shadow of britain

Chapter 797 It's all about the martial world, all about grudges and entanglements.

As the first director and founder of the Police Intelligence Service, Sir Arthur Hastings' personal character naturally had a profound influence on the department's operating style.

Although he has been gone for three years, the Police Intelligence Service still retains many of the old traditions from the time of Arthur Hastings's administration.

In the past, in various files and correspondence of the Police Intelligence Service, Sir Arthur Hastings was often referred to by the letter "A," the first of the twenty-six letters, symbolizing his prima facie position within the Service. At the same time, "A" is also the first letter of "Arthur," so it could also refer to Sir Arthur Hastings himself.

After Arthur left the police intelligence agency, his successors also began to refer to themselves as "A".

Perhaps because Sir Arthur Hastings had a background in electromagnetism, he also installed a green light outside "Mr. A's" office. Officers who worked for the Police Intelligence Bureau for years knew that a green light meant "Mr. A" was busy with official business and unavailable to visitors. Furthermore, a special type of invisible ink made by the Police Intelligence Bureau was reserved for "Mr. A's" exclusive use.

In addition, the abundance of slang is also a major characteristic of the Metropolitan Police Intelligence Service.

Besides the various letters with hidden meanings, there are many other secrets within the Police Intelligence Bureau.

For example, there is a type of report called "AX report", where "AX" is taken from "A Exclusively".

Here, "store" is abbreviated as "P/A", "view" as "L/U", and "D/E" as "destroy". These abbreviations can also be combined with each other. For example, "P/AL/U" means "return to its original place after reading", while "L/UD/E" means "read and destroy".

Such baffling abbreviations are commonplace in police intelligence documents. They are all, of course, the great inventions of Sir Arthur Hastings, who, in his integrity, did not register patents for his vast number of "inventions," leaving all abbreviations open source.

However, even if the Jazz allow others to use his patents, it would still be very difficult to crack the system's internal encryption language without systematic training and long-term experience working in the police intelligence department.

As night deepened, the rain actually lessened. The wheels rolled over puddles on the side of the street, splashing up shimmering rings that shone through the car window onto the silver tip of Arthur's cane.

The carriage on the return trip from Kensington Palace to Scotland Yard was dimly lit. Sir Arthur Hastings, having eaten and drunk his fill, leaned against the corner of the carriage, one hand on his silver cane, the other tapping his knee with his fingers.

“Hugh.” He looked at Hugh across from him, his tone sounding both casual and quizzic: “After CS (the suspect) was taken to the station, were you the one who gave the interrogation?”

Hughes paused for a moment, then quickly replied, "No, it's Calvin, the line officer from B3 (Main Information Section Group 3)."

"That skinny guy who's always chewing on pencil stubs?" Arthur nodded. "He's certainly a capable worker."

Hugh said in a low voice, "When Garth first came to the station, he was quite stubborn and talked nonsense, but after drinking a couple of sips of beef tea with orange liqueur, he started talking more. He said he wasn't afraid of going to jail because he knew people in the palace. He also said that he had written an E/B letter (blackmail letter), and if something happened to him, the letter would fall into the hands of Thomas Barnes, the editor of The Times."

“Thomas Barnes? That’s a bit tricky. This Jupiter from The Times might not be willing to give me face…” Arthur bit his pipe. “Did you intercept that letter?”

“No, but Superintendent Charles Field specifically assigned people to investigate the intelligence on both the S and D lines, and they didn’t find any suspicious letters, so it was probably just a bluff.” Hught paused for a moment, then added, “Afterwards, Inspector Ridley King also sent people to Garth’s residence to conduct a T/C search, but they didn’t find anything of value.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn't help but laugh and said, "Really? It seems Ridley is quite busy today."

Unaware of what Ridley had gone through, Officer Hught assumed Arthur was praising his old subordinate for his good work, and he chimed in, "Yes, Inspector Ridley King did a very meticulous job. I heard that he personally led today's operation."

“Alright, let’s not talk about him anymore.” Arthur looked out the car window and saw Whitehall Street getting closer and closer. “Listen, Hugh, when you get back, label the CS case file R/G, keep only one copy, and label the classified file L/U–P/A. As for the original statement in B3, start from section F/N (restricted disclosure), and destroy everything below that. If Field asks you about it later, just say you followed the A letter of indictment.”

Hught sat up straight: "Yes, Sir."

Arthur said nothing, only tapping the carriage wall lightly with his knuckles. The carriage came to a smooth stop in front of Scotland Yard, and the coachman got up and opened the door for him.

The night wind, carrying the dampness of the rain, swept over us, and the gaslights on Whitehall Street flickered on and off.

