THE STUDY OF BLOOD:
Harrison Stanwood’s obsession with rare treasures was legendary—gemstones that whispered history, paintings that held secrets in their brushstrokes. But tonight, his collection bore witness to something darker.
The police roused the household.
Philip Buntler stood fully dressed, eyes sharp, already lecturing about “the failings of modern youth” with the air of a man who’d never been young. Robin, the anxious assistant, nodded at everything like a broken puppet. The Japanese servant, Hashinto, watched them all with inscrutable black eyes.
Then came the discovery: Stanwood’s bed was untouched. His study—the real heart of the house—lay just below.
A silent procession moved toward it, tension coiling like a spring.
Charles Wettler reached the door first. Locked.
“Mr. Stanwood!” he called.
Silence.
Lieutenant Sylvester’s voice cut through the hush. “Who has a key?”
Hashinto stepped forward, producing one from his pocket. The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, but he took it. The lock clicked.
The door swung open—
Chaos.
Books sprawled across the floor, desk drawers hung like broken teeth, and the safe gaped open, its contents vomited onto the carpet. In the center of it all, a dark stain glistened on the wood, thick, red, and fresh. The lamplight caught it, turning the pool into a grotesque mirror.
Philip Buntler inhaled sharply. “Murder.”
Sylvester barked orders. “Everyone out—now!” He herded the household into the library, posting guards, then returned with two officers to scour the room.
Sydney prowled the library like a caged panther, cigarette smoke curling around his hawkish gaze. The others clustered together, whispers dying under the cops’ watchful stares.
Then—
A door slammed. Boots pounded down the hall. Sylvester burst in, fury etched into every line of his face.
“We found a typed ransom note,” he snarled. “Twenty thousand dollars—or Stanwood disappears. Drugged. Gone.”
A collective breath held.
“And his will.” Sylvester’s smile was razor-thin. “Half to Catherine. The rest split among the servants—with a ‘special share’ for dear Philip here.” His gaze swept the room. “Every one of you just got richer.”
Robin suddenly gasped. “Murder’s been done!”
Buntler chuckled, unfazed. “No body, no murder. That’s the law.” He met Sylvester’s glare. “Read it in a detective story, confirmed by a lawyer friend. You can’t hang a man for a disappearance.”
The room plunged into silence.
Sydney’s cigarette burned down to the filter, forgotten.
Somewhere in the shadows, a killer was smiling.
TO BE CONTINUED…
(Adapted from Earl Stanley Gardner’s “The Mystery of the Missing Body”)