The Shadow of Great Britain

103: Chapter 63 Good News and Bad News 103: Chapter 63 Good News and Bad News The night was murky, a dark corner of the brick alley in the Whitechapel district.

A burly man with fierce eyes peered out of a puddle, surveying the sparsely populated street.

Suddenly, he spotted a young girl hurrying along by herself, and a smile of sinister triumph spread across his face.

He patiently waited for the girl to approach the alley before suddenly pulling out a small knife hidden behind him, charging forward, covering her mouth, and pressing the blade against her neck as he dragged her deeper into the alley.

The girl struggled as she was dragged along, huge waves of fear causing her to involuntarily shed tears.

She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

The burly man glared at her and threatened, “Shut your mouth, bitch.

I’m just here to steal some money.

Don’t make a sound, or I’ll take your life!”

Watching the girl’s pale legs gradually disappear under the bright moonlight, swallowed by the shadow where the burly man’s smile grew even more grotesque.

Just as he was contemplating how to violate the girl after robbing her, a sturdy, broad hand suddenly landed on his shoulder without warning.

A distinctive, fluent Chinese-accented English followed from behind him.

“What are you fucking doing?”

The burly man whipped around in shock, his skin breaking out in goosebumps at the sight of an eye.

There stood about a dozen big men wearing wide-brimmed hats and black trench coats, ghost knows when they had arrived.

Before the robber could even argue, Arthur had already kicked him in the stomach and then stuffed a piece of broken brick into the mouth of the fallen robber.

“Split into two groups, and take this asshole back to the station for me.”

The girl was stunned, watching everything unfold before her.

She had just gathered her wits about her and was about to thank Arthur when she saw him raise his finger to his lips.

“Miss, no need for thanks, we are on a special mission.

It’s very late; you shouldn’t be out.

You were lucky this time, but understand, not every nightingale in distress meets an owl.”

With that, Arthur tilted his head towards Dennis, “Dennis, you take this young lady home.”

Upon hearing this, Officer Dennis quickly stepped forward to assist the lady: “Miss, don’t worry.

We are patrolling officers from Scotland Yard.

Where is your home?

I am assigned to escort you.”

The girl, bolstering her wobbly legs and managing a faint smile on her pale face, picked up her long skirt and gave a slight curtsy towards Arthur, then left with the support of Dennis.

Watching their fading figures, Arthur couldn’t help but frown, “Whitechapel holds up to its reputation.

I just squatted here for a while and already stumbled upon a serious case.”

Red Devil just smiled and said, “Arthur, better refocus soon.

I’ve seen through the thick night curtain, the carriage you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived.”

As Agares’s words ended, a tinkling of bells indeed came from the street.

The coachman, covered in sweat, anxiously scanned the brick alley, feeling his heart climb up to his throat.

“Sir, we’re nearly at Brick Lane No.

75, maybe settle the bill in advance?

I dare not stop here for a moment.”

No sooner had he spoken than a small gap was opened in the divider between driver and passenger, revealing two fingers holding a banknote.

Jones’s slightly weary voice then followed, “Don’t worry, I won’t shortchange you.

Remember to help me with some things later, the extra is your tip.”

The coachman took the bill and glanced at it—it was a crisp one British Pound.

With the power of money behind him, he suddenly felt courage coursing through his veins.

Although the coachman’s hands were still trembling as he held the reins, his face was now filled with a smile.

“Alright, sir, it’s just a few boxes, no problem!”

As they spoke, the carriage wheels also came to a stop.

The coachman pulled out the towel draped over his shoulder, wiped the sweat off, then took a deep breath and jumped down from his seat, slapping the carriage door as he shouted.

“Sir, we’ve arrived, let’s start moving the stuff.”

The carriage door was slowly pushed open, revealing three boxes of cargo and Jones, holding a flintlock pistol and his face halfway covered with a black cloth.

The coachman was startled by him.

He was about to scream, but Jones quickly covered his mouth.

The dark muzzle of the gun pressed against the coachman’s head as Jones warned, “If you want to make money, behave!

Help me unload these things, and then you’re free to go.

But if you dare to shout, I won’t mind adding another life to my hands.”

The coachman raised his hands high, stared steadily at Jones, then swallowed and slowly nodded.

“Alright…

I…

I’ll do as you say.”

Under the coercion and supervision of Jones, the coachman moved the boxes one by one, panting heavily, yet he dared not utter a single word.

Jones watched him carry the boxes to the front of the detective agency, then ordered the coachman again, “You, go up and knock on the door.”

“What?”

The coachman wanted to refuse, but he hesitated, and Jones’s pistol was immediately at his chin.

The last time he was at the detective agency had left him with a psychological scar, considering Fred’s temper was unpredictable.

As night fell, the prime time for the beast within humans to erupt, if Fred suddenly went crazy and shot him twice, Jones wouldn’t be able to bear it.

He snapped at the coachman, “I told you to knock, are you deaf?”

“Alright, alright!

I’ll knock, just don’t get agitated, please don’t get agitated.”

The coachman was inwardly cursing, but at this point, he had no other choice.

His hand trembling, he reached out and tapped the door of the detective agency, but despite a long wait, there was no response.

