## Chapter 99: Good News and Bad News
The night was shrouded in a hazy darkness, casting long shadows across the narrow brick alleys of the Whitechapel district. A burly man with a menacing glint in his eye, his head peeking out from the murky corner of a puddle, surveyed the sparsely populated street.
Suddenly, he spotted a lone young woman hurrying along. A sly smile crept onto his face, a gleam of malicious intent in his eyes.
He patiently waited for the woman to approach the alley, then, with a swift and brutal move, pulled out a concealed knife, lunged forward, and clamped his hand over her mouth. The blade pressed against her neck, and he dragged her, struggling and terrified, deeper into the shadows.
Tears streamed down the young woman’s face, her fear overwhelming her. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips.
The thug glared at her, his voice a menacing growl, “Shut your trap, you little slut! I just want your money. Don’t make a sound, or I’ll slit your throat!”
As the woman’s pale legs disappeared into the moonlight, swallowed by the encroaching darkness, the thug’s smile grew even more sinister.
Just as he was contemplating how to brutalize the woman after he relieved her of her valuables, a strong, firm hand landed on his shoulder without warning.
Behind him, a voice, laced with a distinct Chinese accent, spoke in a clear, measured cadence, “What are you fucking doing?”
The thug spun around, his eyes widening in terror.
Standing before him were a dozen men, all wearing black trench coats and broad-brimmed hats. He had no idea how they had gotten there.
Before the thug could even stammer a protest, Arthur Hastings delivered a swift kick to his stomach. He then picked up a broken brick from the ground and shoved it into the thug’s mouth, silencing his cries.
“Two of you, take this idiot back to the station,” Arthur commanded.
The young woman, stunned by the sudden turn of events, was just regaining her composure. She wanted to thank Arthur, but he raised a finger to his lips.
“Madam, thank yous are unnecessary. We are on a special mission. It’s late, you shouldn’t be out alone. You’re lucky this time. Remember, not every nightingale encounters an owl when in trouble.”
Turning to Dennis, he nodded, “Dennis, you escort this lady home.”
Dennis, the police officer, hurried forward and helped the woman to her feet. “Madam, don’t worry. We are Scotland Yard detectives. Where do you live? I’m assigned to escort you.”
The woman, her legs weak, forced a pale smile and gave a slight curtsey to Arthur. Then, with Dennis’s support, she left the alley.
Arthur watched them go, his brow furrowed. “Whitechapel, it lives up to its reputation. I just stayed here for a while, and I already ran into a major case.”
The Red Devil, a shadowy figure beside Arthur, simply smiled. “Arthur, you should focus your attention elsewhere. I can see through the darkness, and the carriage you’ve been waiting for is arriving.”
As if on cue, a faint jingling sound echoed through the street.
The coachman, his forehead slick with sweat, nervously scanned the brick alley, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Sir… Brick Lane number 75 is just around the corner. Do you think we can settle the bill beforehand? I wouldn’t dare stay here for a minute longer.”
A narrow slit appeared in the window between the coachman and the passenger, and two fingers protruded, holding a banknote.
Jones’s voice, laced with exhaustion, replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t shortchange you. Remember to help me carry some stuff later. Anything extra is your tip.”
The coachman took the bill and glanced at it. It was a brand new pound note.
Empowered by the financial incentive, he suddenly felt a surge of courage.
His hand still trembled as he gripped the reins, but a smile spread across his face.
“Alright, sir, just a few boxes? No problem!”
As they exchanged words, the carriage wheels came to a stop.
The coachman pulled out a towel from his shoulder, wiped his sweat, took a deep breath, and jumped off the seat. He slapped the door and shouted, “Sir, we’re here. Let’s start unloading.”
The door slowly creaked open, revealing three crates and Jones, his lower face hidden behind a black cloth, a flintlock pistol in his hand.
The coachman jumped back in surprise, about to scream, but Jones was quicker. He covered the coachman’s mouth with his hand.
The cold, dark muzzle pressed against the coachman’s head, Jones warned, “Want to earn money? Be quiet! Help me carry these boxes, and then you’re free. But if you scream, I won’t hesitate to add another life to my tally.”
The coachman raised his hands, stared at Jones, swallowed hard, and nodded slowly.
“Alright… I… I’ll do whatever you say.”
Under Jones’s threat and surveillance, the coachman carried the boxes down one by one. He was panting with exhaustion, but he dared not utter a word.
Jones watched him carry the boxes to the doorstep of the detective agency, then instructed him, “You, go knock on the door.”
“Ah?”
The coachman wanted to refuse, but as soon as he hesitated, Jones’s pistol pressed against his chin.
He was still haunted by the events that transpired during his last visit to the detective agency. After all, nobody could predict Fred’s temper.
Nightfall was a time when human instincts were most primal. If Fred suddenly went mad and shot him twice, Jones wouldn’t be able to withstand it.
He barked at the coachman, “I said knock on the door, are you deaf?”
“Yes, yes, yes! I’ll knock. Don’t get excited, please, don’t get excited.”
