Grandin, dressed in a black-on-white checkered inspector's uniform, stood outside the church waiting for the carriage, his baton in one hand and his floppy hat with a police badge in the other, and the two silver six-pointed stars on his shoulders shone brighter than the morning sun of Beckland.

Pedestrians who come and go will always be involuntarily attracted by him. Even the little girl who sold flowers and the vendor who peddled snacks came closer to him.

But the gaze of the people around him could not affect him in the slightest. At this point, he was working his brain at full strength, allowing himself to remember the obscure occult knowledge more firmly.

Bishop Rosen's cramming education almost made him suffer from school weariness. The old man didn't care about his receptivity, he just poured all the knowledge into his brain.

"I don't care if you can understand this knowledge, when you are forced to do so, you will naturally use it all."

These are the exact words of Bishop Rosen.

Except for the increasingly heavy academic load, everything else was fine on Wednesday.

Early that morning, Grandin first reported to Miss Helen, the night watchman, several secret meeting places he had discovered. Ms. Helen informed him that he needed to stand guard at the police booth in Jowood this afternoon.

This is a commission from the West Villas field, who are now severely understaffed. Considering that there has been no lace news of an inspector or superintendent in Beckland's various newspapers for a long time, this should be true.

A considerable part of the salary of the night watchman is paid by the National Police Agency, and it is not easy to refuse.

That's why when he came out of the church, he waited for the carriage on the side of the road in a police uniform.

……

The carriage led him smoothly to his destination.

The so-called security booth is a small blue slab house two meters square, and the door is also hung with a police sign with two swords crossed and a crown clustered.

He found that the security booth was in a decent location, with Cloth Merchant Park on the left and Ward Street on the right. There are no taverns and casinos around, which is a fair amount less of trouble. All in all, this should be a fairly quiet location.

The fact that his colleague handed him a blank copy of the case book was even more proof of this.

There was only a willow table and a chair in the security booth. The weather was fine today, so he simply opened the window and sat alone in a chair eating the meatloaf and mashed potatoes he bought on the side of the road.

This meatloaf is made by mixing pork and beef, mincing it and grilling it with spices. Fearing that something unexpected would happen, and the meatloaf itself was quite delicious, he ate very quickly.

But nothing bothered him until he burped back in his chair and drank ginger beer.

There are no entertainment facilities in the security booth. Rummaging through the room, Grandin finds a romance novel in the drawer of the willow table that describes the secrets of knights, princesses, and palaces. Because it was so boring, he watched it with a critical attitude.

"Tuk Tuk!"

A rhythmic knock sounded at the door.

Grandin, who felt that his eyes were stolen, immediately put down the novel, and the title of the book was downward:

"Please come in."

The door of the security booth was opened, and a middle-aged man with gray temples and a black suit walked in.

"Mr. Policeman, I need help."

He spoke without hurry, his words and deeds were very decent, and he made a gentlemanly salute with his white-gloved hand on his chest.

"What happened?" Grandin stood up, straightened the revolver on his belt, and picked up the baton and notebook on the table.

"A gentleman accused my master of the house for no reason, saying that my master had tricked him into buying a work of art that was completely worthless."

It's a housekeeper.

"Did you do it, did anyone get hurt?"

The housekeeper was stunned by his question, but his good professionalism still made him react quickly:

"No, everyone is a gentleman."

He led Grandin to the place where the incident had occurred. In the chats on the way, Grandin quickly learned the ins and outs of the matter.

The butler's name was Hans Munch, and he served Viscount Spencer.

I also had an impression of this viscount Grandin, who was a very bold nobleman. Like Earl Hall, he also seized the opportunity of the development of the times and shifted the focus of investment to steel, coal and other industries early. And he is also very enthusiastic about public welfare, and has a good reputation in aristocratic circles.

The dispute was not complicated, but it started when Viscount Spencer bought a gallery on Ward Street in order to make the citizens of Beckland more aware of the charm of art, and exhibited the art he had in his own home.

Proceeds from the sale of these exhibits were donated to the Kingdom Museum and the public hospital, a rare act of kindness among the aristocracy.

The reason for the dispute seems to be that a gentleman who bought the painting and then regretted it, believing that it was not worth the price.

"Who can say clearly about art? If the painter had died, I would have advised him to keep the painting well, and perhaps one day it would have appreciated. ”

There is nothing he can do about this kind of case.

The gallery is located in the heart of Ward Street and is a large area. It made extensive use of glass curtain walls, and Grandin guessed that the interior must have been well lit.

Pushing open the openwork oak door and entering, Grandin looked up to see a separate glass display case, which contained a gold coin in velvet satin, in the original style of Byron. On the obverse of the coin is a grinning mouth, exaggerated and absurd.

There were already quite a few spectators in the exhibition hall, some with blank cards and pens in their hands.

Blank cards are for bidding.

If someone has their eye on an exhibit, they can write down their quote and home address and put it on the exhibit. As long as there is no competition, the deal will be automatically concluded when the museum closes at night, and there will be a dedicated person to send it uniformly.

Although Grandin didn't look like a spectator, one of the waiters handed him blank cards and pens. As Grandin reached out to take it, the Charm of Fate spun silently in a circle.

"Hello, Mr. Policeman!"

A cheerful greeting came.

The owner of the voice is an old gentleman in good spirits, wearing a black tuxedo and a neat beard. He strode up to Grandin and held out his hand.

Hans, the butler, naturally walked behind him.

"Hello, Viscount Spencer, my name is Grandin Ode." Grandin reached out to shake him.

"Grandin Ode?" A hint of thought flashed in the viscount's eyes. Hans, the butler, was startled for a moment, and he immediately approached his master calmly and whispered something.

"You're the monster investment manager, Mr. Grandin Ode? How did you become a ...... at such a young age? Superintend? Viscount Spencer asked as he counted the silver stars on his shoulders and looked strange.

"Hmm...... Presumably they thought it would be safer to recruit me into the police system? ”

Grantin's thoughts turned, and he thought of an excuse.