Chapter 14: Famous Quotes
Officers Tony and Tom followed Arthur’s trail, but despite their good physical condition, catching up to Arthur on the crowded streets of London was no easy task.
By the time they saw Arthur again, they had reached the front of the Greenwich Division of the London Metropolitan Police.
Arthur stood there, confronting a much larger man with a hooked nose who appeared to be in his thirties.
The two men’s uniforms were almost identical, except for the three V-shaped insignias on the older officer’s shoulder, indicating his rank—Sergeant.
This man was Arthur’s direct superior, Sergeant Willocks Roberts of the Greenwich Division of the London Metropolitan Police.
Although Arthur was lean, he was taller than his superior.
Despite his short stature, the sergeant had a fierce look, with a shallow scar on his neck and a missing portion of his eyebrow.
Each of his scars had a story.
The scar on his neck came from the Seventh Coalition War, where he participated in most of the battles against the First French Empire as a British Army soldier.
The missing part of his eyebrow came from St. Peter’s Square in Manchester in 1819.
Between 1793 and 1815, Britain was involved in seven coalition wars against France, which severely impacted the domestic economy. The British authorities adopted a hardline approach, deepening internal conflicts.
These accumulated tensions finally erupted in 1819, when a large public gathering of 80,000 people took place in St. Peter’s Square, Manchester, on August 16th.
They demanded electoral reform, the abolition of the Corn Laws, and the repeal of laws prohibiting workers’ associations.
The organizers even invited the famous radical reformer Henry Hunt to speak.
In panic, the Manchester city government ordered the arrest of Henry Hunt and the organizers, leading to a complete escalation of the conflict.
To control the situation, the British authorities eventually ordered the police and army to suppress the gathering.
The 15th Light Dragoons, who had achieved great success for Britain at the Battle of Waterloo, participated in this operation, again ‘excellently’ completing their mission.
The 15th Light Dragoons charged back and forth on horseback, resulting in 18 deaths and over 700 injuries.
This event was mockingly referred to by the British public as the ‘Peterloo Massacre,’ likening it to the Battle of Waterloo in St. Peter’s Square.
The sergeant was one of those who had participated in the Peterloo Massacre.
As a seasoned veteran, Willocks retired last year and decided to take up the role of sergeant at the newly established London Metropolitan Police.
He circled Arthur, his snake-like eyes scanning him up and down before finally speaking.
“I’ve heard about what you did at the magistrates’ court. Nice job, well done. Did you think I’d praise you like that, Arthur?”
Arthur glanced at him. “How could I be lucky enough to receive your praise?”
Willocks sneered, “At least you have some brains left!
To be honest with you, I’m very angry! Furious! You’re also very lucky! Very lucky!
If I were still in the army, you’d be on the ground clutching your stomach, unable to get up right now!
What do you think you are?
You’re just a policeman!
You need orders and obedience!
Not some bullshit public morality or conscience; that’s for the MPs and Cabinet Ministers to worry about!
Arthur, do you want to overstep your bounds?
Attacking legal provisions openly in court—do you know what kind of mess this will create if it gets out?
What do you think the High Court will think?
What do you think the legislators will think?
What do you think the judges supervising Scotland Yard will think?
All for your insignificant conscience, you want to drag me down with you?
Answer me, Arthur!”
Arthur calmly replied, “I came here today specifically to explain.”
He removed his hat and epaulettes, handing them over with both hands.
“All of this is my responsibility alone. I will bear the consequences myself. I, Arthur Hastings, a sergeant of the Greenwich Division of the London Metropolitan Police, hereby resign.”
Willocks stood with his hands behind his back. Though he was grinning, his face looked worse than crying.
Compared to the bright weather today, his face was as dark as a cold, rainy night.
He suddenly grabbed Arthur’s shirt collar, “You take full responsibility? Resign? Who do you think you are? The Prime Minister of Great Britain?”
Arthur looked at his face close to his, slowly closed his eyes, and clenched his fists until they cracked.
Willocks heard the crack and looked down at Arthur’s fists, laughing arrogantly, “Come on, hit me! You’ve always wanted to punch me, right? Come on! I was never knocked down on the battlefield, do you dare to fight me?!”
Arthur took a deep breath and reached into his pocket.
“Willocks, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I took a gun with me last night while patrolling the East End, just in case.”
As soon as Arthur finished speaking, Willocks felt something pressing against his stomach.
Cold sweat trickled down Willocks’ temples. Time seemed to freeze, and the two men remained in a tense standoff.
Officers Tony and Tom hurried forward to intervene, “Arthur, Sergeant Willocks, calm down. We’re all colleagues; there’s no need for this.”
“Yeah, yeah… this could end in tragedy if it continues.”
But Arthur seemed not to hear their words, instead saying to Willocks.
“Your brain could serve as a bell.”
Willocks’ pupils narrowed, and he roared, “What did you say!”
Arthur shook his head slightly, “That wasn’t me; it was Victor Hugo.”
Willocks shouted, “Which district does Victor Hugo patrol?!”
Arthur coldly replied, “He’s not a policeman; he’s a French writer.”
Willocks felt utterly humiliated.
He was about to curse Arthur, but before he could open his mouth, he felt the object originally pressed against his stomach move to his chest.
Sweat covered his forehead, and he changed his tone, “Oh, Arthur. I know you’re a top graduate, a book lover.
But take my advice, read less French literature; it will poison your mind. Read something else, like our national treasure, Shakespeare.”
Arthur nodded as if he understood the sergeant’s words and said, “Your brain capacity is less than earwax.”
“What did you say!”
“Don’t be angry, Sergeant. As you wished, that was a quote from Shakespeare.”
Willocks’ face turned red. He wanted to retort, but he didn’t know what to say. His limited vocabulary held back his ‘heroic spirit.’
Seeing him speechless, Arthur continued, “You uncultured bastard.”
Willocks seemed to give up, taking a deep breath to suppress his anger.
“Fine, consider it a lesson. Tell me, who said that last one?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, placing his removed epaulettes and uniform on Willocks’ head.
“The last one was said by Arthur Hastings. Goodbye, Sergeant.”
He threw the object pressing against Willocks’ chest and walked away calmly, disappearing into the crowd.
Willocks looked down and saw it was not a gun but an ordinary pipe.
The tobacco in the pipe was not finished and spilled on the ground.
Shame, anger, hatred…
Countless emotions surged in Willocks’s heart as he clenched his fists and roared in the direction Arthur had gone.
“Arthur! Just you wait! Don’t think you can escape by taking off that uniform! I will initiate an internal investigation against you! I will initiate an internal investigation against you!!!”
(End of Chapter)