The coachman was inwardly cursing his fate, but he had no other choice.
He hesitantly stretched out his hand and knocked on the agency’s door, but after a long silence, there was still no response.
Jones’s finger tightened around the trigger, a sense of unease creeping over him. He finally realized something was wrong. His first instinct was to run, but then he remembered what Inspector Clemens had told him yesterday.
He remembered Clemens’s stern tone…
If he couldn’t deliver the goods to Fred, then, based on Clemens’s temperament, Jones would likely have to swallow those goods himself.
But how could he possibly have the channels and connections to dispose of such illicit goods?
As long as those goods remained in his possession, he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. Wealth was something everyone desired, but not everyone possessed the power to safeguard it.
Jones, faced with this predicament, could only grit his teeth and say to the coachman, “Ram it open.”
“Ah?”
The coachman was close to tears. He began to regret not being more devout to God in his daily life, leading him to this predicament.
“Sir… I…”
“I said ram the door open!”
Jones, cornered and desperate, pressed his finger against the trigger, forcing the coachman, “I’m counting to three. If you don’t ram it open, I’ll shoot you dead!”
The coachman almost knelt before Jones, pleading, “Sir, please, for the sake of my family, spare me. I really can’t do it.”
Jones, his eyes wide and his body trembling, glared at the coachman. He bit his lip, locked in a silent struggle for a long moment, then finally kicked him hard in the backside.
“Get out! Get the hell out of here!”
“Thank you! Thank you, sir!” The coachman, relieved, scrambled onto the carriage, whipped the reins, and drove away. “God bless you!”
Jones, one hand on his pistol and the other on his hip, looked up at the dark detective agency and sighed heavily, “Ugh!”
He took a few steps back, braced his shoulder, and slammed into the door with all his might.
However, when his shoulder collided with the door, he didn’t encounter much resistance.
The door wasn’t actually locked. With a creak, Jones stumbled inside.
He tripped and fell, his finger accidentally pulling the trigger of the pistol.
There was a loud bang, the gun fired, and the bullet struck Jones’s thigh, sending a wave of pain coursing through his body.
Jones winced in agony, but he couldn’t make a sound. He gritted his teeth, raised his head, and looked around the pitch-black detective agency. Soon, he saw a faint light emanating from a lamp on a table in front of him.
Behind the lamp, on the wall, were large, crooked words, not exactly polite, but full of enthusiasm.
——Jones, my boy, welcome!
“What… what’s going on?”
Jones looked around, but besides the lamp and the inscription on the wall, he saw nothing.
All the furniture and decorations had vanished, as if the place had been ransacked, everything of value, and not, taken away.
Suddenly, Jones heard a series of shuffling footsteps behind him.
Then, as he lay on the floor, he saw a familiar black trench coat walking past him.
That familiar figure, the one that filled him with despair, picked up a letter lying beside the lamp. In his terror, Jones remembered the gun in his hand.
But before he could raise it, he heard a chorus of gun-cocking sounds behind him.
Jones’s hand, hovering in the air, froze.
Arthur, after reading the letter, let out a sharp breath, laced with anger.
He turned around and grabbed Jones by the collar.
“I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”
Jones, struggling to smile, said, “Let’s hear the good news first…”
“The good news is, you just barely escaped death. If you had shot the coachman, you’d be a corpse right now.”
Jones breathed a sigh of relief, “Then… what’s the bad news?”
“The bad news is, you screwed us all over. You played Fred like a fiddle. You’ve been a complete failure, for me and for Clemens!”
As soon as the words left his lips, Arthur punched Jones hard in the side of the face.
With a thud, Jones lost consciousness and slumped to the floor.
Tony rushed forward and asked, “Arthur, what happened?”
Arthur didn’t answer. He simply tossed the letter to Tony.
Tony scanned the letter. It was filled with obscenities and Fred’s smug satisfaction.
——Jones, Clemens, you’re both a bunch of donkeys! You’ve paid off all my debts, why should I continue helping you?
——After this job, plus my previous savings, I’ll have enough to buy a large farm in America. Goodbye, you idiots, I’m going west to strike gold.
——Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you, my ship is already sailing by the time you see this letter. You’ve all fallen for my diversionary tactic!
——Also, Scotland Yard will receive a letter of accusation I left behind. You’re all going to jail, you morons!
Tony, his heart sinking, hurried to ask, “Arthur, what do we do now?”
Arthur pondered for a moment, then remembered something Elder had told him earlier. The Beagle was supposed to set sail today for its first sea trials.
He glanced at his watch. It was three in the morning. If Elder wasn’t just blowing smoke, it might not be too late to catch Fred.
“Tom, Tony, you two come with me to the docks! The rest of you, some of you take Jones back to the station, the others go to the Home Office and wait. As soon as Sir Peel arrives, report the latest developments directly to him and ask him to inform the Foreign Office and the Royal Admiralty to issue a maritime arrest warrant for Fred!
Finally, if we can’t find a ship at the docks, we need the Royal Navy and the Marine Police to provide a vessel with sufficient firepower to intercept Fred!”
(End of Chapter)