The Shadow of Great Britain

356: Chapter 216 Forensic Toxicology Foundation (4K8)_2 356: Chapter 216 Forensic Toxicology Foundation (4K8)_2 So, if Harrison refuses to drop the lawsuit, then Scotland Yard only has one path to thoroughly seal his fate with the evidence chain.

Should Sir Peel and the members of the Tory Party fail to reach an agreement, and Bernie Harrison remains adamant about not resigning his parliamentary seat, then Scotland Yard would have no choice but to submit the case to the House of Lords for adjudication.

As per the legal statutes, the House of Lords, being Britain’s highest court of appeal, is the only entity authorized to judge a Member of Parliament.

Arthur could only go to the House of Lords with all sorts of materials and the record document he had just obtained from the Thames River Drowning Prevention Society, to deliver an on-the-spot speech and conduct scientific experiments before the eyes of the lords.

The lords would then decide whether to appoint a professional physician to act as coroner and submit a reasonable and legal autopsy report.

Though this autopsy report still wouldn’t prove the victim was murdered by Member of Parliament Bernie Harrison, it would at least establish that the victimized maid did not die from drowning.

Coupled with Bernie Harrison’s identity as a perfume merchant, even if he managed to avoid a sentence, his political career would likely be over for good.

Moreover, by proceeding in this manner, the Tory Party would inevitably face a barrage of public criticism, as Bernie Harrison is one of their own, and this is precisely what Sir Peel, who is dedicated to bridging the divides within the party, wishes to avoid.

Thinking thus, Arthur couldn’t help but rub his face.

After pondering for a long time, he eventually rang the bell in his office.

Tom pushed the door open and asked, “Arthur, is there something you need?”

Arthur gathered the papers clamped on his desk and, together with them, stuffed them into a manila envelope and handed it to Tom, “Take a trip to the residence of Sir Peel and deliver these documents to him.

I hope the contents can assist Sir Peel in persuading Harrison to decline the case.

If the MP is a wise man, he should realize that based on these alone, nothing he desires will be attainable.”

Tom nodded in semi-understanding upon hearing this, took the manila envelope, saluted Arthur respectfully, then closed the door on his way out.

The Red Devil curled up on the office sofa, chuckling while tossing sugar cubes into his mouth, and asked, “Arthur, I didn’t see it coming, but you’re quite sentimental.

After this, Peel will surely be grateful to you.

If the Tory Party can survive this storm, it’ll be thanks in no small part to the effort you’ve put in today.”

Arthur took a sip of his tea, “Agares, this isn’t about sentimentality.

What good does a divided Tory Party do for anybody?

A strong opposition is needed to exert the greatest pressure on the ruling party, because usually, it’s the opposition that has the most conscience—a one-party dominance is rarely a good thing in most cases.”

Agares raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “Oh?

Really?

Are you saying you don’t have the slightest, most insignificant personal motive?”

“Agares, what are you thinking?

I’m merely a humble servant of society.”

Having said that, Arthur took another sip of tea and added, “Of course, it would be quite pleasing to Scotland Yard if next month, when Parliament convenes, the Tory MPs, being part of the opposition, would not put up too much resistance to the police equipment upgrade motion.

You know, boys always like toying with new gadgets; I find that Colt Revolver rather nice.

Hmm…

perhaps in a couple of days, I should persuade that young American fellow to hurry up and set up a factory in London.

His family seems quite well-off; getting a production line up and running should be no issue.

Hmm…

right, the patent issues need sorting out first; holding American nationality is not very convenient in Britain.

Maybe I should convince him to take up British citizenship; we’d feel more at ease using our own things.”

Arthur suddenly noticed Agares watching him intently with those reddish, gleaming eyes.

The Red Devil’s smile appeared somewhat nauseating to look at.

Arthur coughed lightly and reemphasized, “Of course, you understand, the procurement of the Colt Revolver isn’t about personal preference; Scotland Yard will fully respect Parliament’s decision.”

Agares nodded repeatedly, rubbing his hands together with a sly grin, “Right, right, of course, Scotland Yard is simply responding to the public’s plea.

After all, you can’t approach every operation as if it’s the Battle of Waterloo at Regency Crescent; you aren’t the British Army.”

Hearing this, Arthur suddenly remembered he’d forgotten something.

He stood up, ready to go out, but halfway to the door, he twisted back and grabbed a can of cocoa powder he had bought from a Jermyn Street shop, produced in Central and South America, and slipped it into his pocket, musing to himself, “Alexander quite likes this cocoa powder, but I’m not sure if it’s his French genes at play or it stirring memories of his grandmother.”

…

In the Scotland Yard prison cells, there was one compartment distinctly different from the others.

Thoughtfully, two skylights were placed in the red brick wall, the not-too-large bedspread was covered with two blankets that looked as fresh as new, and beside the bed stood a simple dressing table.

To the incredulity of other prisoners, the table was filled with bottles and jars of hair oils and cologne, like those used by women, and there was even the luxury of an accompanying mirror.