Chapter 2336 - 291: I Will Establish a Republic in Britain!

This is the last time I make a foolish mistake, I promise.

—Arthur Hastings "Hastings’ Memoirs: Fifty Years of Life"

The silence inside the carriage was terrifying, Pinkerton seemed frozen in place.

He didn’t immediately contradict, nor did he jump up to question, on the contrary, he just sat there rigidly.

The carriage gently swayed, and the wooden walls creaked slightly.

Arthur didn’t actually expect this nineteen-year-old lad to give him any surprising reply, he was merely muttering: "When I first joined Scotland Yard, I was about the same age as you are now. The police force back then was different from now, formal training and rules were virtually nonexistent. Due to a shortage of personnel, quite often we didn’t even have fixed patrol routes. New recruits were given a baton, a uniform, and sent to the messiest, dirtiest street corners. ’Alright, start patrolling, sir.’"

At this point, Arthur paused: "My first patrol was the night shift. The uniform didn’t fit properly, the hat was an inch smaller than my head, the boots were stiff, and walking a few steps would chafe my feet, and the belt was so tight that I could hardly breathe. None of the colleagues around knew me, and they weren’t interested in getting to know me either."

The carriage gently jostled.

"That night, only one person spoke to me, Tom, that fool asked me if I was cold."

When the name was mentioned, Pinkerton’s shoulders moved slightly, but he still didn’t look up.

"Tom joined the team two months before me." Arthur continued: "He used to work as a hired farmer in his old home in the Surrey countryside, herding cattle, mending fences, turning the soil, going wherever labor was needed. There were many family members, few lands, and the seasons were often bad. He heard people say that London was a bustling place with endless work, so he secretly saved two shillings and tucked them into the sole of his shoe, took a piece of hard bread, and followed the freight carriage heading to London, bumping all the way into the city."

Arthur’s lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to smile, but ultimately couldn’t: "Tom wasn’t particularly smart, he memorized rules slowly, and always had to redo reports. He wasn’t quick-witted, sometimes he even appeared clumsy, but he was an honest, kind-hearted man. When I took my first night patrol, Tom always walked on the outer side, he said because the newcomer shouldn’t take the first hit."

The carriage gently swayed again.

"Tom was actually not very brave, one might even say cowardly. Yet he insisted on acting mature, keeping his hat brim low, speaking slowly. When new recruits got nervous, he’d tap your arm, pretending to be casual, saying: ’Don’t panic, let’s see first.’ But when it really came to something, you’d see him trembling. Despite being scared, Tom rarely ran away. As far as I recall, there was only one time, when the three of us were cornered by a group of armed thugs in a small alley. Tom and Tony were terrified, turned tail, and fled, leaving me behind. Although I only suffered minor injuries afterward, they seemed quite guilty. Since then, no matter what happened, Tom and Tony never retreated in panic again."

Here, Arthur took out a matchbox, lit his pipe: "However, although Tom never backed down again, his refusal to retreat differed from Tony’s. He was fundamentally different in character, timid, slow-paced, too soft-hearted, incapable of hurting anyone. In other words, he was a good man, too good to stand on the streets."

Smoke rose in the carriage, Arthur looked at Pinkerton through the haze: "But in a job like ours, pure good men die. You can’t expect everyone to have my luck, surviving a bullet and still lively as ever. Especially since Tom had a whole family to support. Initially, it was you and Adam, a few years later, your younger siblings were born, seven mouths, a whole clan. If Tom fell at that time, I think Mrs. Tom, besides taking you little ones to the Poorhouse, probably would have had no other option."

Arthur paused, removing the pipe from his mouth: "So, when I found my footing in the bureau, got a little personnel power, I immediately relocated him. Though the crime archive center doesn’t offer chances for flair, and the work is tediously mundane, it was the most fitting place for him. Tom did well there, better than I expected. He learned archive numbering, classification, cross-referencing slowly at first, but once he mastered them, he never made a mistake. Since Tom took charge of the crime archive center, the work there never had a mishap until..."

Pinkerton seemed pushed by the phrase "until...," and he suddenly raised his head: "But what makes you so sure it was the crime archive center that had the problem? Many people were in contact with the coronation security plan, my father may be the prime suspect, but he wasn’t the only choice."

The smoke in the carriage hadn’t dissipated, embers flickered in the pipe.

Arthur did not look at him nor respond, just let the pipe rest between his fingers, allowing the lingering fire to slowly die down.

Silence.

The carriage continued moving forward, the sound of wheels pressing on the stone pavement was clear and piercing.

Pinkerton’s lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to add another sentence, but froze in the next moment.