The night watchman stood by the guard post on the street corner, his hat brim, adorned with the Scotland Yard emblem, pulled low, and he only nodded slightly in greeting as Arthur approached.

Arthur, leaning on his silver-tipped cane, stepped up the stairs with steady steps, the sound of raindrops still lingering behind him.

He didn't take off his hat or brush the water droplets off his cloak; he simply walked straight through the front hall and headed towards the east-facing corridor on the second floor without saying a word.

After passing through two doors belonging to the Crime Intelligence Centre, Arthur arrived at the office with a black nameplate in gold lettering—the office of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

A faint light shone from below the door crack. Arthur gently turned the doorknob, and the door clicked open, revealing it unlocked.

Director Rowan was standing by the window, his back to the door, holding a file with a note attached in his hand.

Rowan heard the door open but didn't turn around. He just continued flipping through the file in his hand: "You've arrived earlier than I expected."

“Since you sent someone to invite me, I naturally have to hurry.” Arthur placed his cane on the umbrella stand by the door. “Is Thomas Garth sober yet?”

"He's awake." Rowan finally put down the file. "He's still in the detention room, calm, not making a fuss or talking nonsense anymore. Do you want to see him now?"

“No.” Arthur shook his head, took off his cloak and draped it over the coat rack by the door. “Now that he’s sober, let’s release him. Kensington Palace has spoken.”

"Release him?" Rowan's brow twitched almost imperceptibly. He slammed the file heavily on the table, the papers rattling. "Just like that? He openly insulted patrol officers in Covent Garden and injured two officers, one of whom was a young man who had just been transferred to the main patrol unit. Have you seen the injury report?"

Arthur's gaze fell on the crumpled stack of files: "I know this annoys you, Rowan, and to be honest, I'm quite unhappy about it myself."

He stepped forward, picked up the file from the table, and smoothed out the curled corners: "If it were anyone else, even the illegitimate son of a cabinet minister, I wouldn't tolerate such insolence. But this time, it was Princess Sofia who personally delivered the letter, and she didn't just come to plead for me."

He then pulled a receipt from his jacket pocket: "Princess Sofia is deeply sorry for this. She is willing to provide compensation from her private account, two hundred pounds for each injured officer. Of course, this money cannot be made in the name of the Royal Family. In addition, Her Highness intends to personally write a letter of condolence, thanking them for their dedication to maintaining order in the London metropolitan area. She will arrange for someone to deliver the letter to the two officers as early as tomorrow."

Rowan finally calmed down upon hearing this: "That sounds rather polite. But, according to you, that playboy really is Princess Sofia's illegitimate son?"

Arthur smiled upon hearing this, neither confirming nor denying it: "Who knows? Royal affairs are a mess." Seeing that Arthur was unwilling to elaborate, Rowan didn't press further. He took out a cigarette case from his desk drawer and lit his pipe: "Although I don't know the specifics, you've been causing so much trouble at the police intelligence bureau these past few days, all for the sake of detaining such a good-for-nothing illegitimate child? Arthur, you're making a mountain out of a molehill."

“Perhaps.” Arthur took the cigarette case that Rowan tossed to him. “However, the more trivial the matter, the more we have to make a big deal out of it. If we really encounter a big problem, then we have to make a small deal out of it.”

Rowan glanced at the guy, then looked out the window: "I'm working overtime in the office until 9 o'clock today, not to listen to your nonsense."

Faced with his old superior's questioning, Arthur had no choice but to reluctantly reveal some of the truth: "What are your thoughts on the issue of succession to the throne?"

Rowan exhaled a smoke ring: "It would be nice if Princess Victoria inherited the throne, but I wouldn't mind if the Duke of Cumberland took over."

Arthur, of course, understood what Rowan meant.

Following the memorial service for Robert Culley, Scotland Yard has already made a good impression on Victoria.

As for the Duke of Cumberland, this prince, who came from the army, naturally fits the characteristics of Scotland Yard, since Scotland Yard itself is composed of retired army officers.

In short, no matter who inherits the throne, Scotland Yard will not lose out.

Arthur slowly closed his cigarette case: "If you think that it would be good for Scotland Yard to inherit the throne if someone could say in the House of Lords that 'the order of the country should not be maintained by the police, but by the military,' then I think you've really wasted your time working overtime until 9 p.m. tonight. Excuse my bluntness, sir, it's true that the Duke of Cumberland hates the Whigs, but that doesn't mean he's any more tolerant of the Peelers."

Rowan squinted and asked, "What do you mean by that? Are you saying we chose the wrong side?"

