The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 1683 - 54: Scotland Yard’s Strongest Voice? Scotland Yard’s Lightning Fist! (Part 2)

Chapter 1683: Chapter 54: Scotland Yard’s Strongest Voice? Scotland Yard’s Lightning Fist! (Part 2)

Benjamin Disraeli: "We cannot allow every hero who sacrifices for our country to feel disheartened. The injustice suffered by the Kali family is intolerable for any decent gentleman! I call on all upright citizens of London to donate to the Kali family. If the Home Office does nothing, then it’s up to those of us with a conscience to take action!"

An official from the Home Office stated: The Home Office is currently discussing the establishment of the ’Act for the Pensions of Fallen Police Officers’ Families’ at an appropriate time.

Our reporter immediately informed Mrs. Kali of the good news, but unexpectedly, this strong woman stated: She does not need compensation, but only hopes that one day the society will clear her husband’s name.

It’s known that this is not the first time Mrs. Kali has refused financial support. Previously, colleagues from Scotland Yard had voluntarily donated to the Kali family, but Mrs. Kali also rejected the money.

...

The sun slowly rose above the Thames River, while the kerosene lamp in front of the editorial office window still carried the remains of last night’s glow.

Arthur lounged in a leather chair by the window, holding a cup of cold tea in his left hand and flipping through the newspapers from the past few days with his right hand.

He initially thought he would feel delighted to see the recent earth-shattering shift in London public opinion, but in reality, he felt not a trace of happiness, and even a sense of indignation.

Perhaps it was his feelings for Scotland Yard, which made him believe that public opinion should have reached this point long ago.

Especially the title "The Death of Cold Bath, the Victory of Golden Cross: Belated Applause," which now seemed particularly ironic in Arthur’s eyes.

Although the newspapers were filled with Disraeli’s tireless advocacy for Chief Kali, Arthur’s mind was on Disraeli’s rival, Gladstone’s famous saying—Justice delayed is justice denied.

This phrase could be translated in two ways: if incidents similar to Chief Kali’s occurred in society, it could be translated as: Justice may be delayed, but it will never be absent.

But if translated in a true context, the phrase actually means: Delayed justice is not justice.

To put it more bluntly, it’s Article 40 of the Great Charter: We will not sell, deny, or delay justice to anyone.

Yes, it’s easy to say, but in practice, whether in 1215 when the Great Charter was officially signed or in 1834, it’s never been achieved.

So much so that one has to resort to nauseating means, wandering around a huge circle, to achieve what should have been accomplished long ago.

A cold breeze blew in through the window gap, rustling the map on the wall.

Arthur frowned and lowered his head to close the newspaper.

In the next moment, a deep and familiar voice slid past his ear like a cat’s paw: "What’s wrong, my dear Arthur? A taste of victory, yet it’s bitter?"

The ever-jovial Agares looked as carefree as ever: "You struggled hard to turn the tide, forcing those White Hall rats to chant Kali’s name like they do the Saints. The funny thing is, they’re just mending their own facades, and it has nothing to do with justice."

Arthur drank a sip of icy cold tea expressionlessly: "And what else? Do you have any other expectations for them?"

Agares feigned surprise at the newspaper by Arthur’s side, the Red Devil covering his mouth in mock astonishment: "Still flipping through newspapers? Tsk, quite rare. Didn’t you use to hate reading the gossip journalists wrote? Especially the kind that depicts the police as saints and villains as jokes."

Arthur didn’t speak, only the whitening knuckles of his fingers gripping the newspaper betrayed him.

"Stop pretending." Agares seemed to make a grand discovery, he hadn’t been this happy all month, the Red Devil gloated: "You still have expectations, for justice, for the system, for this country. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be angry, you wouldn’t frown when you see Kali’s child shining shoes for others, and you wouldn’t be silent when Mrs. Kali refuses compensation. You’re indeed dead, but you’re also alive, still cursing the skies, the earth, the gods, everyone, demanding why they push good people to death and still heap insults on their heads."

"You’re wrong." Arthur raised his eyes: "I’m not angry, I just can’t be bothered to waste my breath anymore."

Agares raised an eyebrow: "Can’t be bothered? Then why did you spend last night in the office writing letters, inciting major newspapers to curse the useless bunch at the Home Office beyond measure? Oh, my dear Arthur, you surely have the ’lazy’ style."

Arthur tossed the newspaper onto the nearby bookshelf: "I write letters because I know they’re more afraid of words than they are of people. I can’t be bothered to talk about right or wrong with them, because I know they won’t understand."

"You still believe in change."

"Yes! Change!" Arthur suddenly stood up, yanking the coat from the chair back and draping it over his shoulders, flipping the collar like he was donning a shell: "I’ve only come to believe now that only when the turtles are painfully hit will they move!"

He buttoned up his coat, his gestures familiar yet filled with violence. The buttons seemed to owe him money, the hat bearing the blame for some Foreign Secretary.

He picked up the top hat on the table and pressed it hard onto his head, the motion of straightening the brim like slapping someone in the face.

Agares leaned against the window, arms crossed, his mouth curling into a grin wide enough to hang hats on: "Oh, isn’t this serious? Where are you planning to go? It’s early morning, the clock at St Martin’s Church hasn’t even struck yet, and you’re already getting ready for battle. Could it be you’re planning to take another round at Golden Cross Station? Or..."