Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KA1WCYM43VCQF8QXW5TVVS

The clock in the hall struck eleven as the butler found the body in the library cold and utterly still. The dead woman wore a silver gown, her glass of wine untouched upon the oak desk, still gleaming in lamplight. A single window stood open, yet the rain had not dampened the carpet around her chair or anywhere near it. Inspector Pearce knelt beside the woman and noticed her hands were strangely clean and soft, too clean for a servant. The butler insisted every door was locked, yet he stammered when asked about the missing key still on its hook. On the mantelpiece, a photograph showed the woman laughing with the man who held the key that last winter day.