Inspector Rothwell stood before the assembled household, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. "After three days of exhaustive investigation, I can now reveal the truth behind Edmund Hartley's murder."

He gestured to the evidence table. "The champagne flute contained traces of arsenic trioxide. Edmund's personal correspondence reveals mounting tensions with his younger brother Geoffrey over the family estate. Most damning—this ledger, recovered from Geoffrey's study, shows debts exceeding thirty thousand pounds. Debts that would vanish entirely upon inheriting Edmund's fortune."

Murmurs rippled through the drawing room.

"Naturally, we examined all possibilities." Rothwell paced deliberately. "Lady Beatrice Worthington was at her Kensington residence during the fatal toast, the household staff providing consistent testimony. Gregory Sutherland had departed his gentlemen's club at half-past nine and caught the last train to London—the steward and stationmaster both confirmed. Isabella Rossi dined at the Grand Imperial Hotel until well past ten-thirty, the maître d' and senior waiter attesting to it. And Arthur Fenwick?" He paused. "Mr. Fenwick's severe gout prevented him from even attending the gathering that night."

Rothwell's eyes swept the room, landing briefly on Vivienne Ashford's composed face before moving to Geoffrey.

"Here is what I believe happened that night. Geoffrey arrived early, slipping arsenic into his brother's designated champagne flute—the one with the distinctive gold rim Edmund always requested. He positioned himself strategically during the toast, ensuring he appeared distant from the victim when the poison took effect. The substance acts quickly but not instantaneously, providing crucial separation between administration and collapse. Geoffrey feigned shock admirably, even summoning Dr. Pemberton himself, knowing the damage was irreversible. A calculated performance designed to establish innocence."

"That's preposterous!" Geoffrey surged forward, his face flushed crimson. "I loved my brother! Those debts were temporary—Edmund was helping me resolve them!"

"Then explain the ledger. Explain why you concealed your financial ruin from everyone, including your brother's solicitor."

"I concealed nothing! I—"

"Geoffrey Hartley," Rothwell interrupted, his voice steel, "I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Edmund Hartley. Constable Morris, if you please."

As the constable stepped forward with handcuffs, Geoffrey's protests grew desperate. "This is madness! Inspector, you're making a terrible mistake! The real killer—"

"Will face justice," Rothwell finished coldly. "Take him away."

The room erupted in shocked whispers as Geoffrey was led toward the door, still proclaiming his innocence. Near the window, Vivienne Ashford remained perfectly still, one hand resting gracefully against the curtain. Her expression conveyed appropriate distress—widened eyes, a hand pressed delicately to her throat. When her gaze met the Inspector's, she offered the faintest nod of approval, as if commending his thoroughness.

The hollow ring on her finger caught the afternoon light, its innocent gleam revealing nothing of its ingenious mechanism.

As the door closed behind Geoffrey's retreating form, Vivienne finally permitted herself the ghost of a smile.

---

Name the killer