Collectibles

The Land Rover Discovery rolled slowly into the motorway service area and stopped in front of the petrol station.

Beta casually counted out several banknotes and stuffed five hundred pounds into Matilda's hand. "Go pick out whatever snacks you like."

Leon leaned against the hood, his gaze behind dark sunglasses fixed on the petite figure behind the convenience store glass. Beta, meanwhile, lounged against the fuel pump, staring thoughtfully toward the end of the motorway.

The nozzle clicked softly in his hand. He shook out the last few drops of petrol from the hose and shoved it back into the pump.

"Looks like your gunsmith friend has landed himself in serious trouble." Beta lowered his voice. "Germany had a long-range sniper killing too, on top of what happened at Downing Street."

He paused meaningfully. "MI6 has probably deployed everyone by now. Every channel that sells firearms is one hundred percent under surveillance."

Leon adjusted his sunglasses slightly, his voice extremely low. "Were the Germany case and the Downing Street one done by the same person?"

Beta raised an eyebrow, a half-smile forming on his face. "Don't tell me you take me for an MI6 informant?"

He spread his hands. "How would I know secrets at that level?"

Leon fell silent again. Only the breeze passing through the petrol station filled the space between them.

Beta's fingers tapped lightly against the hood, producing dull thuds against the metal.

More than ten seconds later, Beta suddenly turned, his finger stopping in midair. "Does the United Kingdom have any firearms museums? Preferably privately run ones."

Leon slowly turned his head. "You can't be thinking..."

Beta said, "Even if a firearms museum has deactivated its guns, they can't have welded every single part shut, can they? Besides, some private collectors haven't done anything to their treasures at all. With just a few deactivated guns, you can put together one that fires."

"Oh, right." Beta suddenly remembered something. "Did you bring Matilda to the United Kingdom just to travel? To see some fresh scenery?"

Leon's round sunglasses faced the sunlight. "To show her things she can't see in the United States."

Just then, Matilda came jogging over from the supermarket with an armful of snacks, her hair bouncing in the sunlight.

"Look!" She excitedly held up several brightly colored packets. "You can't buy these flavors in the United States at all! And there are so many strange candies!"

Beta smiled and reached out to ruffle her hair, but Matilda nimbly slipped aside.

The little girl rolled her eyes at him without the slightest politeness, slapped his hand away, efficiently opened the car door and stuffed her loot into the back seat, then climbed in herself.

Beta lightly tapped the window frame with his fingertips. "I'm going back to New York in May. Want to come with me?"

Leon was silent for a moment. "The timing works. Let's travel together."

At a private firearms collection museum on the outskirts of Oxfordshire.

Beta had completely changed his appearance. Height-boosting insoles added five centimeters out of nowhere, while his deliberately hunched back and shuffling gait entirely concealed his original build. Speaking in a thick Northern Ireland country accent, he looked exactly like a country gentleman obsessed with firearms.

"My God, this is simply astonishing!" Beta pushed up his round glasses with trembling fingers, his voice full of carefully restrained excitement. "I never dreamed I would see an original P38 preserved in such perfect condition, let alone one bearing the Black Eagle insignia. This is absolutely a rare treasure!"

The wrinkles on the collector's face relaxed. It was rare to encounter such a knowledgeable buyer. This seemingly rustic Irishman knew firearms like the back of his hand and was clearly a potential high-value customer. The collector could not help feeling the delight of finding a kindred spirit.

"Not for sale." The collector pressed his lips into a reserved smile, though pride gleamed in his eyes.

Beta immediately put on an exaggerated look of amazement. "Of course! This is definitely the crown jewel of your collection! There probably isn't another P38 in the world preserved this well."

His perfectly timed flattery greatly satisfied the collector's vanity.

The wrinkles on the collector's face eased as he warmly gestured for Beta to sit. "Mr. Foreman, please have some tea."

He personally poured a cup of Darjeeling black tea. "May I ask which firearms you are specifically interested in?"

"Allow me to look over the collection list," Beta replied. He was Mr. Foreman now.

He unhurriedly took a black leather notebook with badly worn corners from his inner pocket. Its pages had become soft and yellowed from years of handling. He flipped through it page by page with great seriousness, occasionally pushing up his glasses, like a meticulous collector checking a catalogue.

Beta—or rather, Mr. Foreman—rubbed his fingers together awkwardly, a look of almost bashful longing unique to collectors appearing on his face.

"Um... I was wondering whether you might have a Mauser rifle available for collection?" he asked haltingly, occasionally pushing up his slipping glasses. "I've always wanted to experience the feeling of firing such a legendary rifle myself. You must understand that feeling, right?"

His voice grew lower and lower until it was nearly a mutter to himself, like a young man so nervous before a goddess that he could barely speak coherently. Yet the eyes hidden behind his lenses remained sharply alert, watching every subtle change in the collector's expression.

The collector was completely moved by Mr. Foreman's sincere enthusiasm. Smiling, he rose and walked toward a locked oak gun cabinet in the corner.

As the key turned, he carefully took out an almost brand-new Mauser rifle. The bluing on its body gleamed darkly beneath the lights.

Beta immediately half-sprang from his chair as if drawn by a magnet, both hands unconsciously reaching forward, his eyes shining with the yearning of a child seeing Christmas presents.

"Please handle it carefully," the collector said gently, handing over the rifle.

Beta clumsily accepted the gun, his fingers fumbling over it like a novice touching a firearm for the first time. He deliberately fumbled with the safety, then "accidentally" turned the barrel toward his own chin.

"My God!" The collector lunged forward and snatched the rifle back. "Never point the muzzle at anyone, including yourself!"

His voice trembled slightly from the fright.

Beta immediately flushed red, rubbing the hem of his clothes helplessly. "I-I was too excited. I thought these exhibits couldn't be fired. I'm terribly sorry..."

His stammering explanation, together with those round glasses, made him look entirely innocent.

The collector let out a long breath and cautiously handed the rifle back to Mr. Foreman, his tone becoming especially stern. "Please remember this, Mr. Foreman. Never point the muzzle at any living thing, especially yourself."

He paused deliberately to make sure the other man understood. "This rifle has fully retained its firing capability. Load it with live ammunition, and it will fire normally."

Beta's gaze changed. He had found what he wanted.