shadow of britain

Chapter 920 The Bastards' Bad Habits of the Police Intelligence Bureau
In a sense, it is somewhat insulting to put The Sun, which has been published for forty years, alongside those truly obscure tabloids. This newspaper once had the second-highest circulation in the UK.

As some of the earliest penny daily newspapers in Britain, The Sun and The Times were once hailed as the twin stars of the British newspaper industry in the early 19th century. The Times dominated the morning newspaper sector, while The Sun was the overlord of the evening newspaper sector.

However, it is well known that due to stamp duty, advertising tax, and paper tax, most newspapers that tout their low prices are involved in tax evasion. The Times has been able to exist for so long because they are very clean in their tax affairs, and they do not follow the low-price strategy.

However, when The Sun first started out, in addition to its effective and timely news reporting, it relied on the low price advantage brought about by the exemption of stamp duty.

Logically speaking, a newspaper with such a large circulation and significant influence should have been targeted by tax officials at the Ministry of Finance long ago.

Can……

How exactly did this newspaper manage to publish for forty years without any problems while evading taxes?

Is it a miracle?
Or is it magic?

Of course not!
It's because The Sun was co-opted a long time ago.

To describe it as "co-opted" might not be accurate. To be precise, John Heriot, the founder of The Sun, was recruited by the Treasury to establish the newspaper. Furthermore, during Heriot's tenure, The Sun's operating funds were secretly provided by members of the Tory government through private gifts.

Heriot founded the evening newspaper *The Sun* on October 1, 1792, and with government funding, it quickly rose to become the second largest newspaper in Britain after *The Times*. In 1793, he repeated this strategy, founding the morning newspaper *The True Englishman*. This newspaper also received funding from the Treasury and maintained a strong pro-government stance. *The True Englishman* continued publication for eleven years before ceasing publication in 1804.

Mr. Heriot also resigned as editor of The Sun in 1806, and the Tories, in recognition of Heriot's long-standing and outstanding contributions to the cause of conservatism in the field of public opinion, appointed him as a member of the Lottery Committee shortly after he announced his departure from the press.

For Heriot himself, this was undoubtedly a leap forward in his career, but for The Sun, it was a disaster.

During the crucial stages of the Napoleonic Wars, The Sun was still receiving payments from the Tories, but when news of Napoleon's defeat came from Waterloo, this newspaper, which had long been paid by the state, was devastated, its grief no less than that of the most patriotic citizens of the French Empire.

With dwindling government funding and its reputation long since ruined by pro-government articles with extreme stances, The Sun has been unable to even raise the banner of "patriotism" to whitewash itself since the end of the war.

After struggling to continue operating for ten years, The Sun, with its sales constantly declining, had no choice but to make the decision to sell itself.

In 1825, newspaper veteran Patrick Grant and senior editor Murdoch Young announced the formal completion of the acquisition of The Sun.

New broom sweeps clean, and the two new owners, in an effort to change The Sun's notorious social reputation, decided to change the newspaper's stance—since the Tory government wasn't funding them, why should they write articles for them? From now on, we're a pro-Whig newspaper!

Under the new owner's approval, The Sun invested heavily in building a team of resident reporters covering Parliament and the whole country. It also required The Sun, as an evening newspaper, to adhere to late-night printing like other morning newspapers and to adopt a rider delivery and stagecoach system to ensure that The Sun could surpass its competitors in the speed of news gathering and dissemination.

Although this was costly, it must be said that Grant and Young’s new policies were indeed effective. As an evening newspaper, The Sun was sometimes up to 12 hours ahead of the Morning Post in terms of parliamentary news, local political rallies and sporting events.

As reported in last night's Buckingham Palace concert, the concert was supposed to end at 8:30 p.m., followed by a ball. However, The Sun's article was printed at 1 a.m. and delivered immediately to the British General Post Office in St. Martin-Le Grand, so that it could be connected with postal carts leaving London for nationwide distribution.

Sir Arthur Hastings owes all of this to the kings of the British press, who ensured he could read the news he wanted every morning.

Sir Arthur was pleased with the timeliness and accuracy of The Sun's news.

However, it's wrong of The Sun to publish everything so quickly.

Even The Times, Britain's largest newspaper, would issue a prior notice before reporting any news that might involve Sir Arthur.

Although Arthur sometimes objected, The Times, with its powerful backing, might not listen, but they would always offer some perfunctory words.

But how dare The Sun, a phoenix that has lost its feathers, still bully dogs when it's fallen into a corner?
Bold!

Do you think that by raising the price of newspapers now and paying the stamp duty as usual, the impartial Ministry of Finance won't be able to find out about your problems?

