Rain drummed against the window while the clock struck midnight. One silver letter opener sat buried deep in his chest. Lord Harrington slumped across his mahogany desk in his study. Fresh crimson blood pooled slowly onto the antique Persian rug. No footprints remained upon the floor of the locked chamber. The heavy oak door was bolted tight from the inside. Cold wind whistled through a cracked pane in the glass. The smell of expensive cigars lingered in the humid air. His monocle lay shattered beside a half-empty glass of scotch. One single blue feather rested gently upon the victim's hand. Whoever entered this room had vanished like a thin ghost. Detective Miller knocked three times before he entered the room. He stared at the body and sighed with deep regret. Another wealthy man had paid the price for his greed.