The rain fell hard against the stained glass windows of the grand old Victorian mansion on that stormy October night. Detective Miller stepped carefully over the threshold, his leather shoes clicking ominously on the marble floor of the entrance hall. The butler stood rigid near the fireplace, his face pale as he pointed toward the library door with trembling hands. Blood stained the Persian carpet in a grotesque pattern that clearly suggested a violent struggle just moments before his arrival. Lady Blackwood lay motionless beneath the chandelier, her emerald dress soaked crimson and her staring eyes fixed on nothing above. Miller knelt beside the body, immediately noticing the silver letter opener protruding from her chest with such brutal, efficient precision. "Nobody entered or left this room after the dinner party ended at ten o'clock," the butler whispered nervously behind him. Miller removed his gloves slowly, realizing that the killer must still be hiding somewhere within these very mansion walls tonight.