If the Ministry of Finance hadn't also disregarded the Secretary-General of the Police Commissioner's Committee, you would have gotten your comeuppance sooner or later!
Do you think Sir Arthur Hastings didn't retaliate because he's kind-hearted and speaks well?
wrong!

He doesn't have that ability right now!

Ridley sat in the carriage, mentally rehearsing his speech to the editor of The Sun countless times, but somehow, no matter how he phrased it, it always sounded like he was mocking Sir Arthur.

Of course, it's not that Ridley didn't want to satirize that simpleton.

However, he also temporarily lacks the ability to satirize those who are simple-minded.

Thinking of this, Ridley couldn't help but sigh softly. He flipped through the documents he had just retrieved from the archives and cursed Arthur for being hypocritical.

Just now in the office, Arthur kept saying things like, "It's not impossible to have Empire Publishing handle it," and "But I still trust your business acumen more."

However, his explanation seemed so weak and powerless in the face of the intelligence capabilities of the Police Intelligence Bureau.

As a security intelligence organization deeply influenced by Sir Arthur, the Police Intelligence Bureau naturally inherited all of his good habits and bad ones.

As a key target of the British police intelligence service, any newspaper with even a slight reputation would have its information archived separately.

The archives of *The Sun* clearly state that in 1833, Patrick Grant, the owner of *The Sun*, declared bankruptcy due to mismanagement, and another owner, Murdoch Young, seized the opportunity to take full control of *The Sun*. Young claimed his takeover was legitimate, while Grant accused Young of using unfair means. The two engaged in a lengthy war of words, even going to court, ultimately resulting in a loss for Grant. Enraged and unable to regain control of *The Sun*, Grant sought investment elsewhere and founded *The Real Sun*, hoping to crush *The Sun* in one fell swoop.

Although the archives do not specify where Grant got his investment, they do note that Charles Dickens was a regular contributor to The True Sun during its founding.

A newly launched tabloid managed to get Dickens to write a regular article. With all the archival information documented, isn't it clear who paid Grant?
The answer is right on the riddle!
If the Imperial Publishing crew were to visit 112 Strand Street, they'd probably be kicked out by The Sun before they even stepped inside.

Thinking about this, Ridley was even more glad that he had been careful, otherwise he would have really been fooled by that old swindler.

However, even if Ridley found out, there was nothing he could do. A higher rank always has an advantage, let alone someone several ranks higher. And, to make matters worse, he had leverage over Ridley.

As a police inspector at Scotland Yard, and also a member of the Police Intelligence Service, even though police work isn't highly regarded in upper-class circles, the fixed salary and various subsidies alone can easily bring in over £120 a year. If you add in any other sources of income, it's a very respectable and prestigious job even in all of London.

Perhaps those stockbrokers and small shop owners can earn that much each year, or even more than Ridley, but who can boss around hundreds or thousands of police officers like he does?
If he stays at Scotland Yard, he will at most have to bow down to a few people such as Sir Arthur and Lord Rowan. If he is kicked out, not to mention whether he will be hanged for sodomy, even if he is just allowed to retire gracefully, where will he find a job with such a high income?

After all, police officers are not like magistrates, army and navy officers, or the proper administrative staff in Whitehall; police officers do not have retirement pensions.

Ridley's carriage came to a shaky stop in front of the Temple Tavern on Strand Street.

He pushed open the carriage and glanced at the Temple Tavern's sign and the small flyers posted by regulars on the window, which clearly read: "No students or dogs allowed at the University of London!"
Ridley smiled knowingly and strode confidently into the tavern, which was considered the exclusive domain of the King's College students.

The tavern door slammed shut behind him, the copper bells jingling, shutting out the noise of the street.

Ridley shook the water droplets off his coat, took off his hat, and nodded familiarly to the bartender at the counter: "Two port glasses, bring them to the table by the window."

That table, near the fireplace, was the warmest spot in the Temple Tavern, and regulars always liked to claim it early when it rained.

The man sitting there was Ridley's target on this trip—Murdoch Young, the owner and editor of The Sun.

Yang is old, but that stubbornness typical of Scots is still etched into his bones.

He was wearing an old black woolen overcoat, the chain of a silver pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat pocket, and a half-smoked cigar between his fingers, smoke swirling around his nose.

When Yang saw Ridley, he didn't even bother to get up: "You're late, Officer Kim."

“Doesn’t your newspaper always love writing about ‘late-night visitors’?” Ridley put his hat on the table, sat down, and smiled at him. “I’m just going along with your style.”

Yang snorted, not laughing: "You're here because of our article 'Government Offices' from last week, aren't you?"

Before Ridley could answer, Yang pulled the report from his pocket and slammed it on the table, angrily saying, "If there are any errors in this article, we will naturally publish an apology without your visit. But can you point out even the slightest mistake in this article?"

