The Shadow of Great Britain

150: Chapter 108 Order Number One of the London Police Office 150: Chapter 108 Order Number One of the London Police Office London, Bayswater, Lancaster Gate 36.

Nightfall had descended, stars filling the sky.

A gentle breeze swept across Hyde Park, setting the branches of maple and birch trees trembling together.

Inside the dining room on the ground floor, a long ivory-white dining table was laden with steaming hot dishes.

Great Dumas pointed to the dish in front of him, covered with an iron lid, and proudly introduced today’s dinner to those holding forks and knives.

“Gentlemen, and the ladies existing in my imagination, allow me to grandly introduce tonight’s main course!”

Darwin, unable to contain his impatience, had been completely conquered by Great Dumas’s superb culinary skills over these last few days.

“Alexander, stop beating around the bush, what are we eating tonight?”

Eld chortled and with a raised eyebrow began, “Tonight, we are feasting on something excellent.

After Fatso and I watched a play in the West District, we planned to take our guns to the outskirts for some luck, and you wouldn’t believe it, but we actually caught a splendid thing!”

Upon hearing this, Great Dumas couldn’t help but glare at Eld, “Normally, I would have seriously scolded you, but seeing how you bravely dove into the river to catch your prey today, I’ll let it pass.”

Eld, biting his spoon, responded, “Oh, come on, Fatso, hurry up.

I’ve been looking forward to this meal since I got home; lift the lid already, otherwise the meat will get cold.”

Hearing this, Great Dumas did not delay further.

He lifted the lid, and from it white steam billowed up, revealing a soup basin dotted with golden butter instantly before everyone.

He cleared his throat and spoke, “Please allow me to introduce this grand meal—Oxalis sauce with black swan stewed with white radish!”

Arthur, who had been sipping tea while reading the newspaper, trembled when he heard this, nearly spilling his tea all over his trousers.

“Black swan stewed with white radish?” Arthur put down his newspaper and peered into the soup basin, “Where did you get a swan from?”

The name also startled Darwin, who shivered and turned pale, “Eld!

Alexander doesn’t know the rules, but don’t you as well?

Why didn’t you advise him?

Don’t you know that all the swans in Great Britain belong to the Royal Family?”

Hearing this, Great Dumas responded, bewildered, “Why do you British always have such peculiar regulations?”

Eld’s face changed, and while giving Great Dumas a meaningful look, he meddled, “What black swan?

Alexander, can’t you stop talking nonsense?

This is clearly a duck!

Haven’t we agreed on this beforehand?”

After saying this, he even scooped up a piece of meat from the soup basin and pointed at it wildly, “Besides, ask it yourself, is it a swan?

It obviously looks like a wild duck from just one glance!

Charles, you can’t even tell a duck from a swan, and you dare to call yourself a naturalist?

If ducks and swans are the same thing, does that mean you and a monkey belong to the same species?”

Embarrassed by Eld’s statement, Darwin turned red, snatched the soup spoon, and shoved the piece of meat into his mouth.

After only a couple of chews, he widened his eyes and furiously cursed, “Eld, are you kidding me?

I’ve never tasted duck before?

Can this not be a swan?”

Seeing this, Eld, quick-witted, pointed at Darwin and disclosed to Arthur, “Look, Arthur, you’ve seen it.

Charles has eaten His Majesty the King’s swan.”

Arthur, observing the situation, reluctantly set down his newspaper and spoke to Darwin with difficulty, “Charles, I know this might be a bit tricky, but if you are not willing to recant, I’ll have to put in some overtime and have you thrown into a Scotland Yard cell.

But don’t worry, I’ve checked this week’s prison menu—nothing but black bread and potatoes.

While it’s no white radish stewed with black swan, you won’t starve.”

Upon hearing this, Darwin, having to suppress his rising anger, scratched his increasingly sparse ‘Wisdom Highlands’ and, with a guilty conscience, tentatively asked,

“Could it really be a duck I’m eating?”

Arthur, rather sympathetically, nodded, “Charles, you’re still young.

We allow you to make mistakes.

Not to mention mistaking ducks for swans, even if you claimed Eld was a transformed monkey, I would still fully forgive you.”

Hearing this, Darwin could only lift his hands to cover his eyes, hypocritically stating, “This is indeed a duck, not a swan.”

Great Dumas, feeling uncomfortable, pursed his lips, “You British are troublesome.

All swans in the country belong to the Royals.

This rule makes it seem like we are still living in the Middle Ages.

In France, we raise these things like dogs; they aren’t some precious commodity.”

Arthur relaxed his neck and said, “You’ve actually hit the nail on the head; this indeed is a law from the Middle Ages.

It’s just that Parliament has always been too lazy to amend it, and no one wants to irritate the sensitive nerves of the Royals due to their dwindling power.

After all, Britain’s King has almost become a mascot now; agitating the Royals over such trivial matters is not a wise move for a seasoned politician.”

Self-serving, Great Dumas ladled himself some soup, “Why don’t you revise a ‘Civil Code’ like Napoleon did?

Simple and clear, easy to reference.

Forgive my bluntness, but for a modern nation to be using medieval laws sounds more like a joke to me.”

“I’m starting to understand why your judges value past cases so much; perhaps they merely don’t want to dig through rubbish to find centuries-old laws.

Maybe while they dig, they might even find Jesus’s shroud in there.”