Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard turned to Logan: "Detective Logan, have you checked Mr. Andrew's itinerary? Is it possible he was followed and poisoned on the street?"

Logan shook his head: "That's probably impossible. Mr. Andrew came to London by train from Newcastle. If the assassin wanted to kill him, there would have been more opportunities and a more discreet way along the way. He would never have allowed himself to come to this office."

Li realized that there was some truth to what he said.

He began to replay in his mind every action Andrew had taken after entering the office, from walking in to exchanging pleasantries, and then picking up a magnifying glass from beside the pen holder to read documents.

He hasn't eaten or drunk anything, so what could be wrong?

Richard pinched his chin, his gaze falling on the gleaming magnifying glass on the table.

He bent down, covered his mouth and nose, and brought his face close to observe carefully.

As his head angle changed, the light created a peculiar and uneven, moist texture on the edge of the magnifying glass.

It looked like a layer of oil film adhering to the surface of the copper frame, with a small ring of extremely fine white crystals condensed at the edge of the film, like frost on a window in winter.

Richard sat up abruptly, picked up the ink bottle from the desk, uncorked it, took a glass dropper from the drawer, and drew a few drops of thick black ink.

Reginald held out his hand to block him: "What are you doing? This magnifying glass is evidence in a murder case!"

"Prove a hypothesis." Richard bypassed his hand and brought the tip of the dropper close to the copper frame of the magnifying glass.

Ink dripped onto the edge of the frame, the black liquid spreading across the smooth copper surface.

Then, a bright, intense blue suddenly appeared at the edge of the ink. This was not the color of the ink itself; it spread outwards from the inside like a peacock's tail feathers.

Logan and Reginald approached at the same time, both of them frowning.

Richard put down the dropper, looked up, and let out a long sigh.

Logan stared at the spreading blue stain, his confusion barely concealed: "What's going on, Richard? Did someone poison the magnifying glass?"

Richard closed his eyes and nodded: "When cyanide comes into contact with ferrous ions in ink, it produces this complex blue precipitate—Prussian blue."

Reginald's eyebrows shot up sharply.

"What... Prussia again?" He clicked his tongue. "Just how many spies are you surrounded by?"

"Prussian blue is just a color, and spies... sigh."

Richard, too lazy to explain the connection between the chemical reaction sedimentation and espionage, put the dropper back into the ink bottle and re-corked it.

He knew in his heart that researching cutting-edge technology would inevitably attract spies from other countries, just like the faster a car goes, the more dust it kicks up behind it.

Logan wasn't swayed by the word "Prussian." He stared at the magnifying glass and asked a more specific question: "But how did the cyanide on this end up in Andrew's mouth? He couldn't have licked your magnifying glass, could he?"

Richard lowered his head and explained, "Dissolve anhydrous cyanide in some organic solution and smear it on the edge of a magnifying glass. When someone breathes on it... the exhaled water vapor and carbon dioxide react with the cyanide to produce hydrogen cyanide gas. If the concentration is high enough, inhaling just two breaths is enough to be fatal."

Logan swallowed hard. He wasn't unfamiliar with poisoning cases, but this was the first time he'd seen one done this way.

Richard felt a chill run down his spine.

The murder was clearly targeted at him; the killer smeared cyanide on a magnifying glass in his office, waiting for him to pick it up, breathe on it, and then collapse within seconds.

But he didn't have the habit of using a magnifying glass, and this old thing with a copper frame had been sitting on his desk for more than half a year, and he had hardly ever touched it.

His eyesight is good, and his modern reading habits mean he doesn't need a magnifying glass. In his hands, the magnifying glass is more like a small accessory; he occasionally picks it up, spins it a couple of times in his palm, and then puts it back.

Richard didn't know how to thank himself for the habits he had developed in the 21st century that were out of step with this era.

But Andrew wasn't; he was killed by mistake.

He recalled the sandwiches and coffee cups he had casually placed next to the magnifying glass, each time the cyanide-coated frame was less than a foot away from his food, and he couldn't help but shudder.

The person who did this clearly knew the layout of the factory and office, but he didn't know Richard. He assumed Richard would use the magnifying glass like any other person hunched over a desk under the lamp.

Just as he was about to speak, the door was pushed open.

A uniformed policeman stood at the door, his face beaming with barely concealed excitement.

He saluted Logan, his voice loud and urgent: "Report! Inspector Logan!"

Logan nodded to him. "Tell me, what did you discover?"

The police officer puffed out his chest, as if announcing his achievements on a podium: "Suspicious letters and gold coins were found in the factory's locker room! The suspect has been apprehended!"

Richard pursed his lips; that was too fast.

He had just figured out how the poison was administered when the culprit was "coincidentally" found?

Logan, oblivious to Richard's odd behavior, pressed on, "Who is the suspect?"

"Foreman Sean," the policeman replied.

Richard's voice rose a half-octave: "What? How is that possible?"

He turned to look at Reginald, a hint of doubt flashing across his face as he stared at the officer as if he had sensed a trap.

Logan stuffed the gloves into his pocket and walked toward the door. "Okay, take us to see it."

The policeman stood at attention, saluted again, and ran out.

Logan followed behind, while Richard and Reginald exchanged a glance and then caught up.

The three people walked down the stairs and through the workshop.

The workers were stopped behind the police; some stood on tiptoe to peek inside, while others whispered among themselves.

Richard walked through them, lowered his voice, and said to Logan, who was walking beside him, "You don't really believe this, do you? This is clearly a setup."

Logan also kept his voice low: "It does sound very suspicious, but I need to see the situation on site before I can make a decision."

Richard remained silent, as was typical of Scotland Yard's approach to investigations.

The changing room was at the far end of the workshop, with rows of metal cabinets leaning against the wall and several pairs of work boots and crumpled old newspapers scattered on the floor.

Two uniformed police officers were holding a man, Sean, on either side of him.

His arms were twisted behind his back, the handcuffs reddening his wrists, and the collar of his work jacket was open, revealing his natural skin tone beneath the coal dust.

Sean's face was full of confusion and grievance, as if he had been dragged out of his sleep and handcuffed before he even understood what was happening. There was a faint white mark on the corner of his mouth covered with dried saliva and dust, perhaps because he had been beaten.