Jones, both hands on his pistol, pressed it against the back of the coachman’s head, feeling an inexplicable agitation within him.

He shouted at the coachman, “Do it harder!”

Having no other choice, the coachman clenched his fist and slammed it hard against the door of the agency, but after a long time, there was still no sign of movement inside.

A sense of foreboding flashed through Jones’s mind, and he finally noticed something was amiss.

His first reaction was to turn and run, but then he remembered what Inspector Clemens had cautioned him about the day before.

Clemens’ tone the day before, he remembered… was quite harsh.

If he couldn’t deliver the goods to Fred’s hands, Clemens’ temper would most likely make Jones swallow the goods himself.

But how could he possibly digest such contraband with the right channels and connections?

Keeping these items would mean a lack of peace as long as he held onto them; everyone desires wealth, but not everyone possesses the strength to protect it.

Thinking this, Jones had no choice but to stiffen his resolve and address the coachman, “Break it down for me.”

“What?”

The coachman felt tears coming, cursing his own lack of piety for getting him into this mess.

“Sir… I…”

“I told you to break down that door!”

Jones was cornered, his finger on the trigger, coercing the coachman, “I’ll count to three, and if you don’t break it, I’ll fucking shoot you on the spot!”

The coachman was almost ready to kneel to Jones, pleading submissively, “Sir, please, I have a family, spare me, I can’t do this anymore.”

Jones glared with trembling body at the coachman, bit his lip hard, and after a stalemate, he kicked him furiously in the buttocks.

“Scram!

Get the hell away from me!”

“Thank you!

Thank you, sir!” The coachman, feeling as if reprieved, used his hands and feet to climb onto the coach and flicked the reins to depart swiftly, “God bless you!”

Jones held his gun and clutched his waist, looked up at the pitch-black detective office, and heaved a deep sigh, “Oh!”

He took two steps back, dropped his shoulder, and charged at the door with all his might.

However, when his shoulder hit the door, there wasn’t much resistance.

The door was not locked after all, and with a creak, Jones stumbled in.

He tottered and fell to the ground, and accidentally pulled the trigger of the gun he was pressing his hand on.

A loud bang followed and the gun fired, the bullet striking Jones in the thigh, causing blood to flow profusely.

In pain, Jones dared not make a sound; he gritted his teeth and peered into the dark detective office and soon noticed the light emitted by the oil lamp on the table ahead.

Behind the oil lamp, the wall was covered with huge, awkwardly written text, not elegant, yet brimming with enthusiasm.

— Hey Jones, welcome!

“What…

what is this?”

Jones looked around, but aside from the text on the wall and the table with the oil lamp, he saw nothing.

All the furniture, decorations had vanished, as if the place had just been robbed, everything valuable or not, was taken away.

Suddenly, Jones heard a jumble of footsteps behind him.

Straightaway, lying on the floor, he saw a black trench coat pass by.

That familiar figure, enough to send him into despair, picked up the letter next to the oil lamp.

In fear, Jones remembered the gun next to him.

But before he could reach for the gun, he heard the sound of guns being drawn behind him.

Jones’ hand, hanging mid-air, instantly froze in place.

Arthur opened the letter, glanced at it, and then in the quiet ambiance, a frustrated breath could be heard.

He turned around and fiercely grabbed the injured Jones by the collar.

“I have good news and bad news, which do you want to hear first?”

Jones managed a strained smile, “Let’s hear the good news first…”

“The good news is, you just narrowly escaped a grim fate.

If you had shot the coachman, it would be a corpse lying here now.”

Jones exhaled in relief, “And… and the bad news?”

“The bad news is that you got us all played by Fred; you fucking failed to do your job, whether to me or to Clemens!”

As soon as the words fell, Arthur raised his fist and smashed it into his cheek.

With a thud, Jones almost instantly lost consciousness, slumping to the ground.

Tony hurried to inquire, “Arthur, what’s going on?”

Arthur said nothing, simply tossing the letter in his hand to Tony.

Tony glanced at it.

It was filled with foul language and Fred’s tone of triumph.

— Jones, Clemens, you guys are just a bunch of asses!

You’ve all paid me, why the fuck should I continue to help?

— With this last job and what I’ve previously accumulated, I have enough to buy a big farm in the United States.

Bye, fools; I’m off to pan for gold in the West.

— Oh, by the way, by the time you read this, my ship will have already set sail.

You all fell for my trick!

— Also, Scotland Yard is going to receive a letter I left behind, you idiots can wait to be locked up!

Seeing this, Tony also panicked and quickly asked, “Arthur, what do we do now?”

Arthur thought for a moment, suddenly recalling what Eld had told him; the Beagle was supposed to head out to sea for her first naval exercise today.

He looked at his watch, it was three in the morning.

If Eld wasn’t just bluffing, it might not be too late to chase after Fred.

“Tom, Tony, you two come with me to the docks immediately!

Others, some take Jones back to the police station, the rest head to the Home Office.

As soon as Sir Peel arrives, report the latest case to him directly and request that he inform the Foreign Office and the Royal Admiralty Court to issue an arrest warrant for Fred on the high seas!

Lastly, if we can’t find a ship at the dock, we will need the Royal Navy and the Maritime Police to provide a vessel with sufficient firepower to intercept Fred!”