As you look at the floorboards in this corner of the shack, it's clear one of them isn't…

As you look at the floorboards in this corner of the shack, it's clear one of them isn't quite level with the others.

The edge of a floorboard next to it looks scratched.

"See anything interesting?"

"Possibly."

The lieutenant nods.

Move the board aside.

The hollow space underneath the floorboards is dark and damp. You can barely make out the mixture of sand and sawdust below.

Search through the sand and sawdust.

You stick your hand in and start combing through the sand. Dry, not like outside. Fine dust... and then -- something hard, wrapped in paper.

What is it?

A small cylindrical object. You pull it out -- a bullet.

A 9mm bullet to be exact. Fit for all muzzleloaders of that calibre, like your own Villiers pistol, for example.

"Look, a bullet! Not for a breechloader, though..."

The lieutenant studies the bullet in your hand. "Still, interesting."

"What do you think it's doing here?"

"Someone hid it as extra ammunition?"

"Ruby?"

"I don't know, could be. The washerwoman was clearly withholding something -- and she does rent this place out to people."

Holding the bullet, you get the feeling -- this isn't ammunition against you. It's for herself.

"I think this is a last resort -- a bullet in case suicide becomes an option."

"That's a big leap, but from what I've heard, this Ruby sounds pretty desperate. Either way," he looks at the bullet again, "this is enough to confront the washerwoman."

"Let's go, then." [Leave.]

"Kim, I think this is extra ammunition against us."

"That's something of a leap -- but we should be on our guard. Either way," he looks at the bullet again, "this is enough to confront the washerwoman."

Seems to me like someone is armed and waiting for us.

Think what you want, but, in your gut, you know otherwise.

"Either way," he looks at the bullet again, "this is enough to confront her with."

"Lieutenant, a bullet!"

"Yes, for muzzleloaders like the ones officers of the RCM carry. Interesting."

This bullet isn't for a breechloader like the murder weapon?

The floorboard isn't interested -- maybe the Washerwoman is? You have enough to confront her with.

It's extra ammunition. She's locked and loaded, ready to fight some cops.

Holding the bullet, you get the feeling -- this isn't ammunition against you. It's for herself.

A bullet, interesting.

The floorboard doesn't care -- but maybe the Washerwoman does? You have enough to confront her with.

A 9mm bullet to be exact. Fit for all muzzleloaders of that calibre.

Oh, I don't want to stick my hand in there. [Leave.]

You return the board to its original position.

What's in here?

Nothing particular catches your eye. Looks like more reeds. There might be something hidden inside the sand, though.

Something bad. Someone's night thoughts. A last resort. A bad idea.

It's nothing. [Leave.]

In time, dust will settle upon the wooden boards, covering up all tracks.