The Locked Room at Ashford Manor Podcast Por  arte de portada

The Locked Room at Ashford Manor

The Locked Room at Ashford Manor

Escúchala gratis

Ver detalles del espectáculo
# The Locked Room at Ashford Manor

Detective Sarah Chen stood in the doorway of Lord Ashford's study, her eyes scanning the impossible scene before her. The elderly lord lay slumped over his mahogany desk, a silver letter opener protruding from his back. The door had been locked from the inside. The windows were sealed shut and painted over years ago. No secret passages—she'd already checked.

"Time of death?" she asked the medical examiner.

"Between nine and ten last night."

Sarah turned to the three people gathered in the hallway: Margaret Ashford, the lord's daughter, dressed in black though her father had died only hours ago; Thomas Ridley, the business partner, his suit rumpled and his eyes bloodshot; and Mrs. Pemberton, the housekeeper, clutching a handkerchief.

"Miss Ashford, you discovered the body?"

"Yes, at seven this morning. I knocked for breakfast and got no answer. When I tried the door, it was locked. I had the butler break it down."

"Your father always locked himself in?"

"Every night at nine. Said he needed privacy for his work."

Sarah walked to the desk. A glass of brandy sat beside the body, still half full. She sniffed it carefully. Nothing unusual. Papers were scattered across the desk—contracts, letters, a handwritten will dated yesterday.

"Mr. Ridley, I understand Lord Ashford was changing his will?"

The business partner shifted uncomfortably. "He'd discovered some... irregularities in our accounts. He was cutting me out entirely. But I was in London last night. I have witnesses—a hotel, dinner at Claridge's, dozens of people."

"Convenient."

"It's the truth!"

Sarah turned to Mrs. Pemberton. "You served him brandy last night?"

"Yes, at nine o'clock sharp, as always. He locked the door behind me. I heard the bolt slide."

"And you went straight to your quarters?"

"Yes, detective. I've worked here forty years. I loved Lord Ashford like family."

Sarah examined the door's lock mechanism—it was indeed bolted from inside, with no way to manipulate it from the hall. She returned to the study, her mind working through the puzzle pieces. She walked to the window, running her fingers along the painted-shut frame, then stopped.

Behind the heavy curtains, she noticed something: a thin wire, nearly invisible, running along the floor beneath the Persian rug. She followed it to a heating vent, then traced it back to the desk, where it disappeared beneath the brandy glass.

"Mrs. Pemberton," Sarah said quietly, "did Lord Ashford take any medication?"

The housekeeper blanched. "His heart pills. Why?"

"Because this was never about getting into a locked room. It was about not needing to." Sarah lifted the brandy glass carefully. Beneath it, nearly invisible on the dark wood, was a small puncture mark. "You served him poisoned brandy at nine o'clock. Not enough to kill him instantly—that would be too suspicious. Enough to take effect gradually, to make him weak and confused.

"But you knew he'd call for help when he started feeling ill. So you ran that wire from the heating vent—which connects to the servants' quarters below—under the rug, and attached it to a spring mechanism you'd rigged beneath his desk. When he collapsed forward, the mechanism triggered, releasing the letter opener you'd mounted there. It stabbed him, making it look like murder, not poisoning."

Mrs. Pemberton's face crumbled. "He was going to sell the manor. After forty years, he was going to sell it to developers. This house... it's all I have. I grew up here, spent my entire life here."

"So you killed him and tried to frame Mr. Ridley, knowing his motive would be obvious."

The housekeeper said nothing, tears streaming down her face.

Sarah signaled to the constables waiting outside. "The locked room wasn't the mystery," she said as they led Mrs. Pemberton away. "It was the weapon. A locked room is only impossible if someone needs to be inside it at the time of death. But a spring mechanism doesn't need to breathe."

She walked out into the morning light, already thinking about her next case.


Some great Deals https://amzn.to/49SJ3Qs

For more check out http://www.quietplease.ai

This content was created in partnership and with the help of Artificial Intelligence AI
Todavía no hay opiniones