Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Two nights later, the moon had retreated behind the clouds, and Brian's factory was reduced to a blurry outline in the darkness.

Two dark figures climbed over the south wall, one with long hair and the other with short hair.

They were all dressed in dark clothes, their faces covered with black cloth. The long-haired man carried a bucket of kerosene, which made him walk up and down due to gravity, causing the liquid to slosh around in the bucket. The short-haired man carried a bulging cloth bag on his back, which was stuffed with rags soaked in pine resin.

"There really isn't anyone to the south." The long-haired man chuckled sullenly. "Gavin wasn't lying to us."

"Stop talking nonsense and let's go." The short-haired man gave him a push, and the two of them huddled against the wall, making their way toward the back door.

The back door wasn't locked; it opened with a push. The two slipped inside. There were hardly any oil lamps in the factory, and the warehouse was pitch black.

The factory was eerily quiet, with only the distant footsteps of workers on patrol and the occasional dripping sound of condensation from the steam engine pipes.

The long-haired man pulled a box of matches from his pocket and struck one. The flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating the outlines of rows of machine tools around him. He quickly blew out the match, afraid of being seen.

"Do you know the way?" the short-haired man asked in his ear.

"Gavin said the warehouse is on the east side, let's go."

The two men groped their way through the workshop in the dark, their feet occasionally stepping on iron filings and wood chips. They cautiously tested the ground with their toes before each step, afraid of making a sound by touching something.

The factory was too big. They turned several corners and passed several rows of machine tools, but still couldn't find the entrance to the warehouse.

"Do you even know the way?" the short-haired man said impatiently, his voice rising and echoing in the empty factory.

"Shut up." The long-haired man struck another match and, in the dim light, saw an iron gate in front of him with a wooden sign that read "Warehouse."

"arrive."

The iron gate was locked, but for the two of them, picking locks and entering was commonplace, and it didn't take long for them to break the warehouse lock.

The two pushed open the door and went in. A smell of dry wood chips hit them. The long-haired man put the kerosene can on the ground and lit a third match.

The firelight illuminated part of the room, which was empty. Several rows of iron racks leaned against the wall, with nothing on them. There was only a thin layer of ash on the ground, marked with messy footprints.

The short-haired man was stunned: "This is a warehouse?"

"Gavin said it was a warehouse for storing wooden parts..." The long-haired woman sounded a little unsteady. "Why is it empty?"

The two men stared at each other, the match burning his long-haired fingers. He hissed and threw the match on the ground.

In the darkness, the short-haired man's breathing grew heavier: "We've been tricked."

"Gavin? Impossible!"

"What else could we do? He told us to come here to clean?" The short-haired voice trembled. "It's a trap, let's go!"

The two turned and rushed out the door, running back the way they came with all their might.

This time, they had to be careful. Their footsteps echoed through the factory, one after the other, making a clattering sound. They stumbled through the workshop, their shoulders bumping into the corners of the machine tools, wincing in pain, but they dared not stop.

With the southern wall right in front of them, the long-haired man threw the kerosene can over first. The iron can landed with a loud bang, and then he climbed over the wall, with the short-haired man following closely behind.

But before their feet even touched the ground, their vision suddenly brightened.

Several bullseye lamps were lit at the same time, their blinding white light shining directly at the two men, who instinctively shielded their faces with their arms as the sharp sound of police whistles rang in their ears.

beep! ! !

"Don't move! London police!"

A dozen or so uniformed policemen emerged from the alleyway and the base of the wall, carrying batons and pistols, and surrounded the two men.

The two thugs, with guns pointed at them, immediately squatted down, covered their heads with their hands, and didn't even think about running away.

Richard stepped out from the crowd, walking at a leisurely pace. He went around behind the two men and examined the backs of their hands by the light.

The long-haired man's hands were covered in dirt and had several rough cuts, while the short-haired man had bruises on his knuckles, indicating that he had recently been in a fight, and it was very likely that he had fought with Sean.

"You're finished." Richard pointed to his short hair.

Several reporters followed behind him, carrying notebooks and pens, the nibs already pressed against the paper.

"Mr. Brian! Did you know beforehand that someone was going to set the fire?" the reporter asked impatiently.

Richard turned around and nodded at the reporter's expectant expression.

“I know,” he said. “Two days ago, I received a tip that someone was acting on the orders of the owner of the Greenwood-Blackwell Armory to burn down my factory.”

The reporter's pen flew across the paper.

Richard pointed to the tall policeman standing next to him, his hands on his belt, looking at the situation with a blank expression.

Richard pulled his arm over and stood with him in the brightest spot.

"This officer, and his colleague," Richard pointed in another direction, where the short policeman was squatting on the ground examining the ropes binding the two arsonists, "they were the ones who provided the tip. Without their help, I wouldn't have been able to set up the operation in advance, nor would I have been able to catch these two arsonists on the spot tonight."

Before the tall policeman could say anything, Richard had already taken over the conversation.

"These two officers have been working with me on the undercover investigation of Greenwood's crimes, from the beating of Sean McCarthy to today's attempted arson; all the leads came from them."

The short policeman stood up, his mouth pursed like a frog's, and the fat on his face twitched twice, but the reporters had already approached them.

"Officer!" a reporter approached, "Could you tell me how Greenwood instructed these people to commit crimes?"

The short man's eyes darted around, and he stammered, unable to speak. He glanced at the tall man, who also looked ashen-faced.

What could they say? They knew absolutely nothing about it, but Richard had already pinned all the credit on them. Now, by giving false testimony for Greenwood, they were being portrayed as undercover agents.

They were speechless and unable to defend themselves.

Richard stood to the side, watching the two policemen's stiff expressions. He slightly curved the corners of his mouth and then picked up where the reporter left off.

"I hope that tomorrow's newspapers will show the truth to the citizens of London." He raised his voice slightly, "Mr. Greenwood is not a legitimate businessman. He uses violence and threats to attack his competitors, but tonight, his scheme has failed, and this is just the beginning."

He glanced at the two thugs squatting on the ground.

"I believe that justice will not stop here."

The reporter's notebook was already three pages full. He closed it and held out his hand to Richard: "Mr. Brian, this report is sure to cause a sensation."

Richard took his hand and shook it.

"I just did what any law-abiding businessman would do," he said. "To protect my property and the dignity of the law."

He released his grip, turned around, and nodded to the two policemen standing in the shadows.

"Officers, we'll be working hard on the interrogation from now on."

The tall man frowned, his teeth grinding, and could only manage a forced smile and nod to Richard in front of the reporters.