Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard sat on the sofa in the living room, his eyes dry and sore; he hadn't slept well the night before.

The moment he closed his eyes, Benjamin's face appeared before him, his dark purple cheeks covered in flies.

Just as he was in a daze, someone punched him on the shoulder.

It's Louise.

"You have dark circles under your eyes," she said, standing behind the sofa and hugging Richard. "What happened?"

Richard leaned into her arms: "Sigh, my lead committed suicide yesterday."

"What?" She didn't understand.

“A customs officer, someone Greenwood bribed, was found by hanging himself,” Richard sighed. “And it looked like a murder deliberately staged as a suicide.”

Louise's eyes lit up, as if she had heard a riddle.

"Oh?" She ruffled Richard's hair. "Now you're a detective, like Dobermann? Solving mysteries in locked rooms that others can't see through?"

Richard casually added, "I prefer the great detective Hercule Poirot."

"Who?"

Richard looked up at her; she was Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective from Agatha Christie's novels, with an eggshell-shaped head and a mustache.

He suddenly realized he had misspoke; Agatha Christie wouldn't be born for another twenty years, and Poirot wouldn't make his first appearance until the beginning of the 20th century.

"Uh," Richard scratched his head, "I came up with the character myself, a Belgian detective with a small mustache who likes to solve cases using 'gray brain cells'."

He felt a little embarrassed when he said that.

Louise, however, walked around and sat beside him, taking Richard's hand, her voice even more excited: "How come I didn't know you could write novels? Let me see!"

Richard shrank back: "No, I was just thinking randomly, I haven't written it yet."

"Then write it." Louise crossed her arms. "Once you've finished writing it, you must show it to me first. I know a few people at publishing houses; maybe they can help you get it published."

Richard gave a vague reply: "Okay, we'll see."

Before Louise could say anything more, the living room door was pushed open.

Aunt Susan came in carrying a silver tray with a teapot, a milk jug, and a set of bone china teacups on it.

"Afternoon tea is ready, sir, madam." She placed the tray on the coffee table and was about to bend down to set the teacups when the doorbell rang.

"I'll drive it," Louise said, standing up and patting her skirt.

"Thank you so much." Aunt Susan nodded gratefully and continued bending down to fiddle with the teacups.

Louise walked out of the living room, across the hallway, and opened the front door.

A man in his forties stood outside the door, wearing an ordinary dark gray overcoat and a bowler hat.

His chin was clean-shaven, unusually free of any trendy beard, and his smooth jawline made him look younger and more capable than his actual age.

He saw Louise, paused for a moment, then quickly took off his hat and bowed slightly.

"Good afternoon, madam. I am Logan, Inspector General of Scotland Yard. Does Mr. Richard Bryan reside here?"

Louise nodded and stepped aside to let him in: "Please come in, Mr. Brian is in the living room, I'll go get him."

She turned and walked toward the living room. After taking two steps, she heard Logan's voice behind her.

"Madam, please forgive my intrusion, but... haven't we met somewhere before?"

Louise turned around with a polite smile. "Unlikely, sir, but many people say I have a very common face."

Logan shook his head: "No, madam. You are very special, almost like a... nobleman."

"You're too kind."

Logan stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to recall something.

Richard came out of the living room, and as Louise walked past him, she nudged him with a smile: "He called me 'Madam'."

"Yes, I heard you," Richard said softly, approaching Logan and extending his hand. "Richard Brian, are you Inspector Logan?"

Logan looked away from Louise's retreating figure and grasped Richard's hand. "Yes, Mr. Brian, I'm here about what happened in the East End yesterday, about that customs officer."

"Please come in and sit down to talk." Richard led Logan into the living room, where the two sat opposite each other, while Louise sat on the sofa.

Aunt Susan's tea was also set out, steaming in the white porcelain teacups, with a few butter biscuits on the small saucer beside it.

"Mr. Brian," Logan spoke first, "we received your report yesterday afternoon and immediately sent people to the scene. The body has been removed, and all the evidence in the room has been taken away, but there is one strange thing."

"What is it?" Richard asked.

"His ledgers are missing." Logan tapped his finger lightly on the brim of his hat. "Customs officials, especially someone like Benjamin who has worked at the port for over a decade, are bound to have private accounts. We searched every drawer in his house, but we couldn't find a trace of them."

Richard stroked his chin. There must be records of Greenwood bribing him in Benjamin's ledger.

But now it's gone, either Benjamin hid the ledger, or his killer took it.

"So our top priority right now is to find this account," Logan said. "Someone specifically asked me to invite you to visit Brendel's ex-wife and daughter to see what they know, since they moved to the suburbs of London after their divorce."

"Who?"

"The Secret Service personnel, I'm sure we all know this person."

"What's his name?" Richard pressed.

"I don't know." Logan shook his head. "Or rather, I shouldn't know. Our relationship is more like colleagues than friends. Most of the time, I call him 'that Secret Service guy.'"

Richard almost burst out laughing. Mr. Nose, that guy from the Secret Service.

The whole world knows he exists, but nobody knows his name.

"Okay, I'll go with you." Richard stood up and straightened his coat collar.

Louise stood up too: "I'll go too."

Richard glanced at her: "You?"

"I'm so bored staying home all the time," Louise shrugged. "Maybe I can help you in some way?"

Richard looked tentatively at Inspector Logan: "Is it alright? My wife would like to go too."

"Absolutely not," Logan's expression turned serious. "Mr. Brian, this is against the rules. We're going to interview witnesses, not to have afternoon tea. I can't just bring unrelated people to the scene of the evidence collection."

Richard thought for a moment. Louise was a princess, but her identity could not be made public. He needed a reason that Logan could not refuse without taking any risks.

“Detective Logan,” Richard explained earnestly, “my wife is a philanthropist, and given the current situation of Brendel’s ex-wife and daughter, perhaps she can offer some help from a charitable perspective. Besides, it might be easier for them to speak up when a lady is present.”

Visiting the families of the deceased under the guise of providing financial assistance was a common form of charity in the 19th century, which conveniently bypassed police regulations.

Logan's eyes darted back and forth between their fingertips, as if he couldn't decide which pair of boots to choose.

Finally, he sighed: "Alright, but it can't interfere with the evidence collection. You can only listen in and don't ask any unnecessary questions."

Louise smiled faintly, walked to the coat rack, and took off her coat and hat.

Richard helped her put on her coat, and she buttoned it up, straightened her hat, and turned to look at Logan: "Detective, let's go."

Logan stood up helplessly. Perhaps he hadn't expected that he would not only have to take a layman on the visit, but also bring his wife along.

The three people walked out of the house, and a black carriage was parked by the roadside.

Richard suddenly remembered what Logan had just said, so he asked, "Detective, how long have you known him? That guy from the Secret Service."

"In just these past few years," Logan opened the car door and let Louise get in first, "if it weren't for the Fenia movement, I probably would never have met him in my entire life."

"Are you from the Detective Department?"

"Yes," Logan said, somewhat surprised, "you know about the Detective Department?"

Scotland Yard already had a detective department at the time, which consisted mostly of senior detectives, so it was expected that the Secret Service would cooperate with the Fennia Movement.

The carriage wheels rolled forward, getting closer and closer to Benjamin's widow.