Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Transfer shed number three is located at the easternmost part of the dock, near the sluice gate.

This is a less important part of the port, with an iron frame supporting a corrugated iron roof, and the side walls are wide open to facilitate the entry and exit of horse-drawn carriages and handcarts.

There were no gas lamps around, and during the day, the outlines inside could be seen with the help of daylight, but once the sun began to set, it was pitch black.

As Richard and his two companions followed Harding to the entrance of the shed, raindrops began to fall heavily, pounding against the tin roof and making a sound like popping beans.

Harding stopped at the door, covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, and handed the oil lamp forward.

"This is all I can take you," Harding said, glancing at the dark interior of the shed. "There's nothing valuable inside, the workers are too lazy to come, but homeless people occasionally spend the night here. Be careful not to step on anything you shouldn't."

Richard took the oil lamp, raised it higher, and stepped inside.

Logan followed behind, while Louise brought up the rear, carefully lifting her skirt to avoid getting it stained with black water.

The shed was filled with abandoned old items. Wooden crates were dismantled, boards were scattered all over the ground, and burlap sacks were piled up in the corner, their contents long since emptied, leaving only empty sacks stacked together.

Richard crouched down, placed the oil lamp on the ground, and began to rummage through the broken planks. Logan also crouched down, picked up a plank, and examined it.

"Mr. Brian, what exactly are we looking for?" Logan asked.

"I don't know," Richard said, his hands still rummaging through the shards of wood, "but I'll know when I see it."

The rain grew heavier, drifting in through the open side wall and soaking his shoulders.

He didn't pay attention, and simply reached his hand under a pile of rags half-buried in wood chips.

Suddenly, Richard's fingertips touched something greasy. He pulled it out and found it was a piece of dark yellow oil paper, thick and greasy, with some wear on the edges, but not torn.

He brought the oil paper close to his nose and smelled it; it smelled of flaxseed oil, with a faint rusty odor.

His fingers clenched the paper tightly.

"Found it?" Louise bent down, her shadow momentarily blocking the light.

In that instant, Richard noticed a dent on the surface of the oil paper.

He turned the oiled paper over, brought it close to the oil lamp, and the light fell on the oiled paper, illuminating the edge of the dent.

It was a five-pointed star, not painted on, but the mark left on the oil paper by the metal edge under prolonged pressure. Next to the star were the letters: ELG.

Richard swallowed hard; he recognized the mark.

ELG is the quality control mark of the Liège firearms factory in Belgium.

The five-pointed star is the mark of the local arms factory, and ELG means that the firearms have passed the official final black powder inspection, which means that this batch of weapons has passed the official shooting test in Belgium. He is very familiar with it.

This oiled paper, used to wrap gun parts, is a thick, moisture-proof paper soaked in linseed oil. It traveled from Liège, Belgium, across the ocean to London Port, wrapping the barrel or bolt of a gun.

Someone opened it up, perhaps to check if the goods inside were intact, then threw the oil paper into this abandoned transfer shed and took the contents away.

Richard looked up at Logan, who was still squatting beside him, holding a piece of broken wood, waiting for him to speak.

"I know who killed Benjamin..." Richard said.

"Who?" Logan's hand stopped.

A name flashed through his mind, but got stuck in his throat.

He recalled what Mr. Nose had said at the club: "Fenia imported a batch of arms from Belgium."

What day was it? He thought for a moment, then said the 24th.

It arrived at the port on the 22nd and was moved to shed number three that afternoon. Benjamin came to inspect the cargo that night and then died.

This batch of weapons is the one Mr. Nose mentioned, and Hans, that Prussian spy, is like a virus spreading through every vein of London. Benjamin didn't commit suicide; he was silenced.

He learned something he shouldn't have known, perhaps unintentionally, but it was absolutely fatal.

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes; he didn't want to know.

Or perhaps he didn't want to know at all. When he told Mr. Nose to "follow the clues," it was just an excuse, a pretext to prevent the other party from asking any further questions.

He never expected that he would actually find a melon, and that melon happened to belong to Hans.

Now what should he do? Tell Logan? Tell Logan that the killer was a Prussian spy he knew? That would mean he'd have to answer even more questions, and his whole story would collapse like a house of cards with its cards removed.

"Mr. Brian?" Logan's voice brought him back to reality.

Richard opened his eyes, folded the oil paper, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"I was wrong," he said. "It's not the person I thought it was. Keep investigating."

"Sigh," Logan glanced at him, "Think carefully before you speak next time, don't make such a fuss."

Richard turned to Hardin, who was standing at the entrance of the shed, his neck hunched over.

"Inspector, you've met that clerk before. Compared to this lady," he gestured to Louise, "is she taller or shorter? Fat or thinner?"

Harding paused for a moment, clearly very surprised that he would ask such a question.

He tilted his head and thought for a moment, "About the same height as this lady... but," he cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his gaze from Louise, "a bit more voluptuous than this lady."

"That's incredibly rude!" Louise exclaimed, hands on her hips, kicking Richard. "What do you mean by that?"

"Hey!" Richard almost fell over.

Richard steadied himself; he knew how to deal with Hans.

He stood up, returned the oil lamp to Harding, and extended his hand to Logan: "Detective, we'll split up. You go and find out where that secretary is. Try to find out what she usually wears and what her behavior is like. Mrs. Brian and I will go back to town first; we have some things to take care of."

Logan squeezed his hand: "Okay, I'll come find you after I figure it out."

Richard turned and whispered a few words in Louise's ear.

Louise's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't ask why. She simply nodded, lifted her skirt, and followed him out of the transit shed.

Richard decided to take a gamble and stage a scam to fool Hans, which would require Louise's connections. As for the name that had been bothering him, Richard had already remembered it.

Condé, often, the simplest deduction is the truth. It is the name of a horse, but not just any horse; it was the mount of Frederick the Great, the soldier-king of Prussia.

Richard chuckled. If he had known it was Hans G., the answer would have immediately popped into his head. Just as Eleanor had said, Hans really wasn't very good at this.