The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1669: Chapter 49: The Rulemaker of Scotland Yard (Part 3)

The heavy clouds above London slowly dissipated, leaving behind a few strands of thin sunlight, diagonally piercing through the worn eaves and streetlamp posts, casting elongated shadows.

The air carried a hint of coal smoke mixed with the damp rust smell, blended with the ink fragrance of newspapers and documents, the coarse language of carriage drivers, and a trace of an invigorating moisture, a scent that appears only before major events unfold.

The front door of Scotland Yard stood tall and silent, like a slumbering old guard, quietly watching over the ruts and crowds along Whitehall Street.

The iron cast door knocker still carried droplets of water, occasionally rattling in the wind.

A carriage slowly came to a halt at the entrance.

Before the driver could assist anyone in alighting, the carriage door was swiftly pushed open from the inside, and a gloved hand rested on the door frame.

The white shirt paired with a silver-gray bow tie complemented each other, with a dark gold Scotland Yard badge faintly visible on the chest. Arthur’s attire was as restrained and impeccably neat as always.

He walked towards Scotland Yard’s main door wielding a cane, his pace unhurried, yet each step landed precisely on the brick surface of the paved path, causing the hearts of onlookers to skip a beat.

On duty at the door was a new recruit, just under three months in service, the buttons on his uniform still glinting with fresh polish.

Seeing an unfamiliar gentleman walking straight in without any greeting, the new officer instinctively blocked the passage: ”Please hold, sir. Please present your visitor’s document or police letter.”

Arthur paused, looked at the young officer, neither angry nor mocking, merely smiling as he asked, ”New here?”

The young officer straightened up his posture: ”Yes, sir, joined in March.”

”Which department?”

”Investigations, sir.”

”Oh? Handling scene records or following leads?”

”Mostly organizing leads.” His voice held a slight arrogance, after all, this was one of the noblest and most prestigious departments within Scotland Yard: ”I handle primary archiving of complaint information and intelligence documents and then pass them up for assessment on whether to file the case.”

Arthur nodded, maintaining a gentle tone, ”That’s quite important. Was last night’s theft case at Victoria Pier assigned to your department?”

The young officer frowned, seeming a bit hesitant, ”I, I’m not really sure... although our department did receive a letter from the pier station yesterday afternoon... but I haven’t looked at its details. Why do you ask?”

”Just a casual question.” Arthur smiled as if merely a curious London citizen, ”Who do you usually partner with?”

”Uh... I mainly assist Chief Bobby Campbell.” The young officer hesitated, his gaze starting to show impatience, ”Sir, are you from a newspaper? If you’re here for an interview, you need to use the eastern side entrance. Right now, it’s official duty hours, no trespassing.”

Arthur remained unruffled, appearing to attentively observe a thriving young sprout.

He was about to inquire further when he suddenly heard the steady sound of boots stepping onto the brick pavement beside him.

”George.” A somewhat old but resonant voice greeted him, ”Don’t block the way.”

The new officer started, and turned sharply.

He saw an old Police Superintendent, with grey hair and eyes akin to an eagle’s, emerging from Scotland Yard’s main hall.

Wearing an old-fashioned dark tailcoat uniform with a slightly worn policemen’s belt at his waist, his steps were leisurely but exuded a significant presence.

The man stepped forward, placing a firm hand on young officer George’s shoulder, without reprimanding or scolding, merely gave him a silent glance.

Then turned to Arthur, standing upright and saluting.

”Welcome home, sir.”

Arthur nodded slightly, ”Long time, Evans.”

While they exchanged words, a group of on-duty officers in the front hall raised their heads, some rubbed their eyes, some secretly touched their badges on their chest, while some were barely able to suppress the urge to rush over for greetings.

And the new officer George remained standing stiffly in place, his face flushed as if he were a coal briquette just drawn from the furnace. He slowly lowered his head, quietly stepping back a little.

Arthur, noticing this, merely lifted his cane slightly, smilingly patted George’s shoulder, and turned to Superintendent Evans, ”This young man’s nice, he has potential.”

Superintendent Evans’s mouth twitched, revealing a rare smile on his old face shaped by time and storms.

”He’s quite good indeed.” He joked, ”Except he hasn’t learned yet that the gate of Scotland Yard never blocks the path of Sir Arthur.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head, ”It’s not his fault, the rules are the rules.”

”The rules are for newcomers,” Evans led Arthur inside, his voice small but crystal clear, ”And you are the one who sets them.”