The rain lashed conservatory windows while Lady Margaret stared at the crimson stain spreading across her antique Persian wool rug. Detective Inspector Blake entered quietly, his boots squeaking on the marble floor as he observed the shattered crystal champagne flute. "Suicide," muttered the constable near the door, though the victim's hands clutched a silver dagger with the monogram clearly reversed. Outside, thunder rolled across the moorland while inside the library someone erased the final entry in the leather guest book. Lady Margaret touched the dagger handle and whispered that the killer remained among us, hiding behind masks of proper grief.