The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 851: Revised: Chapter 2 Is Money Friendship? No, Friendship Is Money

In the spacious and luxurious living room, the aroma of cigars and oak-aged whiskey filled the air.

Perhaps because he no longer had to deal with the complicated affairs of Scotland Yard, Arthur even took the time to redecorate the house. The resplendent chandelier, classical murals on the walls, golden curtains, and the intricately patterned thick wool carpet; the wood burning fiercely in the fireplace reflected the light in a softer and more layered manner.

On a delicate mahogany round table, various silver flasks and engraved glass cups were placed, filled with amber-colored rich liquid, exuding an enticing fragrance of alcohol.

Several well-dressed guests were lounging on the sofa around the round table. Their collars were crisp white, their bow ties neatly tied, and each held a glass of whiskey, occasionally gently swaying it, savoring the unique aroma.

Their conversation was moderate in tone, filled with wit and intellect, ranging from recent parliamentary legislative proposals to commercial opportunities in the Far Eastern colonies, and then to recently published fashionable novels, all showcasing these gentlemen’s broad knowledge and profound thoughts.

Laughter, clinking of glasses, and piano tunes from the gramophone intertwined, painting a vivid picture of a 19th-century British gentlemen’s club social scene.

Lionel surveyed the room’s decor and said with a smile, “Arthur, it seems your health has recovered far better than I imagined, and you have also learned to enjoy life more. Your hobby has shifted from fencing to appreciating classical art. For a policeman, this might be a regression, but for a diplomat about to take office, it’s simply perfect. How did you suddenly come to this realization?”

Arthur, upon hearing this, held up his glass and said, “It’s quite simple, Lionel. If one gets shot twice in six months, once in the eye and once in the chest, with one foot stepping on the boundary between Hell and Heaven, your perspective naturally changes. For a dead person, nothing holds value, not even gold, let alone British Pounds. Whether for charity or buying alcohol, money should go where it’s meant to go. It should be spent cleanly.”

At this point, Arthur turned his head towards Ledley and asked, “By the way, Ledley, do you still have those hot items in your pocket?”

Ledley smiled apologetically, “Sir, there’s no such thing as hot or not at Scotland Yard. It’s all about serving the citizens. Of course, sometimes I can’t manage to do everything perfectly, like the night you led the team to the Tower of London. Several departments of the Police Intelligence Department unintentionally caught fire. Alas, it’s my lack of ability, unable to cover all bases.”

Everyone present grasped a nuance in Ledley’s words, but only Arthur could discern each seasoning clearly.

When the Police Intelligence Department was still known as the London District Measurement and Statistics Department, they were already collecting intel beyond their jurisdiction, such as compiling private files for some big shots or future big shots.

If Arthur were still at Scotland Yard, he would have a hundred ways to handle the Home Office’s investigation. Unfortunately, he had now left his private kingdom.

It’s well-known that no one likes living under surveillance, and British law also strictly forbids the police from doing so. Only when the Home Office needs this group of political security officers to monitor protest gatherings do they issue authorization, temporarily relaxing the surveillance control.

But the status of members of parliament is obviously different from that of workers. If they found out that, in the eyes of the Police Intelligence Department, everyone is born equal, it would cause quite a stir.

Arthur understood this principle, and naturally, the always clever Ledley did too.

But what Arthur hadn’t expected was that Ledley would act so swiftly. As soon as he received the news of Arthur being shot, he had already burned those confidential files to ashes.

Looking at it this way, besides being too advanced, it seems Ledley doesn’t have any other shortcomings.

Arthur nodded slightly at Ledley and said, “Ledley.”

Ledley sat upright, “What is it, Sir?”

Arthur raised his glass with a smile, “In my opinion, you will surely become the head of the Intelligence Department in the future.”

“Oh, really?”

Ledley respectfully raised his glass and clinked it with Arthur’s, “Then I’ll take your words as a good omen, Sir. To tell you the truth, I just spent a fortune buying your portrait from Mr. Turner. It’s now hanging on the wall of my office. Every time I open the door, I have to admire it twice.”

Upon hearing this, the wine Arthur was about to swallow almost got stuck in his throat. He pulled out a handkerchief, covered his mouth, coughed repeatedly, and said, “Ledley, you’re overdoing it.”

“Overdoing it? I wouldn’t call it overdoing it.”

Ledley raised his thumb and pointed to Plunkett beside him, “I only bought the portrait, but Thomas bought the painting ‘Rain, Police, and the Tower of London.’

Plunkett, hearing this, quickly clarified, “Sir, don’t listen to Ledley’s nonsense. I can’t afford such an expensive painting. It was Mr. Turner who offered to gift the painting ‘Rain, Police, and the Tower of London’ to Scotland Yard, but we were too embarrassed to accept it outright, so everyone chipped in some money as a token of appreciation to Mr. Turner, showing our respect. However, the painting hasn’t been delivered to us yet, as it is currently being exhibited at the Royal Academy of Arts’ annual exhibition. We’ll receive it once the exhibition ends.”