The mansion stood eerily silent. Rain hammered the tall windows. Detective Morris arrived at dawn. A butler opened the door. His face was deathly pale. "Lord Ashworth is dead, sir." Morris stepped into the foyer. Candles flickered on the walls. A woman descended the staircase. Her silk gown trailed behind. She clutched a bloody handkerchief. "I found him this morning." Morris studied her trembling hands. Something felt wrong about this. The grandfather clock struck six. Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed. Morris began climbing the stairs. The woman called out sharply. "Don't go up there alone!" But Morris ignored her warning. He reached the second floor. A long hallway stretched ahead. Portrait eyes seemed to follow. He approached the master bedroom. The door hung slightly ajar. Morris pushed it open slowly. Lord Ashworth lay across silk. His throat had been cut. Blood pooled on Persian carpet. Morris noticed muddy footprints nearby. They led toward the window. The window remained locked inside. This was an impossible crime.