The Shadow of Great Britain

350: Chapter 214: The Arsenic-Eating Ghost of London (4K) 350: Chapter 214: The Arsenic-Eating Ghost of London (4K) London, Greenwich District, Woolwich Royal Arsenal.

A carriage stopped in front of the arsenal, and the pure black sturdy riding boots stepped on the wet and slippery floor tiles.

Arthur tipped his hat slightly, during the noon break time, today’s arsenal workers, burly as usual, were playing football on the playground, but he was not in the mood to join them for a kick today, let alone sit on the sideline and give some advice.

After all, giving football advice at the arsenal, that’s a job more suitable for the French.

As one of the most security-sensitive areas in London, the Royal Cavalry Artillery permanently stationed here is responsible for the security of the Woolwich Arsenal.

Although it was their break time, given the frequent small-scale riots in London in recent years, the soldiers were still vigilant, and patrols of three could be seen everywhere near the streets of the arsenal.

Arthur stepped down from the carriage and took out his credentials in front of the arsenal guard to show them: “Arthur Hastings, Senior Police Inspector from Greater London Police Department, head of the Criminal Investigation Department.

The chemical engineer Mr.

James Marsh from your department was previously commissioned by the Royal Medical Association to assist Scotland Yard with a murder investigation.

I heard there’s been some progress this morning, and I have come to discuss the case with him.”

The fully armed guard took the credentials, glanced at them, and nodded, “Mr.

Hastings, please come in.

The local police station had already informed us that you would come today at noon; Mr.

Marsh is waiting for you in the chemistry lab.”

Arthur nodded, “The case is very urgent, so I won’t bother with pleasantries.

Please lead the way.”

Escorted by the guard, Arthur walked through the arsenal’s playground and into the production workshop.

As soon as he stepped into the factory, he saw rows of neatly arranged strange machines.

By identifying the instructions on the machines, Arthur roughly understood what they were.

Steam-powered hammers produced by Nashmith Company, rifle stocks from factories operated by the father of machinery Henry Maudslay, rifling and gun barrel lathes, and a horizontal boring machine from the year 1776, the rest of whose labels were too blurred to recognize.

The machines spanned a great range of eras, encompassing the whole 18th century right up to the 19th century; the glorious present and past of Great Britain’s mechanical industrial history almost converged in this production workshop capable of accommodating thousands of workers working simultaneously.

Seeing this, Arthur jokingly said, “Some of these antiques here have been around for half a century.

Hasn’t the armory considered getting some funds to replace these with new products?”

Upon hearing this, the guard replied with a smile, “When there’s no war to fight, it’s usually difficult to get funds from Parliament.

But we’ve been lucky this year, we got some new budget approved.

Look over there, aren’t there lathe merchants already pitching their products?”

Arthur glanced over and sure enough, towards the back of the production workshop, there was a gentleman in a black bowler hat and a dark green vest enthusiastically explaining something to a high-ranking officer dressed in a neat light red uniform.

While talking, he also instructed the apprentices in blue thick cloth overalls beside him to take out blueprints and eagerly display them to the other party.

Arthur looked at this scene and responded with a smile, “It seems that it won’t be long before the Woolwich Arsenal can produce some new products.

If you ask me, you should have stopped production of the Baker rifles a long time ago.

Those have been in use since the Napoleonic Wars, more than twenty years and still the same old model.

Even if the army doesn’t tire of them, we at Scotland Yard are weary.

Plus, patrolling the London streets with such long flintlock rifles is bound to upset the civilians.

Have you considered a production line for portable pistols?

Preferably percussion cap, I think Forsyth’s ‘perfume bottle’ percussion lock is quite nice; though a bit tough to maintain, it’s undeniably beautiful.”

Upon hearing this, the guard couldn’t help but look up at Arthur, saying, “You seem quite knowledgeable, sir.

But yes, rifles for infantry aren’t exactly convenient for officers at Scotland Yard to use, carrying a pistol is most suitable for patrolling.”

They were in the midst of a passionate debate about the merits of various firearms when they were suddenly interrupted by an enthusiastic greeting.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.

If my ears are working properly, one of you just mentioned an interest in percussion cap pistols?”

Arthur turned to look, and standing behind him was a young man with slightly wavy hair, with a ruddy complexion, and skin that seemed rough as if buffed by long exposure to wind and sand.

On his right hand’s knuckles, one could see some hardened yellow calluses, and his lower legs to the ankles were wrapped round and round with white cloth gaiters.

Behind his back in a leather tube, sat a polished brass spyglass meticulously placed.

Arthur, seeing his attire, couldn’t help but ask, “Are you a sailor?”

The young man was taken aback by Arthur’s question and then replied in surprise, “How did you know?”

The guard helped Arthur to answer, “Yank, haven’t you read a detective novel?

Go buy the latest issue of ‘British’, the ‘Hastings Case Files’ has all the Scotland Yard officers like this.

Not to mention, standing in front of you is a senior officer from Scotland Yard.”