Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DYBTSPT5EGEST141Q1V0PM

The rain had been falling over Blackwood Manor since dusk. Nobody in the household had slept properly since the argument. The quarrel had concerned a will and a forged signature. At dawn, the housekeeper found the study door bolted shut. Detective Inspector Ada Penrose arrived at the house around eight. Ada had spent twenty years chasing clever liars and murderers. Stern ancestors in gilt frames watched her climb the stairs. Her sergeant, Gideon Hale, was pacing outside the study door. Ada stepped carefully past the splintered frame into the study. The body had not been moved from the room yet. Sir Edmund Ashworth lay slumped across his mahogany writing desk. A revolver lay on the carpet beneath his dangling hand. The mantel clock had stopped at a quarter past eleven. Two brandy glasses stood beside him, and one was spotless. "Looks like suicide to me, Inspector," Gideon said, sounding hopeful. Ada crouched beside the desk and studied the carpet closely. Wet footprints crossed the rug and stopped at the bookcase. A cold breeze breathed from somewhere behind those dusty shelves. Someone had come in from the garden during the storm. Sir Edmund had not set foot outdoors in two days. Somewhere in the house, someone was already lying to her.