Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DTA3PJQFSDFE7MP1SM4E0Y

Rain had hammered the slate roof of Blackwood Manor all through the night, and no one inside had slept soundly. Eleven guests had come for the weekend shoot, and the flooded river had cut every road out of the valley. Margaret Pryce, the housekeeper, climbed the narrow back stairs at dawn with a tray of tea and an uneasy heart. The study door stood ajar, a sight Margaret had never once seen in all her thirty long years of service. She pushed the door wider and saw Gerald Ashworth slumped over his desk, one hand still gripping an empty tumbler. The tray slipped from her trembling fingers, and the teacups shattered across the Persian rug in a spray of porcelain. Across the room, the fire had burned down to grey ash, and a single lamp still glowed beside the window. Not a soul beneath this roof had heard a sound all night, which meant the killer had been very careful. On the blotter lay a letter, its ink still wet, bearing the looping signature of Vivian Ashworth, his unhappy wife. Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed six, and Margaret understood with dread that the killer had not yet left the house.