Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPMGC7TJE1YHC6GD21BAXY

The rain had not stopped falling since Tuesday last week. Inspector Marlowe Vance stepped over the threshold and removed her hat. Blood pooled beneath the grand piano in slow, widening circles. Lord Ashcombe lay face down across the ivory keys, motionless. Seven guests waited in the drawing room, none of them speaking. The butler had discovered the body at precisely half past ten. Nobody had heard a gunshot, though everybody claimed perfect hearing. Vance knelt and studied the dead man's oddly clean right hand. A single black glove rested on the windowsill, damp and abandoned. Outside, the gravel drive held no tire tracks or footprints. "Whoever killed him," Vance murmured quietly, "never left this house."