The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 357 - 357 216 Forensic Toxicology Foundation 4K8_3

357: Chapter 216 Forensic Toxicology Foundation (4K8)_3 357: Chapter 216 Forensic Toxicology Foundation (4K8)_3 However, what truly fascinated the prisoners was not this, but the fact that the cell also contained a small dining table.

Moreover, every day when it was time to eat, while everyone else had dark bread with potatoes, this person alone was served with four dishes and a soup.

Despite their envy, none of the prisoners actually felt jealous of this treatment.

Everyone guessed that the four-eyed guy locked up inside must not have much longer to live; he would be on the gallows in a few days, so what was there to be jealous about?

And just two days ago, another person who evoked the same covetous but unenvious feelings moved in next door to the four-eyed guy.

A sturdy young man took up residence in the neighboring cell, and the two of them essentially received the same treatment.

Perhaps it was because they were both ‘high-end technical talent’ feeling a connection, or maybe it was the peculiar empathy among those condemned to die, but they often chatted through a window that could only fit half a face.

“Mr.

Wheatstone, I remember you said you’re a researcher in natural philosophy, specializing in acoustics?”

“Actually, I’ve also dabbled in electromagnetism, but due to certain unspoken reasons, I can’t reveal too much about my scientific achievements anymore.

However, I can tell you about stuff in the field of acoustics.

Do you know about voice recording machines?

All the voice recording machines on the London market are my products.”

“You’re the inventor of the voice recording machine?” Louis Bonaparte exclaimed, “My God!

Have the British gone mad?

Why would they lock up such an outstanding personage as yourself in prison?”

Wheatstone’s gaze was icy as he lit the cigar placed on the table beside him and leaned against the wall of the cell, breathing out a long stream of smoke, “This, you see, is a rather long story.”

Upon hearing this, Louis Bonaparte pushed a bottle of gin that had just been delivered that morning through the bars of the window, “You have a story, I have the gin; let’s have a good chat.

By the way, do you have any more cigars?

Pass me one, will you?”

Hearing this, Wheatstone directly grabbed a handful from the cigar box beside him and passed them through, “Smoke up, smoke all you want; he said that all my expenses here are charged to his account, so no need to hold back with me.”

Louis Bonaparte bit off the end of a cigar and spat it onto the floor, then lit it and took a deep drag, feeling instantly invigorated, “Right, who’s this ‘he’ you just mentioned?”

“Who else could it be?”

Wheatstone began, “That notoriously unscrupulous gentleman known throughout London, the ruffian who leads street thugs, a thug among the heads of Scotland Yard, capable of drawing his sword to fight international villains or oppressing good citizens, both a concert pianist who plays beautiful music and a shameless eavesdropper who delights in listening to private conversations from rooftops, a favored protégé of High Chancellor Brougham, a star of the police force esteemed by Duke Wellington, owner of the police badge number MPS6-001, Inspector Arthur Hastings, who has a pathological desire to keep people under protective custody.”

“Hiss…” Louis Bonaparte took a sharp puff of his cigar, “So you were also brought here by him?”

Upon hearing this, Wheatstone raised a hand to adjust his spectacles, “Also?

How did you end up here?”

Louis Bonaparte, with a cigar between his fingers and a look of resignation, said, “I…

I guess I must have offended him?

During my interrogation that day, I seem to have agreed with someone else who called him a balding Brit.”

“Oh…” Wheatstone nodded slightly, “So you’re here because you opposed Arthur Hastings?”

“You could say that.

And you?

How did you get here?”

“I’m here because I supported Arthur Hastings.”

“Now, I’m different from both of you.”

“Hm?

What do you do?”

“I am Arthur Hastings.”

The arms crossed and leaning against the wall between the two cells, Arthur lightly exerted force on his back, causing himself to spring up instantly.

He stood between the two cells where each could only see half of his face.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and asked, “Seeing that you gentlemen are having such a lively chat, I’m relieved.

I was actually worried that this confinement would cause some psychological issues for you.

Now it seems my concerns were quite unnecessary.”

When Wheatstone saw Arthur appear, he quickly rushed to the door, banging on it while shouting through the small window at Arthur, “Arthur, it’s been days; isn’t it about time you let me out?”

Arthur, seeing his state, simply shrugged, “Charles, you’re being quite ungrateful with that sort of talk.

Do you realize how much effort the department has put in to make sure you’re comfortable here?”

Wheatstone questioned, “How much effort?

Can the living conditions here really compare to Regency Crescent?”

Arthur sighed helplessly, “Of course, we can’t move your house here, but to ensure your comfort, we’ve especially invited your neighbor over.”

Wheatstone asked, puzzled, “Neighbor?”

Arthur nodded slightly.

Pointing to Louis Bonaparte, he said, “You surely don’t know yet?

This Mr.

Louis Bonaparte will likely be living next to you in the future.

The department knows you have a psychological barrier to social interaction, so isn’t that why we’ve specifically invited him here to get you acquainted?

Charles, you must understand that for your sake, Scotland Yard has been under a lot of pressure.”