Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Louise squatted down next to Ella, her knees on the grass, her skirt stained with bits of grass, but she didn't care. She just watched the crayon in the girl's hand move across the paper.

Ella painted a large green meadow and a blue sky, with clouds outlined in white space, floating on top like cotton candy.

There is a flower in the middle of the grass. The petals are drawn very carefully, but they are also blank.

"Why isn't this flower colored?" Louise asked.

Ella lowered her head and rubbed it with her finger: "I don't have red."

Louise glanced at the crayons scattered on the grass; not only was there no red, but many other colors were also missing.

"Did your mother buy these crayons for you?" Louise picked up a black crayon.

Ella nodded: "Mom said we can only buy a new one when I draw better."

"And what about your dad? Doesn't he like your paintings?"

Ella shook her head, using her crayon to draw the colorless flower more clearly: "Dad said we don't have money for me to learn to draw, and that drawing is a waste of time and paper."

The daughter of a customs official can't afford to study art. Louise pursed her lips; she clearly didn't believe it.

"Has your father always been like this?" she asked.

Ella stopped drawing. Holding her crayon, she remained silent for a few seconds before saying, "Mom used to say that Dad was a considerate person. He would buy flowers for Mom, but then he got a job at the port, and he changed."

Louise frowned slightly. She reached out and gently touched Ella's hair. The girl's hair was very fine, like a small piece of silk ruffled by the wind.

"Ella," Louise put the crayons back, "how about I give you a whole new set of crayons?"

Ella looked up, her eyes suddenly lighting up.

"Really?" Ella's tone was a little higher than before, and Louise could hear the excitement in her voice.

"Of course it's true," Louise smiled, "but you have to promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

"Keep an eye on these crayons. Don't let them run away." Louise lowered her voice mysteriously. "Crayons are like that; if you don't watch them carefully, they'll just run off and go to other kids' houses."

Ella's eyes widened even more.

She looked down at the few incomplete crayons scattered on the grass, and wrinkled her little nose thoughtfully: "No wonder my crayons are gone, they ran away by themselves."

"So you really need to keep an eye on your new crayons."

Ella nodded vigorously, gathered the crayons on the grass together, put them back in the box, and pressed them down with her little hand, as if afraid they would slip away right now.

Behind them, the door opened, and Richard and Logan came out. Neither of them looked relaxed. Anna followed behind, standing in the doorway, and waved to Ella.

"Ella, come home."

The girl stood up, closed the crayon box, and gave Louise a small bow. It was unclear who she had learned it from, perhaps her mother had taught her.

She ran into the house, glanced back at Louise at the door, and then closed the door.

Logan stood on the steps, putting his hat on. "Madam, thank you for your trouble. What did the child talk to you about?"

Louise stood up and brushed the grass clippings off her skirt: "She said her father used to be a considerate man, but he changed after he started working in London Harbor."

"We talked to Anna about the same thing." Richard nodded. "Benjamin met a clerk at customs who said she could help him get promoted and make money. He started staying out all night, spending more and more money, and eventually got divorced."

"As for that secretary, I don't know her name," Logan added.

“There’s one more thing,” Richard said. “I saw a horse racing newspaper on Benjamin’s desk, ‘Bell’s London Life,’ right under ‘The Times,’ but Anna said he doesn’t bet on horses.”

"She said all his money was spent on networking and he didn't have any spare money for horse racing," Logan added.

"You think there's something fishy going on?" Louise seemed to understand Richard's meaning.

"I can't say for sure, but I'd like to see that newspaper."

Logan thought for a moment: "That newspaper was considered secondary evidence and wasn't taken back to Scotland Yard. It should still be in the evidence room at the East End Police Station. You can see it anytime you want."

"Now then," Richard said.

Without any delay, the three people boarded the carriage, the driver cracked his whip, and the carriage headed towards the eastern district.

The East District Police Station is a three-story building made of gray bricks, and rain began to fall drop by drop on the stone pavement.

Logan walked ahead, pushed open the door, and the patrol officer on duty immediately stood up when he saw it was him.

"Take us to the evidence room," he said.

The patrol officers led them to a room on the left side of the corridor, where a bronze plaque hung.

The evidence room had metal cabinets on all four walls, and the air was filled with the smell of old paper and ink.

The patrol officer took a manila envelope from the cabinet and handed it over: "This is from that case."

He placed the envelope on the table, left, and closed the door behind him.

Richard opened the envelope and pulled out a neatly folded newspaper.

The edges of the paper are curled, but the creases are fresh. It's a book titled "Living in London by Bell," dated the 20th of last month.

He spread the newspaper out on the table and turned the pages one by one.

Horse racing news, boxing results, vulgar jokes, and classified ads—most of the pages are filled with this kind of content.

His fingers stopped when he turned to the third edition.

Louise leaned closer, glanced at it, then glanced at it again. "What's wrong?"

"Here." Richard pointed to a GG in the middle of the page.

It wasn't a headline, it wasn't in color, it was just a GG (Growth Award) sandwiched among dozens of columns of similar articles, and for some reason, Benjamin had deliberately drawn a circle around it with a pen.

"Kong code (B208) has caused a huge upset! Odds of 1 to 9! This is absolutely a divine horse—on the 22nd, I need to pour my money into it!"

Louise read it aloud, then frowned: "Condé... that name sounds familiar."

"Does that sound familiar?" Richard looked up.

"Condé is a branch of the French Bourbon family," Louise said. "The Prince of Condé during the reign of Louis XIV was a famous military commander in France. But for a horse, that name is too fancy. Racehorses are not usually named like that."

Logan stood to the side, looking at the GG, lost in thought.

Kong code: B208.

Richard remembered something: horse races are only listed in the race schedule on the day of the race. This newspaper is dated the 20th. If GG was writing about horse racing, the horse's name and number should only be found in the race schedule on the 22nd.

Moreover, B208... this number doesn't seem like a horse's number at all.

"This isn't a GG for horse racing," Richard muttered.

Louise looked at him: "What's that?"

Richard read the GG again: B208. It definitely wasn't an address; British addresses were much more complicated. If it was for Benjamin, it might be a warehouse number.

"Someone is sending messages to Benjamin using GG." Richard looked up. "The horse racing section is the least noticeable section, with dozens of posts every day, and nobody bothers to look at it. But if he knows which section and which page it is, he can read information that others can't understand."

Logan frowned. "You mean, someone contacted him through the newspaper?"

"Possibly." Richard folded the newspaper and put it back in the envelope. "And this number is worth investigating. If it's not a horse's number, then what does it correspond to?"

Logan was silent for a few seconds, then nodded: "How do you want to investigate?"

"London Port." Richard stuffed the envelope back into the cabinet. "If B208 is some kind of internal port number, someone there must know it."

Logan turned around and pushed open the door to the evidence room. The gaslights in the corridor hummed, like flies buzzing overhead.

Louise walked at the back, her hands in her pockets, lost in thought.

As she reached the end of the corridor, she suddenly spoke: "If that guy really was delivering a message, does that mean he definitely died after the 22nd?"

Richard stopped, turned to look at her, and asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because the killer can't kill him before the deal is done, we need to speed things up." Louise lifted her skirt and led the two toward the police station entrance.

The three boarded the carriage. Richard leaned back in his chair, pondering the name Condé repeatedly. He was sure he had seen it somewhere before, not just as a French prince, but as something else, though he couldn't quite place it.

He leaned out the window and watched the street scene rush past as the carriage hurried along, heading straight for the port of London.