The Shadow of Great Britain

Arthur wasn’t annoyed, he simply picked up the coat from the hat rack: ”Mr. Murphy, I’ve been working in the Police Intelligence Department for as long as you’ve been Sheriff. If I really wanted to forge letters, it wouldn’t just be to take a stroll around Albion Villa. If you’re worried about trouble, then pretend I never came today, and I won’t reveal that I visited you before breaking into Albion Villa.”

Just as Arthur finished speaking, the door of the Sheriff’s office was pushed open.

Standing outside were several armed men, led, of course, by the sharpshooter Thomas Plunkett.

Seeing them arrive, Arthur immediately asked, ”Have you notified Mr. Zhongma and Mr. Carter?”

”We have.” Plunkett holstered his revolver: ”Mr. Zhongma, Mr. Carter, Mr. Disraeli, and Mr. Dickens, they’ve all gotten out of bed. From what they said, it seems they’re planning to split up and wake newspaper journalists living in various inns within the city in four directions: east, west, south, and north.”

The old Sheriff frowned deeply: ”Calling in the journalists?”

He asked gravely, ”Are you planning to put the whole incident on Fleet Street’s pages? Do you know what this means?”

Arthur shook out the sleeve of his coat, speaking indifferently: ”It means, if anyone at Albion Villa is obstructing the Crown Prince’s treatment, their names will be known throughout Britain before dawn tomorrow. Mr. Murphy, weren’t you worried that signing this order would cause trouble? Then I’ll let trouble sprout legs and find them on its own.”

Plunkett grinned: ”The gentlemen are more than happy to go. They say, if there’s really something unspeakable happening, the public ought to see it.”

The old Sheriff’s hand paused on the brass stamp, and suddenly he gritted his teeth, stamping it heavily onto the search warrant.

”Alright, let’s do as you say! The search reason is suspected unidentified criminals infiltrating and threatening the safety of the Crown Prince. Sir Arthur, to avoid accidents, I’ll take people through the front door, your men through the back, sealing all exits. However, I have one condition: after we get inside, no one is allowed to leave the house alone until the truth is uncovered.”

Arthur took the order, folded it neatly, and tucked it into his pocket: ”Mr. Murphy, I assure you with my honor, you’ve made the right decision this time.”

The old Sheriff took a deep breath: ”I hope the Duke of Wellington hasn’t misjudged a person, Sir Arthur, you’d better not deceive me, or the consequences will be severe.”

Arthur nodded, then waved his hand, and several former Police Intelligence Bureau members immediately retreated outside the door. Before long, their footsteps faded down the corridor into the sea breeze.

Murphy also stood up, buttoning his coat, his shoulders slightly sagging, as if wearing the accumulated prestige from years past.

He shouted out the door: ”Where is everyone! Burdette!”

From the end of the corridor came a hurried clatter, and a middle-aged officer with a flushed face rushed in, not having caught his breath, he reported: ”Here, sir.”

”Notify Harlow, Tate, and Mason to gather in the front hall immediately, bring batons and handcuffs, right away! Also, Croft and Baxter, have them fetch the horses from the stable and take the coastal path to watch Arthur Hastings’s men. Lastly, call Pearson, bring a copy of the search warrant, and come with me!”