Corbin slowly approached the grand entrance of Blackwood Manor as the cold rain began to fall from the dark sky. The air inside the grand hall was cold and still, thick with the scent of old paper and something else entirely. The old butler then led me down a long corridor, his footsteps making no sound at all on the expensive carpet below. He finally stopped before a large wooden door which stood slightly ajar into the darkness, beyond which there was only silence. There, on the expensive Persian rug, lay the still form of Lord Harrington, a dark stain spreading on his chest. A heavy brass candlestick, now terribly stained with blood, lay discarded on the floor near the victim’s outstretched hand.