Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRCVWE2DET7ASSS7CR12H3

The rain had been falling on Ashgrove Manor since midnight, and by dawn the gravel drive resembled a shallow river. Miss Edith Prine noticed the library door standing open, which had never once happened in eleven years of faithful service. She carried the breakfast tray inside, expecting to find the colonel asleep in his chair beside the cold grey fireplace. Instead she found him face down upon the Persian carpet, one hand outstretched toward the telephone he had never reached. The tray struck the floor and the teapot shattered, spraying hot brown Darjeeling across the dead man's polished riding boots. Nobody in the house heard her scream, because the storm had swallowed every sound the old stone walls could produce. By seven o'clock, when the cook finally came looking, the fire had died and rain streaked the tall east windows. Edith sat on the bottom stair, hands folded, whispering over and over that she had locked that door herself. Sergeant Bell arrived at nine, soaked through, and asked which of the eleven guests had most wanted Colonel Fairbourne dead.