## Chapter 69: Utilitarianism
The public carriage swayed back and forth as Arthur sat inside, gazing out the window. The young constable, Field, sat beside him, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
Despite their similar age, Field was even older than Arthur. Yet, for some reason, perhaps due to their different auras, or maybe because of Arthur’s stoic and unchanging expression, Field felt an invisible pressure.
After a long silence, he finally couldn’t hold back and asked, “Sir, how did you solve those cases? You might not know this, but everyone’s been talking about it. You cracked the truth of the hotel murder with just a few words. It’s simply amazing.”
“Amazing?” Arthur leaned against the window, “If you put your mind to it, you can do the same.
All murder cases follow a few simple rules. They’re either driven by emotion or by profit.
While there are indeed some truly heartless individuals in this world, they are a minority. You might go years without encountering such a person, and even then, their motives are often unpredictable, mere spur-of-the-moment actions.
For those cases, we mostly rely on technical methods to track and pursue them.
But for the majority, all you need to do is use logic to deduce the truth.
In essence, it’s because people who live in society always carry certain social traits.
Of course, society is constantly changing, so those traits are evolving too. This is something we must always remember.”
Field asked curiously, “How is the society of today different from the society of the past?”
Arthur pursed his lips and said, “Haven’t you heard the preachers’ pronouncements on the streets?
They say that since the start of the 19th century, everyone has become obsessed with money. The beautiful old England is gone.
So, fewer people kill for love, and murders of honor have vanished. All that remains are killings for money and greed.
While their words aren’t entirely born out of justice, everyone knows the preachers dislike the factory owner class.
But sometimes, thinking back, what the preachers say isn’t entirely wrong.
Because if you’re stuck on a case, starting with the suspect’s financial records often leads to unexpected discoveries.
And look at the streets of London, filled with robbers, pickpockets, and thieves.
From day to night, you see prostitutes hawking their wares on every corner.
The MPs say these hardships will toughen their spirits, make them better people.
But they never mention the hardships that have led to a 30% juvenile crime rate in London’s East End.
They also say poverty is caused by laziness, but they don’t mention that workers in London factories work an average of 15 hours a day.
You might not know this, but I studied history in university.
Therefore, I know that even in the dark ages, people weren’t reduced to such a state.
Back then, they could still have a small stone house in the countryside, gather firewood from the fields freely.
But now?
Gathering firewood in the countryside could land you in trouble with the law. It’s not your land, the farmers don’t own their own land anymore.
And the workers? Don’t even get me started. I know in Whitechapel, over 2,000 families, over 10,000 people, are crammed into 1,400 dilapidated houses.
And it’s not just an isolated case. In places like Bethnal Green or St. Giles, the situation is even worse.
Many London workers start working in factories at the age of six. If they’re unlucky, they’ll be riddled with diseases by their teens.
Then, no one wants them anymore.
They’re left to roam the streets, men selling their violence, women selling their bodies.
And we, the police, have to lock them up, fine them.
The first time they’re imprisoned, they might receive some sympathy.
The second time, perhaps some understanding.
But what about the third, the fourth time?
At that point, the jury and the magistrates will show no mercy.
So, once a poor person commits their first crime, their fate is sealed.
Either the gallows or exile to Australia, there’s no exception.
They’re already living like this, and after they die, someone will even steal their bodies, sell them to…”
Arthur stopped abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. He remembered the sight he witnessed at St. Thomas’ Hospital.
He reached for his pipe, wanting to light it, but hesitated and put it back in his pocket.
Seeing this, Field quickly waved his hand, “Go ahead, sir, I don’t mind.”
Arthur shook his head with a smile, “But I do.”
Field looked at Arthur, asking curiously, “So, that’s why you want to hang those who steal corpses, those who kill and sell bodies, and those doctors all together?”
Arthur didn’t shy away, “Morally speaking, yes. But legally speaking, a corpse is a corpse. We can only hang those who actually did the killing, not those who paid them to do it.”
Field pondered for a moment, then asked, “Is that right?”
Arthur looked out the window, the rain still pouring down. “I don’t know if it’s right or wrong. I’m just a policeman. I’m told to uphold justice and righteousness, but I don’t know what constitutes justice and righteousness. At least our current laws don’t seem to do so, because I know many people who disagree with them.”
The Red Devil’s figure flickered behind him. After disappearing for a night, Agareuss was dressed differently today.
He had discarded the pitchfork he always carried and donned a long black robe, even wearing a pair of glasses.
A black raven with blood-red eyes perched on his shoulder, seemingly summoned from somewhere, holding a parchment scroll with indecipherable text.
Agareuss chuckled, rubbing his hands together, “Arthur, why bother thinking so much? Your justice is justice, your righteousness is righteousness.
As long as you’re determined, I can give you the location of the killer right now. The price is fair, and very affordable.
Let’s wrap up this case quickly and move on to greater things.”
Arthur ignored him, focusing his gaze on the window. The road ahead seemed crowded, even the carriage slowed down.
Arthur opened the window and leaned out, looking at the street. It was a very familiar place.
This was High Holborn in the Bloomsbury district of London, where he had spent four years.
As his head peeked out the window, he felt a sharp slap on the back of his head.
Arthur turned to see Eld’s smirking face.
“Arthur! My good friend! I knew you’d be here today. After all, the speaker at the university today is our spiritual mentor, Jeremy Bentham!”
“Jeremy Bentham?” Arthur paused, as if remembering something, “Utilitarianism?”
(End of chapter)