The Shadow of Great Britain

507: Chapter 269: The Mathematical Needs of Soldiers (4K8) 507: Chapter 269: The Mathematical Needs of Soldiers (4K8) The streets of London were wet, blackish-gray water streaming between the damp tiles.

Under two wide-brimmed hats, red sparks flickered, from time to time emitting puffs of smoke; Arthur and Louis strolled leisurely towards their destination—the Royal Society located at Gresham College.

Louis began, “I heard that the royal charter from the University of London has finally been officially approved.

Maybe in a while, the diploma will be in your hands.”

With a bandage hanging around his neck, Arthur took a drag of his cigarette and replied, “No need to wait a while.

When I helped Alfred register at the University of London the other day, the director of academic affairs already told me that the school is currently printing the diplomas, preparing to issue them to us first graduates, who should have received them long ago.

He even asked me whether I’d like them mailed to me or if I would prefer to pick them up myself.”

Louis joked, “I bet you plan to pick it up yourself.

From what I’ve observed during my time in London, it seems the postal service here isn’t any better than in Paris.”

Arthur nodded in agreement.

Unlike the modern efficient postal service, the 19th-century postal service was synonymous with inefficiency and chaos.

Beyond that, its expensive pricing and the payment method of only accepting payment on delivery often made it unbearable.

If an ordinary worker wanted to send a letter from Inverness in Scotland to a relative in London, it could cost him half a month’s salary.

However, although mailing letters was prohibitively expensive, mailing newspapers through the postal system was free to encourage the development of the printing and news industries.

So, to freeload Britain’s postal service, many devised a sly trick to evade paying high postage costs.

They would put a newspaper in an envelope and punch holes over specific letters of the newspaper, allowing the recipient to spell out the ‘encrypted message’ through these punched letters.

Those who were relatively well-off and unwilling to endure the inefficiency of the postal system simply chose to place their encrypted messages in widely circulated newspapers.

Larger newspapers like “The Times” and “The Guardian” usually offered cost-effective personal notice sections and completely free reader correspondence columns.

The newspapers initiated these columns intending to communicate more with the readers, to bridge the gap between them, thereby increasing the paper’s sales and influence.

But unexpectedly, many lovers simply published their love letters there, causing the citizens to jokingly refer to them as the ‘Yearning Column.’

The newspapers, to put an end to this exploitation, naturally began to enforce more stringent regulations.

However, despite the crackdown, it didn’t take long for the lovers to grasp the basic skills of encrypted communication and began to express their yearnings in more concealed language within the columns.

It was none of Arthur’s business that the lovers were venting their overflowing hormones, but coincidentally, a freelance employee of the Police Intelligence Department took a liking to researching these trifles.

After achieving a degree of financial independence, Mr.

Wheatstone, a deep-set social phobia sufferer, began to let loose.

For two months straight, he didn’t pursue any scientific research; instead, he locked himself with stacks of newspapers in his bedroom after dinner each day.

Two months later, when Charles Wheatstone emerged from his seclusion at a Police Intelligence Department work meeting, he proudly announced that he had successfully decrypted the encrypted language of at least nine couples.

To prove his decoding accuracy, Wheatstone voraciously read out those translated shameless love letters in front of Arthur, successfully inspiring Arthur to introduce the decoding of love letters as a critical element in the new issue of the “Hastings Case Files.”

Having tasted success, Wheatstone became unstoppable.

Nowadays, he was no longer satisfied with just decoding the love letters from those columns.

He even sometimes paid out of his pocket to meddle in the love affairs of these couples.

This man, who typically barely spoke to women, now frequently masqueraded as a love expert in the various newspapers’ ‘Yearning Columns,’ offering unsolicited, unprofessional, and annoying advice.

— “You should break up with that b*tch; she’s not worthy of you.

If I were you, I’d have shot her already.”

— “Eloping won’t solve the problem, and even if you wanted to elope, you’d have to graduate from Oxford first.

Besides, if you truly underwent an Oxford education, are you sure you still like girls?”

— “That man is lying to you.

I’m too familiar with such tricks because I have a friend who’s a piece of sh*t working at Scotland Yard.

But I think your boyfriend is even worse than my friend—at least my friend can provide me a free place to stay.

And you, my girl, your boyfriend can’t even afford his own rent.”

After Wheatstone’s terrorist-like bombardment of services, lately, British lovers have notably become more subdued.

Even those still fixated on the Yearning Column have extensively upgraded their codebooks.

After indulging himself, Wheatstone soon realized he had stirred up substantial trouble.