"I am merely offering a polite reminder that the Duke of Cumberland has always been indifferent to the police system. In maintaining order, he trusts the Royal Guard more."

Arthur's words about the Royal Guards were fine until Rowan uttered them, at which point Rowan's face immediately hardened and his previously relaxed expression turned cold.

Arthur certainly knew why the minister harbored such deep hatred for the Janissaries, or rather, every police officer who had ever served at Scotland Yard had more or less heard how Rowan, who served in the 52nd Regiment during the Battle of Waterloo, had incurred the wrath of the Janissaries.

Speaking of the 52nd Regiment, it is actually a unit with a rather legendary history.

During the Battle of Waterloo, the 52nd Regiment, along with the 71st Hill Light Infantry Regiment and the 95th Rifle Regiment (Green Jackets), were part of the Light Infantry Brigade commanded by Sir Henry Adams.

When the Battle of Waterloo began, the light infantry brigade, as a reserve force, was deployed in a concealed area behind the slope north of La Haye, on the right flank of the British forces.

With the First French Army defeated and the situation increasingly unfavorable to Napoleon, the French Emperor could only hope to capture Wellington before Prussian reinforcements arrived, for which he had to fight to the death.

In Napoleon's view, capturing La Hyde was tantamount to cutting Wellington's jugular vein, so he dispatched his most elite Imperial Guard to march on La Hyde.

At the same time, Sir Adam Henry also received orders from the Duke of Wellington to launch a flanking attack on the enemy.

Adam's Brigade, which had been on standby since the start of the battle, quickly deployed upon receiving orders. The 52nd Regiment advanced in a diagonal formation, using extremely precise volleys of gunfire to flank the French Imperial Guard advancing up the hillside, triggering the Imperial Guard's first rout in open combat.

The 52nd Regiment thus became the only unit in history to defeat Napoleon's Imperial Guard head-on with a single infantry regiment. For this, they received the Battle Banner of Waterloo, a symbol of victory, from the Duke of Wellington after the war, and were honored with the title "The Legion That Broke the Glory of the Empire" embroidered on their regimental flag, thus inscribing their history as such.

Secretary Rowan himself was one of the participants in this legendary battle. As a lieutenant in the 52nd Regiment, he personally faced the attack of the French Imperial Guard and was seriously wounded in the battle.

The reason he hated the Royal Guards so much was because he had witnessed firsthand the poor performance of the British cavalry in La Haye.

Lord Pomsenby's British Combined Cavalry Brigade launched a heroic but reckless attack on the French First Army near La Hay-Saint that day. Although they managed to rout several French infantry battalions and capture a few French flags.

This force, composed of Royal Guards cavalry, Scottish Grey Dragoons, and Irish Dragoons, surged forth from the right flank like lightning, seemingly descending from the heavens and disrupting the French offensive. However, this charging cavalry had gone too far, and their figures quickly disappeared into the smoke and fire. When news of the cavalry finally arrived, it was with the death of their commander, Lord Poncenby, and the complete rout of the Allied Cavalry Brigade.

When Rowan was wounded and fell to the ground in La Hire, he happened to encounter British cavalry who were supposed to come to his aid. However, instead of any of these guards coming down to help him, Rowan was stepped on by a passing guard who stepped on his injured calf.

Although so many years have passed and the wound has long since healed, Rowan's injury still aches terribly on rainy days. And as is well known, London experiences many rainy days, so it's really hard to blame him for having a grudge against the Janissaries.

Even after starting work at Scotland Yard, Rowan's feud with the Janissaries did not end.

Although we are all retired army officers, there is a clear distinction between those who came from the infantry and those who came from the cavalry.

If we break it down further, you can tell which regiment you came from and which battalion you served in, which also reflects the degree of closeness or distance in your relationship with the unit.

But regardless, cavalrymen look down on infantrymen, and infantrymen dislike cavalrymen; in this respect, they are always the same.

At least in Rowan's view, the very name of a British cavalryman already revealed a kind of stupidity. If you add the prefix "Guards," then this person is simply beyond redemption, because such a person is not only stupid, but also lacks self-awareness.

Of course, this cannot be blamed on Rowan's stereotypes, because Arthur's rise to power in Scotland Yard was largely due to the help of three brainless men who had retired from the cavalry.

The first one is Arthur's superior in Greenwich—Sheriff Willocks Roberts.

The second was Willocks's backer at Scotland Yard – Superintendent Clemens.

As for the third one, that would naturally be Fred, the London smuggling kingpin who was thrown into the sea by Arthur.

Thinking about this, Rowan's face grew increasingly dark. He took two deep drags on his cigarette: "Besides this? Do you have any other opinions?"

(End of this chapter)