shadow of britain

Chapter 127 The Hyde Park Murder
36 Lancaster Gate, Bayswater, London.

Night has come, the sky is full of stars outside the window, and the lights inside the window are bright.

There was a rectangular milky-white dining table in the huge dining room. Darwin and Elder sat on the mahogany chairs on both sides of the dining table, while Arthur sat on the main seat flipping through a book.

He muttered: "Benjamin Disraeli, isn't he the same Mr. Disraeli who created "Vivien Gray"?"

Elder's face was buried in a newly released "Secret of the Boudoir", and he asked while reading: "What? Is he famous?"

Darwin, who was concentrating on studying natural history magazines, heard this, and said, "I just remembered Arthur said that. It seems that there has been such a number one figure in the British literary world in recent years. It's just Mr. Disraeli's reputation. It doesn’t seem to be a good thing, a few years ago you could see attacks against him in various literary magazines.”

"Attack?" Elder's face slowly rose from the newspaper: "What did he do? Extramarital affairs? An illegitimate child? Or some other dirty relationship between a man and a woman?"

Arthur glanced at him: "These you mentioned are precisely the areas where literature and artists are the most difficult to attack. Remember the Paganini we saw at the Royal Theater before? That guy is romantic, his biggest His hobby is to sell money in romantic venues all over Europe, but fans are too lazy to care about this kind of thing, and even praise him for being romantic and affectionate."

When Arthur said this, Alexandre Dumas, who was cooking happily in the kitchen, suddenly trembled.

Fortunately, no one else noticed what was wrong with him. Elder continued to ask: "What did Disraeli do?"

Arthur picked up the "Vivian Gray" in front of him, and showed its cover in front of Elder.

Elder glanced at it, only to find the name of the author of this book, which read: Anonymous.

Elder scratched his head: "Is there something wrong with this Disraeli's mind? After so much effort to write this book, he is still anonymous. Doesn't he plan to ask for a manuscript fee?"

Arthur said: "This is the crux of the problem. Mr. Disraeli's original intention of writing this book was not to make money at all, but to attack an old friend of his in the publishing industry.

It is shameful to write a book and stab a friend in the back. Mr. Disraeli's behavior of wearing a vest to satirize others is even more intolerable in the literary and publishing circles.

So when his true identity was revealed, he immediately became notorious in the field of British literary creation.Since then, it seems that he has not published a new work for a long time.

At first, I thought he should have no face to face people, so he immigrated to a foreign country.Now it seems that Mr. Disraeli should just avoid the limelight, as long as the outside world is calm, he will start tossing again. "

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, Dumas, wearing a white apron, placed several plates of delicious rice on the table in front of everyone.

Arthur looked at the shining yellow and oily rice grains on the dinner plate, as well as the small diced tomatoes and fat and thin sausage slices mixed between the rice grains for seasoning and color. He raised his hand and slapped it twice, a burst The soft and fresh fragrance immediately lingers on the tip of the nose.

He couldn't help looking up at Alexandre Dumas, gave him a thumbs up and said, "I didn't expect you to have this skill. Before you said you were going to cook, I thought you were joking."

Dumas snorted proudly upon hearing this.

"You can't blame you for having this kind of thinking. After all, you Brits joke about what you want to eat every day. But I must also solemnly declare to you that even in France, you may not be able to taste my cleverness." craftsmanship."

As soon as Dumas finished speaking, Arthur saw the red devil standing behind him sucking his oily fingers, nodding his head and saying, "Try it, Arthur, this fat man really didn't lie to you."

Alexandre Dumas sat on a chair, took a sip of his own work, and then said contentedly.

"In addition to literary creation, my greatest specialty is cooking food. Or to put it more bluntly, writing is just a means for me to achieve my life goals. There are two biggest goals in my life. One is to taste all the delicious food in the world. , and the second is to allow everyone to taste it. The first goal can be achieved by writing alone. But the second goal must be through the Republican Revolution.”

Arthur heard him blowing so hard, so he tasted it suspiciously.

He chewed the rice grains, savoring the fragrance and aftertaste in his mouth.

I have to say that this stewed rice tastes really good. If you have to describe what this taste is like, it might be like egg fried rice with oyster sauce and diced ham.

But where did Dumas get the oyster sauce these days?
Arthur pondered for a while, wiped his mouth with a dining cloth, then looked at Alexandre Dumas and said calmly, "It's oysters, you added oysters."

When Dumas heard the words, he couldn't help being pleasantly surprised and said: "I just said, you must be an old French lurking among the British."

"Oyster?" Elder caught the key word in an instant, and he hurriedly asked, "Have the leech's eggs gone?"

"What leech eggs?" Dumas was confused now.

Darwin kindly explained to him: "It's the black circle around the oyster shell."

Arthur added: "Bouncy, tastes like pudding."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, he saw Alexandre Dumas rushing up the spiral staircase with a bluish face. Needless to say, he must have gone to find the bathroom.

And Elder couldn't help but change his face when he saw this: "Look! Look! Even the French can't stand this thing!"

After speaking, he followed in the footsteps of Dumas.

Arthur glanced at their backs, then shrugged helplessly at Darwin: "Didn't you say that it's fine if it's cooked?"

Darwin smiled and nodded, "That's right, it's fine if it's cooked."

"Then why don't you eat it?"

Darwin wiped his mouth calmly: "Who would take the initiative to eat that stuff before he was about to starve to death?"

Just as he finished speaking, there was a knock on the door.

"It's so late, who is it?"

Arthur picked up the white teacup, stood up slowly, walked across the path, stepped on the flannel carpet, and opened the double-opening white door.

As soon as he opened the door, his eyes were dazzled by the light from a portable kerosene lamp.

Before he could see who was coming, he heard a surprised voice.

"Oh, Inspector Hastings?"

Arthur slowly opened his half-closed eyes, and then he saw the person clearly.

That was Charles Field, a small policeman who had been transferred to the Greenwich Police District to assist him in the detection of murder and body theft.

When Arthur saw him, he couldn't help but asked with a smile, "Is this your patrol area? It's so late, what happened to your visit?"

Field looked a little nervous, he nodded repeatedly: "Inspector Hastings, I'm afraid you don't know yet? Superintendent Clemens... is dead..."

"Dead?" Arthur was taken aback for a moment, and then hurriedly asked, "When and where?"

"Just... just this evening, Superintendent Clemens was hanged from a tree in the northeast corner of Hyde Park. The specific case is still under investigation, so I went door-to-door to visit nearby residents so late. By the way , Inspector Hastings, did you notice anything unusual in the evening?"

(End of this chapter)