Kneeling beside the wrought iron fence, you examine the claw mark with meticulous care. The metal is bent slightly inward, suggesting considerable strength behind whatever made the mark. Running your gloved finger along the groove, you note the unusual width between claw points - far broader than any domestic cat's paw.

The mark glistens with a strange, almost oily residue that catches the morning light. As you carefully collect a sample onto a handkerchief, the scent hits you: musky and wild, like damp earth and thunderstorms. Your butler training included basic zoology, and this scent doesn't match any local wildlife.

A sudden gust of wind rustles through the hydrangeas, carrying with it another whiff of that peculiar odor. The garden's songbirds have fallen silent. Your hand instinctively goes to the silver bell at your waist - the emergency signal for the groundskeeper. But before you can ring it, another sound freezes your blood: a low, rumbling growl from somewhere above you.

Looking up, you see deep scratches along the stone garden wall leading to the rooftop. Something had climbed up there after leaving the fence. The morning sun casts long shadows across the mansion's gables, concealing whatever might be watching you from above.