The Shadow of Great Britain

62: Chapter 23: The Great Detective Hastings 62: Chapter 23: The Great Detective Hastings Greenwich District police station, inside the Police Superintendent’s office.

Arthur took off his civilian clothes and changed back into his familiar police uniform.

Agares, leaning on his chair, asked teasingly, “How do you plan to save that little girl named Robin?

If I may be so bold, she probably worked too long at the textile factory and contracted a lung disease.

I’m afraid that kind of illness isn’t so easily cured.”

As Arthur was buttoning up his uniform, he replied, “Agares, stop with your cold remarks.

If you have a way, just spit it out.”

“Oh, Arthur, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, it’s just that medicine really isn’t my field of expertise.

I excel in mathematics, astronomy, and linguistics.”

“As for medical matters, you would do better to ask Baal than me, at least Baal knows how to create plagues, that lord of the flies knows about this stuff.”

Arthur took out the Royal Society pass issued to him by the Duke of Sussex from his drawer.

“Agares, although I knew you’d probably respond like this, I still can’t help but say it.

You always deal underhand with normal people, hiring cripples to push carts, when you put together a band for me, you bring a bunch of mutes to sing.

The fact that you aren’t landing any souls could hardly be all my fault, it’s because you’re involved in far too many discordant affairs.”

Upon hearing this, the Red Devil stood up angrily and burst into swearing.

“Arthur!

Don’t blame me for speaking unpleasantly, but every deal with a devil is subject to strict regulations!

All contracts are conducted under the constraints of Hell’s laws, and everything is fair, just, and public.

If you didn’t get what you wanted, you can only blame yourself for not making your demands clear; you can’t blame me for that!”

“Hell’s laws?” Arthur zeroed in on the new term: “What are Hell’s laws?”

Agares snorted, “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.

Since you’re a Scotland Yard officer, just think of Hell’s laws as the mortal world’s laws.

In any case, when it comes to the terms of a deal, I can’t possibly cheat you, and neither would any other devil dare to deceive you on this matter.

Anyone who dares to counterfeit or deceive under Hell’s laws would have their powers retracted by the force of the laws.”

With a raised eyebrow, Arthur said, “So, all the devils in Hell are law-abiding citizens, then?

In such a place, shouldn’t it be Heaven instead of Hell?”

“Oh, my dear Arthur.”

The Red Devil chuckled while rubbing his hands: “If you’ve been to Hell, you’d know.

If a being only abides by the most basic laws, that’s not a good thing.

Because it means they would do anything else that’s not covered by the laws.

Are you really sure that would be a good thing?

For example, Baal collecting excrement does not violate Hell’s laws, and consuming excrement certainly doesn’t either, but would you be able to stand it if your neighbor engaged in this behavior every day?

If you can stand it, I’m ready to sell you my villa in Hell right now; we can sign the deal now—ten souls, a fair and cheap price.

You probably don’t know, but just because he built a dung restaurant next to my house, every night there are thousands of flies throwing parties there.

I’ve had that house listed in Hell for thousands of years now, and still, nobody bites—even though it was originally in a high-end villa area!”

Arthur smirked, “I originally thought you and Baal just had some personal grudges; I hadn’t realized you also had financial disputes.

Agares, it seems there’s still a lot I don’t know about you.”

Agares made a grand gesture with his hand, “No matter.

Just like you said to Adam before, let bygones be bygones.

As time goes by, I believe we can definitely become good partners.

Arthur, be a little less wary of me; I’m not always trying to trick you.”

Arthur pocketed the Royal Society pass, “That’s exactly what makes me uneasy.

But let’s leave it there for today; I must go find Faraday at the Royal Society.”

“What do you need him for?

Isn’t he a specialist in chemistry and physics?

He doesn’t understand medicine.”

“But he should know those who do.

I’ve heard that the medical community pays close attention to advances in the chemical field, and many of them are very friendly with chemists.

Mr.

Faraday should know some good doctors, and even if he doesn’t, I can ask the other scientists to help me inquire.”

Arthur picked up his bowler hat and left the room.

But before he had even reached the outside of the police station, he heard someone call after him.

“Superintendent, wait a moment, someone just reported, two people are dead on Central Street!”

“Dead?”

Turning, Arthur saw a junior officer gasping for breath.

He quickly inquired, “What exactly happened?”

The junior officer stood to attention and saluted, then hurriedly said, “Wells Hotel on Central Street reported the case, saying that two guests died in their rooms.

The hotel owner suspects the cause of death may be a gas leak.

We just received the report and, as per your instructions at the last work conference, we sent officers to secure the scene.

Sir, would you like to go there yourself?”

Upon hearing this, Arthur immediately donned his hat and said, “Lead the way immediately!”

