## Chapter 199: Media Empire and Commander-in-Chief (5K)
The evening air hung heavy over London’s West End, in the hushed district of Bayswater. The path along Hyde Park was deserted, usually at this hour, Arthur and his companions would have already finished dinner and retired to their rooms. But tonight, the restaurant chairs were crammed with young men, tall and short, fat and thin, hailing from both sides of the English Channel.
The Red Devil, with his legs crossed, was swinging on the chandelier like a pendulum. From his vantage point, he surveyed the scene, his gaze sweeping from near to far.
Seated on the right side of the dining table were three Charleses: Charles Darwin, his face bewildered; Charles Wheatstone, fidgeting with anxiety; and Charles Dickens, clutching a deep green canvas bag.
The left side of the table was no less impressive. It housed the Avengers, recently rejected by the three-peat, vowing to avenge their humiliation: the French fat man, Alexandre Dumas, who had berated the British for their lack of taste; Alfred Tennyson, a Cambridge student inexplicably dragged into the mix; and Eldred Carter, a man who seemed out of place, too ethereal, too detached from the others.
At the head of the table, beside Arthur, sat Benjamin Disraeli, a political candidate whose reputation in the British literary circles was as foul as the stench of a skunk, a loser who dreamt of the demise of Blackwood’s Magazine.
Wheatstone, shrinking into himself, glanced at the group uneasily. He cautiously reached out a hand. “Mr. Hastings, I think I’m out of my depth here. Perhaps I should leave. You know, I’m quite busy these days, with orders piling up.”
Arthur, without a word, pointed towards the door. “The door’s over there.”
Wheatstone was taken aback, then his face lit up with joy. “I knew you weren’t completely heartless.”
He lifted his backside, ready to depart, but a loud click interrupted him. A flintlock pistol landed on the table with a thud.
Arthur pointed at the pistol. “The bullet’s right here.”
Wheatstone, who had just risen, sank back into his chair. He sighed, “Now that you mention it, perhaps I’m not that busy after all.”
Tennyson, startled by the scene, was not as familiar with the complex relationship between Arthur and Wheatstone. He looked at the gun on the table, then at the spacious, bright house. He tentatively asked, “Mr. Hastings, may I ask what you do for a living?”
Before Arthur could answer, Dumas, the big man, took the liberty of replying.
“Mr. Hastings has a wide range of businesses: high seas piracy, financial insider trading, labor fraud, street brawls, monkey breeding, secret imprisonment… basically, anyone you see here has been wronged by Mr. Hastings.”
Arthur, unfazed, calmly said, “Alexandre, the Tory cabinet has been kicked out, so the Home Office’s surveillance and protection order on you has been revoked. You can move out whenever you want. But before you leave, please remember to pay your rent.”
Dumas placed one hand on the table, the other reaching for a piece of candy from the fruit bowl, popping it into his mouth. “Now there’s another one: suppressing French republicanism.”
Tennyson was bewildered by the accusations being thrown at Arthur. “Is Mr. Hastings really that bad? From the poem that won the gold award, “Farewell to Cambridge,” he seemed like a peaceful, romantic soul. By the way, Mr. Hastings, I forgot to ask you, which year did you graduate from Cambridge? I think you must be a Cambridge student to have such deep feelings for it!”
Before Arthur could respond, Eldred couldn’t sit still anymore. He widened his eyes and asked, “Arthur’s poem won the gold award? And he’s a Cambridge graduate? Are you joking?”
Arthur, sensing trouble, quickly intervened. “Eldred, I know you, as an Oxford graduate, have a natural animosity towards Cambridge, but you can’t blame Alfred for Cambridge’s problems. Besides, didn’t you get along well with Charles? You know, he’s also a Cambridge graduate. You can get along with Charles, who graduated from Christ’s College, Cambridge, so why can’t you get along with Alfred, who graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge?”
Darwin, hearing that Tennyson was his fellow alumnus, became more friendly. He extended his hand to Tennyson, “Mr. Tennyson, please don’t mind my rude friend. You know, he served in the Royal Navy, and those sailors often use harsh language to express friendship.”
“Is… is that so?” Tennyson was dubious.
Regardless, Darwin’s explanation managed to smooth things over.
While the new editor-in-chief, Disraeli, was busy reviewing manuscripts, everyone started chatting, and the atmosphere in the restaurant gradually became lively.
Among the talkative chatterboxes, Wheatstone seemed restless. He bit his lip and approached Arthur, whispering, “Mr. Hastings, what did you bring me here for? The whole gun incident is already over. And you’re going to make a literary magazine, what does that have to do with me, a music store owner?”
