The Shadow of Great Britain

328: Chapter 206: Advanced Police Technology (4K) 328: Chapter 206: Advanced Police Technology (4K) London at nightfall was always treacherously dangerous; as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sensible citizens usually opted to scurry back home early to savor that meager sense of safety, while the foolish and fearless drunkards were just beginning their nocturnal adventures.

If there was one business in 19th century London that was a sure bet, running a cheap pub would definitely be at the top of the list.

Of course, to forge good relationships with their patrons, pub owners needed to share certain qualities with them—if these qualities weren’t foolishness, then they had to be fearlessness.

And naturally, the most fearless pub owner in all of London had to be Judd Martin, the landlord of the Whitechapel Martin’s Tavern.

Just like always, barely an hour after the pub had opened, the same farce that occurred nearly every day took place.

A drunken patron, spurred by some unknown grievance, stood with one foot on his stool and, holding his drink aloft, cursed loudly, “Everyone, look at me, I’ve got a truth to tell you!”

The other patrons turned their gaze toward him, their faces flushed with unhealthy redness, their eyes brimming with bewilderment.

“What do you have to say, mate?”

“You…

*hic*, you gonna declare you’re an idiot?”

“I’m sick of that joke; if you keep spouting that old tripe, I’ll definitely land a punch on your jaw.”

The patron, burping from the booze, declared, “I’m telling you, all the lawyers in the world are idiots!

I gave them so much money, yet I still lost my case!

They’re nothing but genuine London scoundrels!”

One of the previously drunken patrons, suddenly propping himself up with one hand on the table, demanded, “Sir, you…

I demand you take back your words.

I won’t let you insult me like that; you’re just spouting nonsense!”

“What?

Are you a lawyer?”

“No!” the patron hiccupped, threw his battered felt hat to the ground, and declared, “I’m a damn London scoundrel.”

As soon as he finished, the pub burst into uproarious laughter and cheers, interspersed with a few braying sounds akin to a donkey’s call.

Just then, the saloon doors swung open, and Arthur, clad in a black trench coat and clenching a pipe between his teeth, stepped inside.

He frowned and glanced around the room, then asked Mr.

Martin, “Got any new dishes in the house?

I thought Londoners didn’t eat donkey.”

Seeing his important patron had arrived, Mr.

Martin quickly set down the beer glass he was wiping and rushed over, “Mr.

Hastings, what are you joking about?

If there’s anything good here, wouldn’t I reserve it for you first?

How am I supposed to find you a Scot at this hour!”

He took Arthur’s coat from his hands and hurriedly yelled towards the kitchen, “Annie!

Annie!

Mr.

Hastings is here, prepare everything quickly and bring it up to the second floor!”

Arthur didn’t rush upstairs but leaned against a column on the first floor, observing the pub patrons.

As expected, it wasn’t long before he spotted some familiar faces.

He casually called out a few names: “Brown, Taylor, Wilkins, you three better behave yourselves lately, don’t get into trouble.

Scotland Yard’s days haven’t been easy recently, and if you run into trouble, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Although your leader has probably ordered you around, I think it’s best to emphasize it again just to be safe.

Do you understand?”

The three thugs raised their hands slightly from the table, but from their unfocused eyes, it was doubtful they comprehended any of it.

Seeing this, Arthur just exhaled a puff of smoke, “I hope you won’t regret it when you’re already on the transport ship; at your age, you’re unlikely to win the sympathy of the jury.”

With that, he proceeded up the stairs to the room on the second floor.

There, an old friend had been waiting for a long time.

As he stepped into the room, Arthur saw a cumbersome machine on the table, beside which sat a haggard Wheatstone.

Arthur opened his arms and smiled, “Charles, my most reliable chief science advisor from the London Police Intelligence Bureau, I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.

Although the delivery was a full six months later than we expected, you managed to overcome the technological challenges and brought it to me just when I needed it most.”

Wheatstone sighed deeply, “If I had known how difficult it would be to construct, I wouldn’t have accepted this task.

The complexity of this device is on a whole different level compared to a phonograph.

I had to cram four months’ worth of knowledge in electromagnetism just to get it right.

Luckily, your theories were correct, allowing me to rush and get it delivered today.

But Arthur, I must warn you, this device is much more expensive than a phonograph, and since it converts sound into electromagnetic signals, the steel wire used in this wire recorder must be of extremely high purity.

This means, at least for the short term, it won’t be feasible to mass produce for the consumer market.”

Wheatstone thought Arthur would be furious, but to his surprise, not only was Arthur not angry, he even nodded in satisfaction, “Well done, Charles, this is exactly what I wanted.”