The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 859: Chapter 4: The Judas of the Foreign Office_3

At this point, Arthur suddenly seemed to remember something. He stopped in his tracks, turned around, and warned Fiona: “But, I must politely remind you, Fiona, just because I’m no longer the Assistant Commissioner of the Royal Greater London Police Department doesn’t mean you can casually call me a little bastard. I still have some influence at Scotland Yard; they didn’t even hold me accountable for embezzling funds before.”

Hearing this, Fiona couldn’t help but burst into a laugh, and she instantly relaxed. The weight on her heart for more than half a year seemed to lighten considerably.

Can a person change after dying and coming back to life?

At least the person before her had never changed.

She lifted her skirt and curtsied: “Understood, dear. Now, is there anything else you need me to do?”

Arthur took out his pocket watch and glanced at it: “Take me to see Schneider, then recommend a top restaurant nearby. Alexander, Ledley, Plunkett, and Louis are all here. I’m planning to treat this bunch of friends to a meal.”

Fiona playfully asked: “Is it the kind of restaurant that has sparkling water?”

“Of course.” Arthur waved a check in front of Fiona: “This time I’m paying, so I call the shots.”

Fiona unceremoniously snatched the check from him. She glanced at it and then nodded in satisfaction: “For a meal, this is too much. But as a tip for me, it seems too little.”

Arthur stopped in front of room 302, holding the door handle as he said: “You make the arrangements; this is my budget.”

Click.

The door was gently pushed open.

Inside the dimly lit room, Schneider, blindfolded with a black cloth, was roughly tied to a cross.

His forehead was covered with sweat, and his white shirt had been torn open, exposing pale skin.

The three women administering the punishment wore only corsets. Their faces were expressionless as they held soft yet resilient whips, each strike accompanied by Schneider’s painful groans.

The rose-water-soaked whips left bloodstains on his back, with fresh blood trickling down the cross in places where the skin had been slightly torn.

The women recited their lines with passion while whipping: “Judas Iscariot, you are accused of betraying your mentor and friends; your crime is a desecration of our faith, a betrayal of the sacred.”

Schneider, filled with remorse and agony, tremulously replied: “I… I was just following their orders. I didn’t know it would turn out like this. Please, spare me, kind ladies.”

Arthur’s gaze shifted, and in the dark corner of the room, he noticed several unexpected guests watching with keen interest. They were none other than the friends he planned to invite to dinner.

Ledley, watching and whispering in amazement: “I… I didn’t know Nightingale Mansion offered such new services?”

Great Dumas was flipping through the service menu: “Buddy, I advise you not to spend money on this service. Do you know how much it costs? A full five pounds! The salary from Scotland Yard shouldn’t have made you this wealthy, right?”

Seeing Schneider’s skin torn and tattered, Louis seemed to recall some unpleasant past experiences and murmured: “I used to think how harsh it could be? This doesn’t even compare to the punishment I underwent at the Swiss military academy. There, if a cadet broke the rules, the instructors would usually pick a sunny afternoon to whip him a dozen times before hanging him on the flagpole.”

Plunkett, smoking a cigarette, waved: “Mr. Bonaparte, that’s different. You’re talking about punishment; this here is pleasure. The five pounds make all the difference.”

Arthur glanced at his friends and nonchalantly walked over to the women executing the punishment, signaling to them with his eyes.

The women showed a hint of hesitation, but faced with the gentleman who even Fiona, their boss, avoided, they ultimately stepped aside.

Arthur took a whip from one of their hands, wiped the sweat from the corner of his eyes, rubbed his hands vigorously, and then a sharp crack was heard.

“Ah!!!!!!!!!!”

Schneider’s scream echoed throughout the building.

Great Dumas and the others, sensing trouble, quickly fled.

As for Arthur, he said no more but threw the whip aside and retreated to the door, knocking softly.

Schneider hissed and was about to curse when Arthur interrupted him: “Excuse me, are you Mr. Schneider? I guessed it was you right away. In all of London, only you, a true British gentleman, could play such a grand game.”