The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 1678 - 52: The Web Weaver Hastings (Part 3)

Arthur gently picked up the paper strip, his gaze fixed on it, slowly spitting out a line of translation: "Male suspect, burn scar on left cheek, gray tweed coat, five feet nine inches..." 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

As Arthur reached this part, his words suddenly faltered, and his expression changed thrice.

Langworth immediately noticed Arthur’s shift, instinctively gripping the back of the chair, his voice dropping sharply: "What’s wrong?"

Arthur didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glued to the strip of paper, the calm smile at his lips rapidly fading, and he read the next sentence in an extremely low voice: "The suspect is traveling by hired carriage toward Golden Cross Station, intending to take the ten forty-five southbound stagecoach to escape. Carrying an ivory inlaid silver writing box, a gift from George IV, evidence stolen from Kensington Palace. Request immediate interception, at once!"

Upon reading the last sentence, Arthur snapped the paper strip with a sound, hurriedly taking out his pocket watch, clicking open the lid, the hour hand pointing to ten thirty-three.

"Damn it!" Arthur swore: "That man leaves the station in twelve minutes!"

"Who?" Langworth didn’t react for a moment.

"Who else could it be?" Arthur seemed a bit anxious, he took two steps at a time to the window to look outside: "That thief who stole the royal artifact from Kensington Palace, this telegram is from Scotland Yard!"

With a word, he grabbed Langworth’s arm and rushed out: "Time is tight, the situation urgent, Mr. Langworth, follow me now, I’ll explain later."

Langworth finally figured out what was happening.

He stumbled after Arthur out of the room, the street still bustling, but to Langworth’s ear, it was as if all the sounds had receded, leaving only the relentless ticking of the clock hand.

They hurriedly navigated through the crowd, Arthur’s coat fluttering loudly, his ebony cane striking the brick pavement, the rhythm like a death knell.

"Walking time from the telegraph station to Golden Cross Station is about two and a half minutes..." Arthur said while walking, eyes constantly scanning for any street-side activity: "As long as that guy hasn’t boarded, we have a chance."

Langworth panted heavily, realizing he might be part of a royal heist, which thrilled him to no end: "Do you, do you really think he’ll enter the station from the front? What if he sneaks in through the back..."

"He’s taking the ten forty-five southbound stagecoach, all southbound coaches depart from the square in front of the station. If he goes through the back, he’ll only be taking a longer route..."

Before he finished speaking, Arthur was already turning onto a long section of stairs outside the station.

Not far off, in the corner of the station’s left wing, two uniformed Scotland Yard patrolmen were standing by the carport, one leaning against a pillar smoking, the other fiddling with horseshoe samples, clearly enjoying this morning’s idle time.

Arthur pretended to stoop and scrutinize them, then after a few breaths, he acted as if identifying acquaintances, charging forward according to the original plan, giving them a scolding right off the bat: "Colly! Hutter!"

The two officers who were lucky enough to participate in the offline stage play of the Hastings Case Files were jolted by Arthur’s shout, as if hit by electricity, they jumped up. Once they saw who it was, their faces were filled with alarm.

"Sir Arthur?" The tall Hutter couldn’t believe his eyes: "How come you..."

"Shut up!" Arthur pointed at their noses: "The telegraph station is less than fifty steps away from you, the station patrol instructions I drafted for Scotland Yard were clear, there should be west side station patrol daily, the telegraph station is critical, cannot neglect defense. Are you blind, or are you working with your eyes closed?"

Hutter was bewildered by Arthur’s rant, stammering: "I... but wasn’t that regulation repealed last year..."

Colly immediately recalled Chief Field’s special instructions to him this morning: the station patrol orders abolished last year, starting today are restored, especially attention to west side patrol, especially near the telegraph station, someone must be on duty!

Feeling like he had the worst luck, Colly nearly slapped his own face, this was likely another department spot check: "We...we thought there was nothing important over there..."

"You have no need to think!" Arthur held back his anger, at this moment he had no mind to berate these amateurs further: "You should’ve kept an eye on the telegraph station! Now, the situation is critical, I ask you to follow me immediately. The target is a male in a gray tweed coat, five feet nine inches tall, burn scar on left cheek, carrying an ivory inlaid silver writing box. This person has boarded a hired carriage, preparing to head for the southbound stagecoach."

Without finishing his words, he turned towards the station square, stepping forward and growling: "Fan out! Check each southbound coach yet to depart!"