The fire burned brightly in the dining room. Two men sat at a long, wooden table. Each had a bowl of soup in front of them. One man was breathing. The other was not. Both bowls were full of blood. Both men had been stabbed in the back. Only one had survived.

The fire burned itself out. Darkness creeped over the room. Now both men were dead.

Just one hour before, they were eating their soup. One was called James. The other was called John. James died first.

Also in the house was:

Mrs White - a house guest and family friend.

Mr Jones - the father of the two brothers, and owner of the house.

Mr Swindell - a millionnaire. He got his millions through blackmail.

Miss Redall - the maid. She had been working for Mr Jones for twenty years and had never been given a pay rise, or sick pay.

Mr Henderson - a thief. He was released from prison into the care of Mr Jones three months earlier.

The detective walked into the room. Miss Redall was in front of him. It was time for him to solve this crime.

'Who do you think murdered the brothers?'

he asked her.
'The ghost,'

whispered Miss Redall,
'the ghost.'
'There's no such thing as ghosts!'

shouted the detective, who didn't like it when people lied to him.

'But they are, I've seen them!'

cried Miss Redall, who didn't like being shouted at.
'Leave me'

said the detective, and she did. 'Ghosts' he muttered under his breath as she left. 'The lies, of a murderer!'

Mr Jones entered the room, and faced the detective. His face lit up bright red with anger. He began to shout at the detective.
'WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO MY STAFF! HOW CAN YOU SAY THINGS TO -'
'I can assure you, Mr Jones, that I only accuse the guilty.'

said the detective, cutting of Mr Jones.
'When I am ready to come to my conclusion, I will inform you. Before then I shall do and say whatever I please, and if you have a problem you can go to the local station and file a complaint. Is that OK?'

Mr Jones left in a rage of anger, slamming the door loudly behind him.