Chapter 2337 - 291: I Will Establish a Republic in Britain! (Part 2)

He suddenly realized something.

Something extremely small, yet deadly enough.

Arthur never mentioned the coronation ceremony from start to finish, nor did he talk about the security plan’s breach.

He only told Pinkerton that his father had been suspended by the Home Office for investigation.

This thought was like ice water pouring down on his head, and Pinkerton’s breathing instantly became erratic.

His throat felt as if something was stuck, the sound bumped inside his chest, but couldn’t come out.

Arthur finally looked up, his gaze free from anger, nor was there a victorious smile.

He was just someone who already knew the ending, watching the other person personally uncover the last fig leaf.

The spark in the pipe completely extinguished, leaving only a faint puff of blue smoke lazily spreading out inside the carriage.

"Allen, you’re very smart. When you entered the University of London three years ago, the professors noticed you. You memorize books quickly, have clear logic in debates, are willing to think when encountering problems, have leadership, and hold considerable prestige among student groups. Because of you, Professor Thomas Key and Professor George Lang even specifically sought me out, expressing the hope that you would continue your studies and not waste your talent on becoming a policeman. Tom often mentioned you in our chats, saying you’re different from other kids, and he thinks you can walk a better path than a few of your younger brothers. Every time, Tony would agree, saying you are indeed much better than a few lads in his family. You could become a lawyer, perhaps even a Lower House Member in the future, and even if you insisted on going to Scotland Yard, you would have the opportunity to become the best detective in Scotland Yard’s history, surpassing Field, and surpassing me."

Pinkerton’s jaw was set so tight it was turning white, his teeth gently clasped inside his mouth: "How did you find out? How did you determine that the security plan was leaked from the crime archives center?"

The carriage continued moving forward.

"The issue is very simple." Arthur was calm, without a hint of showing off or teasing: "Allen, a coronation is something that should never have just one plan. I made many versions. Different patrol routes, different police deployments, different emergency plans, even the order of backup lockdown zones was different. Each version appeared complete and coherent, but only one version would truly be executed. Therefore, when I saw from the intelligence that Charter Party radicals were discussing deployment on coronation day, I just needed one look to know where the problem was."

"Your questions are now finished." Arthur put the pipe back into the inner pocket of his coat: "So... next, it should be my turn."

Pinkerton’s breathing hadn’t quite steadied.

"Why are you getting involved with them?" Arthur asked directly: "In the Charter Party, there are moderates, speakers, and craftsmen who only want to fight for voting rights. But the ones you are in touch with are the faction advocating violence, and you’re well aware of this."

Pinkerton kept his head down, as if weighing something, or as though he was mustering the last bit of courage. After quite a while, he finally raised his face.

That face no longer showed just confusion.

"And you?" Pinkerton’s voice wasn’t loud, but there was no sign of backing down, he counter-asked: "Then why would you know? Why would you know that I am connected to the radicals, and not those moderates who engage in lofty discussions in cafés? Why would you know that they are discussing specific deployments, and not slogans?"

His eyes were excessively bright: "Because you are also watching them. Because you understand better than anyone that the ones truly capable of causing trouble are not those who reason, but those who have already stopped reasoning, they are the ones who could truly change the situation. I stand with them not because I am foolish, nor because I am unaware of the consequences, but because I know that relying solely on petitions and speeches can’t change anything fundamentally."

Arthur stared at the young man opposite him, silent for a long time.

"These things..." he slowly asked: "Who taught you this?"

"How can these even need teaching? The facts are right there!" Pinkerton said bluntly: "I’m a student at the University of London! Genuine and bona fide!"

As he spoke faster, it sounded more like long-suppressed things finally finding an outlet: "The University of London is not a gentlemen’s school nor a retreat for the nobility to escape reality. They teach us to ask why, they teach us to see who is suffering, they teach us to understand what’s behind the law, why a human life is worth less than a sack of wheat. I often help my father write reports, but in every report I see not bankruptcy, debt, work injuries, whippings, or being sent to the Poorhouse. A pregnant woman sent to court for stealing a piece of bread only because she couldn’t afford a one shilling fine. The noble lady down the street, however, could sue twice for her pet dog, spending more on legal fees than that woman could earn in ten lifetimes. I see an artisan apprentice crushed alive under a machine, yet his boss doesn’t apologize, because it’s a risk written in the contract!"

The air in the carriage was noticeably heavier, as if all lungs had been filled with dust.

Pinkerton’s fingers clenched on his knees, but he didn’t stop: "And all of this, you can’t see, right? You’re seated too high now, you don’t need to squeeze in the poor, dirty streets, nor do you need to see how those people live. You receive orders from the Home Office, Buckingham Palace, from the Prime Minister, and you execute those orders. You’re responsible for maintaining order, upholding the law, maintaining what is called social stability. Stability? Stability for whom? For the bankers? For the landlords? For those who throw the poor into Hell but can sip wine while discussing stock market trends? You’re afraid of the radicals, right? Because they can stir up trouble, disrupt order, and make all your meticulously arranged plans ineffective."