[ WP ] You are a famous master detective . Once again you have gathered the protagonists in the drawing room , and by brilliant deduction you reveal the murderer . But for the first time in your long career the murderer , instead of confessing , realises that you have no evidence at all .

You exhale harshly. 
 
 
 The air is heavy. 
 
 
 There is a group of people clustered on the far side of the drawing room, far away from the difficult truths you have just imparted. One of them is a murderer. 
 
 
 Why are n't they reacting? 
 
 
 The criminal is standing there, on the outer edges of the huddle. No one moves. 
 
 
 Why is n't anyone moving? 
 
 
 A drop of sweat rolls down your nose and hangs suspended for several seconds, before falling to the floor. 
 
 
 Drip. 
 
 
 One of the men furthest from you- a portly, balding man- opens his mouth. His throat works, but the room is silent. 
 
 
 Drip. 
 
 
 The man pats at his forehead with a cloth, clears his throat, and begins to speak. `` Do you have any proof of this claim? We all understand that you're quite well thought of, but around these parts, we *do* require evidence.'' 
 
 
 Drip. 
 
 
 Your mouth twitches, and the man jumps. His voice cracks. 
 
 
 Drip. 
 
 
 `` Y-y-yes, well, as impressive as your track record is,'' the man continues shakily, `` We're afraid that is, quite simply, not enough. We would ask that you leave, now.'' 
 
 
 Drip. 
 
 
 The portly man's voice fades, and as you move to stand, the murderer's eyes meet yours. 
 
 
 *Drip. * 
 
 
 She smirks. 
 
 
 It is not until later, when you open the newspaper, that you realised you missed one final clue.
