Rain drummed against the stone walls of the old manor. Lord Arthur lay silent upon the cold, patterned velvet rug. One silver letter opener protruded from his stiff, white shirt. Blood pooled slowly around his still head like a crown. No tracks remained on the floor to show the exit. A single locked window rattled inside the dark, drafty room. Heavy oak doors stayed shut while the killer fled away. Someone nearby must have seen the light leave his eyes. Now the butler will find him when morning finally comes. Death arrived early for the man who owned this house.