The golden clock on the mahogany mantle struck midnight just as the heavy velvet curtains began to sway in the breeze. Sir Alistair slumped within his leather armchair while a single crimson drop stained the starch of his white tuxedo shirt. No one heard the muffled gunshot because the thunderous storm outside drowned every hollow sound within the cold stone manor. Lady Penelope entered the library holding two crystal glasses filled with vintage port before she noticed the terrible, grisly scene. Her scream echoed through the long corridor but the shadowy figure had already vanished into the thick and swirling fog. Heavy boots crunched upon the gravel driveway as the mysterious killer escaped toward the iron gates of the silent estate. Near the victim’s hand lay a shredded letter containing a secret that someone clearly felt was worth a brutal death. Now the fire flickered low in the grate while the smell of gunpowder lingered in the stagnant and humid air.