Arthur smiled and pushed him back into the chair beside him. “Charles, don’t be so anxious. I genuinely consider you a friend. Think about it, since you met me, hasn’t your business been booming? You must have received a lot of orders for the phonograph these past few days. Even if you make a profit of five pounds per phonograph, at the current rate it’s sweeping through London’s social circles, you’ll sell at least three to five hundred in the future, that’s one to two thousand pounds in revenue. If you’re willing to put in more effort, hire ten to fifteen apprentices to work with you, increase production efficiency, and cut costs, perhaps even moderately wealthy middle-class families will be willing to buy one. Haven’t you noticed that your future can be built on this invention, the phonograph?”
If Arthur had mentioned anything else, Wheatstone might have been reluctant to accept, but in the case of the phonograph, he had indeed received a lot of help from Arthur. And as Arthur said, the orders for the phonograph had accumulated to over one hundred in recent days.
Though Wheatstone was socially anxious, he had also been thinking about expanding production recently. As for dealing with apprentices, in the face of glittering wealth, Wheatstone felt he could manage to overcome his fear. After all, social anxiety was a fear of people, not money.
Wheatstone pondered for a moment, then softly asked, “Actually, I’ve been thinking about hiring people. You probably don’t know this, but our Wheatstone family has been making musical instruments since my grandfather’s generation. My father also ran a musical instrument workshop, so I have some experience in this field. The phonograph is a great new invention, but if I open a workshop just for it, what if everyone buys it just for the novelty? When the craze dies down, I won’t just fail to make money, I’ll have to cover the labor costs.”
Arthur nodded. “You’re right, but do you think the phonograph will be a fad? You probably don’t know, I went to the Royal Society recently, and Mr. Faraday said that the Royal Society is also buzzing about the phonograph. Many members even consider it the best invention of the year.”
Wheatstone was surprised. “Really? Even those people in the Royal Society think so?”
“Of course,” Arthur’s smile was warm and genuine. “And that’s not all, they plan to invite you to give another lecture, specifically about the phonograph.”
“What?!”
Wheatstone almost fainted, clutching his chest. “My God! Can’t they think of something better?”
The Red Devil, perched on the chandelier, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. He took a bite of an apple and muttered, “Damn, Arthur, you’re getting really good at this.”
Arthur glanced at the Red Devil, then switched to a soothing tone. “Mr. Wheatstone, don’t always think negatively. Think about it, who are the audience for the Royal Society lectures? Mostly middle-class ladies or above, and their spending power is quite strong. If you’re willing to take the stage, you might generate hundreds of orders in one go, isn’t that a good thing?”
“But… good thing is good thing… but the lecture…”
Wheatstone, imagining countless eyes focused on him, felt his hair stand on end, his calves trembling.
“That’s so damn exciting! Arthur, I know this might make money, but I’m afraid I’ll die of fright on the stage. And now you’ve taken away the gun you gave me, I just can’t muster the courage. Sigh… Arthur, please, I beg you, decline the Royal Society’s invitation for me. As for promotion, I’ll think of other ways.”
“Think of other ways? Why bother thinking?” Arthur leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his hands clasped under his chin. “Mr. Wheatstone, do you think I invited you here just for a simple meal? I’m here to solve your problems! I knew you might not like promoting new products through lectures, so I prepared another plan in advance.”
Arthur patted Disraeli, who was intently reviewing manuscripts, and said, “Benjamin, come here, let’s get acquainted. This is our new magazine’s biggest advertiser, the owner of Wheatstone Musical Instruments, the inventor of the phonograph, the leading figure in Britain’s acoustic field, Mr. Charles Wheatstone.”
Disraeli, hearing that the big-money sponsor was right in front of him, quickly put down the manuscript and shook Wheatstone’s hand vigorously. “Oh my goodness! So you’re the one who’s going to run a year-long advertisement? I thought you were also here to submit something. My apologies.”
“A year-long advertisement?” Wheatstone was dumbfounded. He stared at Arthur beside him, “Mr. Hastings, when did I say…”
But before he could finish, Arthur interrupted him. “Actually, we have two candidates for advertisers, one is your Wheatstone Musical Instruments, and the other is the Royal Society. If you don’t advertise, we’ll have to promote the Wheatstone lectures that the Royal Society will be holding regularly every month.”
Wheatstone was so angry he could have bitten his tongue. He hissed, his chest heaving up and down, but in the end, all the foul words in his stomach turned into a resigned sigh. “Fine, I’ll just spend the money. Mr. Hastings, why do you have to do this… You know, even if you didn’t mention it, I was going to pay you the recording fee for that “Bell” song.”
With Wheatstone so cooperative, Arthur naturally couldn’t let him down. He smiled and reminded him.