…

Ten minutes later, Arthur arrived at the Wells Hotel located at 24 Central Street in the Greenwich District with Tom and Tony.

The crowd in front of the hotel was bustling, filled with curious Londoners standing on tiptoe trying to peek inside and understand what had happened there.

The police officers had already roped off a cordon as per Arthur’s orders to keep the unrelated public at bay.

The nearby patrolling officers had also been urgently called over to this location to maintain public order.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please make way!”

As Tom and Tony shouted at the top of their lungs, they forced their way through the crowd hoping to clear a path for Arthur to enter the hotel.

Seeing Arthur’s arrival, the surrounding patrol officers hurriedly stood at attention and saluted: “Police Superintendent Hastings!”

The bustling citizens, hearing this voice, couldn’t help but turn around and look at Arthur.

“Is that Arthur Hastings?

The young officer who saved the little boy in court!”

“No mistake!

It’s written in the papers, Arthur Hastings was promoted to Police Superintendent of the Greenwich District, that’s him!”

“My God!

He’s so young, tall, and handsome, you can tell he’s very capable just by looking at him.”

They instinctively cleared a path for Arthur, perhaps retreating too hastily, for they swept Tom and Tony up in the crowd.

In panic, they howled, “Damn it, let us out!”

At that moment, Arthur couldn’t care less about the two of them and strode directly toward the hotel’s reception desk in his boots.

It was a very narrow hallway that led to the front desk where one could see a price list hanging on the wall.

Written in crooked letters on it was—Special evening rate, 9 PM to 5 AM the following day, overnight room rental only two pennies.

The young man at the service desk, in his twenties, managed only a strained smile at Arthur, probably frightened by the sudden influx of a large number of police officers.

“Officer, this way, please.

The deceased is in a room on the second floor, and the other hotel guests have been gathered there according to police instructions.”

Arthur didn’t immediately address this issue but kept eyeing the price list on the wall before asking offhandedly, “Are your room rates always this low?

I’ve just come from the St Giles in the West District, where even their hotels charge three pennies a day.”

The service attendant responded, “It’s not always this cheap.

Didn’t you see?

It’s only two pennies for the overnight room rate in the evening.

By that time, the guests who are supposed to check in have usually already done so.

The boss says that leaving the remaining rooms empty is a waste, so it’s better to rent them out cheaply to at least recover some costs.”

Arthur asked, “If all the guests that are supposed to check in have already done so, then who rents these overnight rooms?”

The attendant shrugged, “There will always be people who take them, after all, such cheap rooms are hard to come by.

You get beggars who have the good fortune to beg some money, prostitutes looking for a place to entertain clients, or country farmers who have just come to London to make a living but find themselves strangers in a strange place, with hardly any money in their pockets.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly upon hearing this, as he recalled the missing persons list from St Giles Church he had seen earlier.

He did not seem to be in a hurry to proceed, instead, he turned and asked, “From what I remember, many hotel proprietors don’t seem to welcome these people, do they?

They think bringing in these people affects the hotel’s reputation, deterring regular guests from staying there.

How come your boss’s way of doing business seems different from theirs?”

The attendant, finding the Police Superintendent quite approachable and amiable, relaxed a bit.

He began, “Who knows?

I’ve advised him many times since those overnight rooms need to be cleaned by me afterwards, and I’ve had enough of doing that job.

You might not be aware, but the quality of those poor guests is really low; they leave the bedsheets and quilts dirty, and there are often scattered bottles and the like on the floor.

I’ve reported to the boss many times, telling him that keeping on like this would lead to trouble sooner or later and even if nothing went wrong, it’s not good if other guests see that.

But he won’t listen to me, he says he has his own ideas, and as someone who works for him, I should mind my own business less.

He thinks that the time for the overnight rooms is from 9 PM to 5 AM the next morning, when other guests are sleeping.

As long as those beggars and prostitutes come after the other guests have gone to bed and leave before they wake up, then it shouldn’t be a problem.

But look at what’s happened now?

In the past two months, there hasn’t been any issue, and our boss, Mr.

Wells, has been diligent, making sure to drive them out before 5 AM every morning.

But what about today?

Today, as soon as I opened the door, I found two overnight prostitutes dead in one of the rooms.

Mr.

Wells is just too arrogant.

He has only been a hotel proprietor for a few months, while I have been a service attendant for five years.

In my view, doing business like this is certainly not going to work.”

At this, Arthur pulled a penny from his pocket and placed it on the service desk: “Thank you for the information, good citizen.”

The attendant, taken aback by Arthur’s unexpected action, picked up the coin from the desk, then looked up at the silhouette of Arthur heading upstairs.

After a moment’s thought, he finally spoke up.

“Officer, don’t rush, I can chat for another two pennies!”