The Shadow of Great Britain

600: Chapter 302 Gratitude for Revenge?_2 600: Chapter 302 Gratitude for Revenge?_2 “Mr.

Hastings!”

No sooner had the Red Devil spoken than the Liverpool department staff, seeing that the criminal was already dead, hurriedly gathered around.

But as they approached, they noticed the blood on Arthur’s cheek.

For a moment, no one dared to speak first, fearing the responsibility would fall on them.

During the ensuing silence, the Liverpool sheriff’s team finally arrived belatedly.

The Sheriff dismounted hurriedly and began to inquire, “Mr.

Hastings, you…”

Before he could finish, Great Dumas interjected sarcastically, “Sir, as you can see, the assassination has already ended.

Rather than offer sympathy, you and your team should hasten to wash this blood-stained street.”

Owen, now recovered from the assassination attempt, also expressed his dissatisfaction: “I now finally understand how Spencer Percival was assassinated in the hall of Westminster Palace.

If this can happen to the Prime Minister, let alone to Liverpool’s special customs surveillance commissioner.”

The Sheriff, red-faced and thick-necked from their rebuttals, struggled to respond.

Seeing this, Arthur merely chuckled lightly and said to comfort him, “Actually, it’s not so bad, my condition is better than the Prime Minister’s.

At the very least, from what happened today, the fellows who tried to assassinate me aren’t very bright.

They started shooting at me from thirty yards away.

If they had been smarter, like John Bellingham years ago, and shot me close up in the chest, then I suppose I would have been lying down on my way back to London by this afternoon.”

The Sheriff, sweating profusely, said, “Mr.

Hastings, this is our mistake.

But as you know, our sheriff’s team is limited in number.

Liverpool is too large, and oversights are inevitably bound to happen.”

Arthur nodded, “Exactly, that’s also why Sir Robert Peel was so keen on establishing Scotland Yard.

He believed that it was too burdensome to place the entire responsibility for London’s public safety on local sheriffs and the Bow Street Runners.

I appreciate your sentiments, and I will indeed report exactly what happened here.”

With this said, Arthur then turned his attention toward the silent onlookers, “Gentlemen, what are you still standing around for?

Go back to whoever sent you here and tell them I am feeling a bit under the weather today, so I won’t be visiting them.

As for whether they wish to come here, that would depend on their mood.”

…

In Arthur’s room on the second floor of the Golden Lion Inn.

Arthur looked at the six handguns laid out on the table, four flintlock pistols, and two revolvers.

According to Great Dumas, the firearms expert, one was a double-barreled flintlock pistol produced by the East India Company Armory Division in Britain, another was a helical barrel flintlock pistol by the old Venetian arms dealer Pietro Beretta Company, and two likely came from some unknown gun workshop flintlock system with mercury fulminate ignition.

As for the remaining two revolvers, although Arthur was not as knowledgeable as Dumas about firearms, he could tell that these two must have been made by Samuel Colt.

As an invention that appeared in the 16th century, revolvers are not so new; previous models were either matchlock or flintlock.

But equipped with a primer impact firing mechanism and rifled barrels, and using conical cartridge bullets, aside from the Colt Revolver, there were none other like it in the world at the moment.

Dumas, sitting at the corner of the table, casually picked up a revolver and toyed with it, “Ha!

This work is indeed rough.

Attempted assassination aside, to use a revolver for an assassination seems like they were making sure we knew where the gun was bought from.

Colt’s production line isn’t even up yet, so practically every revolver made is handcrafted by Mr.

Colt and a few artisans.

Just check who recently placed orders, and wouldn’t the identity of the assailants become clear?”

Heine chimed in, “Indeed!

I had thought assassination was a high-end business that required a meticulously detailed plan, in coordination with a sharpshooter and veiled under some unspeakable secretive motive to achieve an artful assassination.

Yet what did I see today—a multitude of shots fired, none hitting their mark, the only real danger to Arthur being his misfortune of getting hit by a pebble.

Heaven knows how that happened!”

While they were talking, Louis entered and said, “Arthur, according to Chief Field, three attackers, two dead and one injured, but the injured one isn’t looking good either.

He was shot through the right chest by Alexander.

Though he’s not dying immediately, it seems it’ll be soon.”

Arthur, covering his cheek with a handkerchief, asked, “Is he willing to confess?”

Louis shook his head, “Their employer must have paid them quite a sum, or given them some irresistible promises, so he’s not willing to say anything.

However, this does not stop us from continuing the investigation.

We found something interesting on him.

Look at this.”

With that, Louis tossed a pocket watch to Arthur.

Arthur deftly flipped open the cover, and a portrait of a beautiful blonde woman instantly appeared before his eyes, with her name gracefully scripted below—Agnieszka.