“Speaking of which, Mr. Wheatstone, you haven’t submitted a patent application to the Home Office yet, have you? Frankly, the principle of the phonograph isn’t that complicated. If someone else figures it out, similar imitations will appear soon. You could try to establish your competitive advantage through technological upgrades, but seeking legal protection is also essential.”
Wheatstone sighed when Arthur brought up the patent issue. “Of course I know I need to apply for a patent, but the approval process for a patent can take a year or two at the fastest. My previous patent for the Megaphone hasn’t been processed yet, and the phonograph will have to be put on hold for a while.”
Arthur was curious. “Is the patent application really that complicated?”
Wheatstone nodded slightly. “Well, according to the process, I first need to prepare an application form and attach a patent specification that meets strict standards, and submit it to the Home Office. After the Home Office reviews and approves it, they will issue a certificate that the Secretary of State has received the application and forward it to the Attorney General. Then, the Home Office or the Court of Chancery will issue a patent report to His Majesty the King. Then the King will sign the warrant, requiring the Attorney General to prepare a patent bill, preparing one bill and two copies. The main case, upon receipt of the warrant, will be converted into a ‘King’s Bill’ and kept in the Seal Office. One copy will be stamped with the Secretary of State’s seal and converted into a ‘Seal Bill’, and the other copy will be converted into a ‘Great Seal Bill’. Finally, the ‘Great Seal Bill’ with the corresponding patent model will be submitted to the House of Lords for review by the Lord Chancellor. This whole process is considered complete. This process is time-consuming, labor-intensive, expensive, and requires connections, because you know, a patent application goes through twenty or thirty legal steps. If you want to pass smoothly, you can’t neglect to make connections.”
Just as Wheatstone finished, there was a knock on the door.
Dumas leaned back in his chair, reaching out to open the door handle. He peered out, then shouted to Arthur, “Arthur, someone’s looking for you.”
“Looking for me?”
Arthur got up and went to the door. Before he could see the person’s face, he heard an anxious voice.
Charles Field, who had just been promoted to police sergeant by Arthur, stood outside, holding a brand new document. “Sergeant Hastings, it’s not good!”
Arthur frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Field sighed and shoved the document into Arthur’s hands. “Take a look.”
Arthur took the document and just glanced at it, but froze in place.
“The Metropolitan Police Service’s Decision on Adjusting the Scope of Powers of Sergeant Arthur Hastings in the East London District.”
He quickly flipped to the next page.
Just as the title suggested, the content of the document wasn’t complicated.
Arthur quickly scanned it, and soon grasped the gist: remove all regional management responsibilities from Sergeant Arthur Hastings in the East London District, and appoint him as head of the Metropolitan Police Service’s Criminal Investigation Department.
On the surface, it seemed like a promotion, but from the perspective of a senior Scotland Yard officer, this was essentially a demotion to a marginal department.
Because until this Saturday, Arthur had never heard of a dedicated Criminal Investigation Department at Scotland Yard.
In other words, this department had probably been established less than a day ago.
Arthur continued reading, until he reached the last page, and finally understood what was going on.
“In response to the increasingly serious violent crime incidents, the Metropolitan Police Service Commissioner, Charles Rowan, applied to the Home Office, which officially approved the establishment of a dedicated criminal investigation department composed of elite police officers with the rank of sergeant or above. After the reorganization, the Criminal Investigation Department will be headed by Sergeant Arthur Hastings, with three sergeants under his command: Charles Field, Tony Eckhart, and Tom Flanders, who will be solely responsible for major case investigations.”
The Red Devil, standing beside Arthur, only glanced at the document before bursting into laughter. He grinned, his red tongue lolling out, and teased Arthur, who seemed calm.
“Oh! Look who it is? My dear Arthur! Are you also like me, the once mighty Duke of Hell, now a commander-in-chief with no troops? Rowan is really ruthless, he stripped you clean from top to bottom.”
Arthur didn’t answer Agareus, he just glanced at the Red Devil, then put his arm around Field’s shoulder and laughed lightly. “It’s nothing serious, Charles, at least we four are still together. Life has its ups and downs, that’s normal. It’s cold outside, do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”
Field was still worried. “Sergeant Hastings, should we prepare in advance? To be honest, I just got this document, and many people probably don’t know about it yet. For example, should we talk to Sergeant Jones in Whitechapel?”
“Jones?”
Arthur heard the name and suddenly looked up at the stars in the night sky.
He blinked his red-tinted eyes and simply smiled. “I think he better understand the situation.”
This is the first chapter for today. I got some new information today, and I need to catch up on it.
(End of Chapter)