Ridley was caught off guard, but he quickly realized that this was Yang's negotiation strategy: he wanted to overwhelm the other party with his momentum so that the other party would back down.

However, Yang seemed to have misunderstood; Ridley hadn't even read the article titled "Government Offices."

But since Yang brought it up himself, Ridley thought it wouldn't hurt to take a look, and maybe he could even find something unexpected.

Government Offices and Yamen

This was the temporary residence of many patriotic gentlemen eager to serve their country—with annual salaries ranging from £75 to £5000. These positions were usually extremely comfortable and pleasant, situated around the royal gardens, so that public servants would not be too weary or bored when performing duties such as "looking out the window."

The office interiors are predominantly decorated in a cool, elegant, and somewhat austere style, but the fireplace design is particularly ingenious. When the clerks spread the hem of their tuxedos, it provides just the right amount of comforting warmth to their backs. The chairs, crafted with special upholstery befitting their official duties, are aptly named "armchairs." Their design ensures that they won't induce sleep, nor disturb the government clerks' precious meditations on the well-being of the nation. The mahogany desks are meticulously decorated with initials and unique symbols written in official ink.

These items were highly suggestive of the careless correspondent. Superior stationery and soft quills made it difficult to excuse negligence; they allowed one to accept invitations with an air of superior elegance, and to add unquestionable authority to the resolute refusal of a tailor's debt note. This top-grade paper, known as government paper, had a mirror-like surface, making it an excellent canvas for Raphaelite clerks. They often used early classical brushstrokes to sketch portraits of their superiors on the paper, adding a touch of playful fantasy. As for the official quills? Their fame was already well-established, so further elaboration was unnecessary. But to distinguish the genuine from the fake, one should know that authentic government quills must be made from feathers that could instantly transform into toothpicks.

The government generously supplied various daily newspapers, and reading these publications constituted one of the main duties of civil servants. Assisting in the management of the nation's affairs was the supreme honor enjoyed by these clerks. Their salaries, in turn, always followed the gentlemanly principle—exchanging the meager labor for the richest reward.

The easiest way to get into government is through a referral from a member of the ruling party. Independent voters can count on the tax office rewarding them for voting with a clear conscience. The loyal stewards who secure bill discounting for their aristocratic masters naturally see customs as their Noah's Ark for a comfortable retirement. As for the members of parliament? They have every reason to believe they can secure a respectable job for their youngest son as a meager compensation for their tireless hours of napping for their party in the House of Commons.

……

Upon seeing this, Ridley's heart skipped a beat.

He finally understood why Yang had adopted such an aggressive stance. If that article were seen by those idle, self-righteous guys in Whitehall, they might indeed cause trouble for The Sun.

But...

This is their problem, what does it have to do with the Police Intelligence Bureau?
Ridley leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully rubbed his temples.

Murdoch Young sat opposite him, tapping his fingers on the table, his expression tense, with a half-burnt cigar still dangling from his mouth.

“Well written.” Ridley suddenly spoke, his voice unusually calm: “This writing is on par with The Times, and even sharper.”

Yang had been holding back his anger and was about to lash out, but when Ridley said that, it was like punching a cotton ball. His tightly clenched lips twitched slightly: "If you like, we can do this every time from now on."

“No need for that.” Ridley picked up his glass of port and said calmly, “While I like it, if we publish too many articles like this, the Treasury Department might send someone to check your books.”

Yang narrowed his gray-blue eyes, the smoke dissipating in front of his face: "Officer Jin, I've seen too many threats in my life. But this is truly the first time I've heard of someone daring to use the Ministry of Finance to intimidate a reporter."

“I’m not threatening you,” Ridley said softly. “I’m just reminding you. You know, Parliament cut the newspaper stamp tax by a lot this year, and the Treasury is really hurting by the huge loss. So, to make up for the loss, they’ve been keeping a close eye on the tax issues of major newspapers, especially those that like to mention Whitehall in their editorials.”

Yang choked for a moment.

He certainly knew that this piece, "Government Offices," had stirred up a hornet's nest. In fact, Fleet Street would publish a satirical piece like this every now and then, which would occasionally cause trouble for Whitehall, but in most cases, it could be glossed over. After all, this was no longer the time of George III's literary inquisitions in the 18th century.

However, he did not expect that the Ministry of Finance was so anxious to identify typical cases due to the sharp drop in newspaper stamp tax revenue.

Ridley saw through his hesitation and said with a smile, "Don't worry, Mr. Yang, I'm not here today on behalf of the Ministry of Finance to investigate you. The people who are really investigating you won't be sitting across from you leisurely drinking, much less inviting you."

(End of this chapter)