The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 1594 - 20: Wheatstone and Hastings Amid the Smoke and Fire (Part 3)

Arthur was lost in thought, perhaps not even realizing himself that after just a short while at the coffee stand, he had quickly transformed from the aloof Sir Arthur Hastings back into a grumbling small-town Londoner.

Just as Arthur set his teacup down, the tent flap was cautiously lifted, and a gloved hand reached in, followed by a slender, nervous-looking man.

The newcomer wore a gray wool coat, with round-framed glasses perched on his nose, and his hat brim pulled low, as if worried about being recognized.

His footsteps were very light yet very uneasy. As he glanced swiftly around the tent, he began to complain in a low voice, "Damn it! Why on earth did you choose this place, at this time, to meet? Four in the morning, a street stall—I was almost vomited on by a drunk just now!"

Arthur lazily pointed to the stool beside him and replied, "Isn’t it all for your sake? You don’t like crowded places, nor do you like noise and comfort. Sit, this is the most free place in London. There are no examiners, no bishops, no audience, no university board, and certainly no Scotland Yard detectives, at most a former one."

Wheatstone cautiously glanced at the neighboring table with a few dozing customers, then at the dogs curled up by the charcoal stove before he carefully sat down.

His hand stayed tensely gripped on his cane’s handle, as if it were not a walking aid but a pillar supporting his confidence in social settings: "I... I thought you would invite me to a club, at least a bookstore or an editorial office, or even the post office."

"Rest assured, in their eyes, you’re merely a chemist buying ’Unfortunate Girl’ perfume samples."

"Arthur!"

Arthur gestured to the vendor, "Two more cups of black tea, two thin slices each."

"I’m not hungry!"

"Who said this was for you? I have a good appetite today."

Wheatstone bristled, "You dragged me out here so early and don’t even intend to buy me breakfast?" 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"Weren’t you not hungry?"

"I can refrain, but you have to order." Wheatstone slapped the table, startling the dogs by the stove: "I demand some respect!"

Arthur nearly choked on his tea. He coughed, raising his hands in surrender: "Alright, alright, after all, you are Charles Wheatstone, a member of the Royal Society, the great inventor of the phonograph, an authority in Britain’s optics, acoustics, and electromagnetism. Dragging you out early to face the cold, it’s only right to get you breakfast, yes? Sir, add another thin slice, as usual, toast browned, and tea piping hot."

Wheatstone abruptly slapped the table again: "Two portions! We should be equals!"

The vendor chuckled, wiping his apron: "Got it, you two are having quite the lively chat. If I’d known there’d be a quarrel, I’d have set out more stools, with each of you at a separate table."

"This isn’t a quarrel." Arthur leisurely picked up the teacup: "This is an exchange of research findings."

"Your detective façade qualifies as research findings? At best, it’s pretentious."

Wheatstone curled his lip, taking his tea and deliberately turned the saucer, verifying whether Arthur had tampered with it: "However... the tea is quite decent. If you made me drink Scotland Yard cell’s footwash tea, flavored with tap water, I’d leave immediately."

Arthur leaned back, smiling slightly, watching his old friend through the rising steam.

He understood people like Wheatstone couldn’t be persuaded or forced; they had to be gently guided, indirectly nudged, subtly baited into the trap.

"You didn’t use to be so picky about tea." Arthur spoke slowly: "I recall you once drank an entire pot of overnight tea, cold and sprinkled with ash, in my office, and later told me water temperature didn’t affect the experiment."

Wheatstone pulled a face: "You wouldn’t let me leave! You threatened me, saying if I didn’t explain the phonograph transcription error, you’d lock me up in Scotland Yard to assist in an investigation."

Arthur shouted wrongfully: "Charles, I never said I’d lock you in Scotland Yard; I only mentioned assisting in the investigation."

"What’s the difference between your assisting investigation and being locked up in Scotland Yard? Don’t tell me you don’t know!" Wheatstone counted off past grievances on his fingers: "And another time, at three in the morning, you summoned me to the detective department, saying I needed to analyze ’alleged British Jacobin uprising intel.’ What was the result? You merely wanted to see if anyone could decipher your newly composed encryption."

"Look at you, getting anxious again." Arthur chuckled, providing comfort: "Charles, you must know, you’re the first to say ’dare cross me again, and I’ll petition to Parliament’ outside Scotland Yard. My subordinates later reported I was so terrified, I didn’t dare knock on your door for three days."

"Indeed!" Wheatstone chuckled with exasperation: "So you had them come on the fourth day, huh?"

Arthur couldn’t contain his laughter, breaking the bread in half and offering a piece: "Come, eat this meal, and consider it a reconciliation."

"Why should I?" Wheatstone wanted to smack the bread into Arthur’s face: "I haven’t yet settled the account of you sending people to kidnap me to Gottingen."

Arthur sighed at this: "I knew you’d remember, so... Charles, having just returned to London, I immediately came to apologize, didn’t I?"

"And just in words?"

Arthur pondered for a moment: "Then what do you suggest I do for you?"