Chapter 34: Yes, Sir!

Chapter 34 Yes, Sir!

The Duke of Wellington took the manuscript from Sir Peel’s hand, and merely scanned it lightly, a dozen pages being quickly turned to the end by him.

Soon, this Field Marshal, who had always been known for his iron will and seriousness and strictness, could not help but show a hint of a smile.

“Robert, I think you may have seen everything, but only left out his most important claim.”

The Duke of Wellington turned the manuscript towards Sir Peel and pointed to the line of text that took up almost the entire page.

“I am afraid that is what he wants most.”

Sir Peel raised his eyes.

The words on it were blunt and succinct.

–Even with such extensive revisions, I still find it very difficult to employ police officers of the right standard at twelve shillings a week, and I therefore request a pay rise for all Scotland Yard front-line patrolmen.

Sir Peel could not help laughing at this, and the party’s displeasure at the party’s internal struggle was swept away.

He asked the Duke of Wellington, “What do you think, Mr. Duke?”

The Duke of Wellington said, “Interesting lad. There are not many people who dare to make such a request with the top.”

Sir Pierre thought for a moment, “You are thinking that we should not grant his request?”

The Duke of Wellington gently shook his head, “No, I don’t mean that. Because I was like him when I was young, even worse than him. He was merely making some requests, while I, on the other hand, was directly disobeying my superior’s orders. You know, I never like to listen to people’s orders.”

Sir Peel smiled and asked, “I can’t believe you had such an experience, can you remind me which one exactly?”

The Duke of Wellington waved his hand in mixed indifference, as if this matter was some insignificant trifle.

“There’s nothing to mention, but you want to hear it, so I’ll tell you about it. Do you remember the Battle of Vermeiro, which took place on the Iberian Peninsula in 1808?”

“Of course I remember, you were the supreme commander of that battle.”

The Duke of Wellington said, “Actually, I wasn’t supposed to be. As I recall it would have been the first of August of that year, and I had just led over 10,000 men to a successful landing at Mondego Bay, 100 miles north of the Portuguese capital of Lisbon.

But it wasn’t long before I received intelligence that the main body of the French army in Portugal, led by Napoleon’s great general, ‘Storm’ Jean Andochet Junot, was in the vicinity.

At that time the Army Staff ordered me to wait in place, as General Dalrymple was arriving with 15,000 reinforcements, ready to take over supreme command of the whole army from me, and ordered me to cooperate with him in his attack on the French.

But I ignored them, for the opportunity of battle was fleeting, and instead of waiting, I was to launch the attack directly.”

When Sir Peel heard this, he cried and laughed, “Did they not court-martial you after the war for such behavior?”

The Duke of Wellington said, “Of course they did! But not for the matter of my privately starting the war, but for trying to hold me accountable for privately accepting the surrender of the French army, agreeing to the safe retreat of the remnants of the French army, and supplying ships to the French army that voluntarily returned to France.”

Sir Peel laughed bitterly, “I seem to recall that incident, but I thought I remembered that you were acquitted by the judge of that charge?”

“Of course! On what grounds was it upheld? I won the fight!”

The Duke of Wellington rightly replied, “Anyone can sign a treaty, but how many battles are won? If the War Office thinks I signed a bad one, they can go fight the French themselves and force Napoleon to sign one to their satisfaction!”

Sir Peel nodded thoughtfully, “And what do you think of Inspector Arthur’s request?”

The Duke of Wellington responded frankly, “It’s certainly fine to give the Scotland Yard policemen a raise, but they have to win the war first.”

Sir Peel laughed, “Since you, the Prime Minister and First Chancellor of the Exchequer, have said so, I understand how to reply to Inspector Arthur.”

……

Greenwich Borough Police Station, London Metropolitan Police. Arthur leaned back on the seat of the round table in the conference room and looked up at the yellowish chandelier on the ceiling, the lamp oil in it hadn’t been changed for a long time, so even the light emitted was a bit dim, and it couldn’t even cover Arthur’s face.

It was pouring rain outside the window, thumb-sized raindrops whacking the streets of London like bullets, and occasionally a bolt of lightning streaked by, illuminating half of Arthur’s face near the window.

He appeared calm, expressionless and joyless, and the only thing moving in the whole picture was the pen he was twirling in his hand.

As the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled, the light in the room dimmed again, and his face disappeared into the shadows once more, and the only thing that identified him in the dimness was the shining star of Bath on his epaulette.

Behind him, two workmen were mounting a frame containing a neat document, fresh from the printer’s office, whose contents were as simple as its title.

It was the Nine Principles of Arthur Hastings, which had just passed through a new revision into the Police Executive Manual of the London Metropolitan Police Force.

And on the table in front of Arthur also lay a copy of a letter that had arrived almost simultaneously with the new edition of the Police Manual, the correspondence coming from the Home Office of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland in Whitehall Street.

The contents of it were not complicated, and consisted of only a few lines, so that even a person with only the most elementary education could understand its literal meaning.

— With a beautiful Lisbon landing, break Napoleon’s ‘continental blockade system’ for Great Britain, in exchange for a twenty-five percent pay increase for Scotland Yard as a whole.

Knock, knock!
A discreet knock sounded outside the conference room.

“Enter.”

The door to the conference room was pushed open, and four sheriffs carrying three V shoulder patches stepped into the conference room in a single file, and they stood at attention and turned to salute Arthur.

The sheriffs looked at the nine principles that hung behind Arthur’s back and the knots in their throats shrugged slightly.

They had, of course, likewise received the latest edition of the Police Handbook and knew that the young twenty-year-old police inspector before them was as the sun rising over Scotland Yard at eight or nine in the morning.

Arthur waved his hand and gestured for them to sit down.

But before they could sit down, a bright flash of lightning suddenly flashed through the window, startling the four sergeants to stand up again in a hurry.

It was only after they saw Arthur’s astonished eyes that they sat down again in embarrassment.

But immediately afterward, thunder rumbled and Arthur rose abruptly from his chair.

Snap!
He braced his two sturdy arms on the tabletop, as he had stood that day at the indictment bench of the magistrate’s court.

“Although everyone here should already know me, out of courtesy, I feel the need to introduce myself.

Arthur Hastings, Divisional Inspector of Police for the Greenwich Police District of the East London Region of the London Metropolitan Police Force, and from this day forward, I am responsible for the overall conduct of all police work within this police district.”

Saying this, Arthur paused for a moment as he turned to ask, “By the way, I heard that there is a sergeant who took up his new post at the same time as me, and I heard that he is replacing my old boss, Willox, I wonder which one of them it is?”

The young officer sitting at the far end of the table heard this and hurriedly got up to report, “Braden Jones, transferring to the Greenwich Police District from the Metropolitan Police Force Headquarters in London, hats off to you!”

Arthur leaned forward and extended his hand towards him in a friendly manner, “Mr. Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The young officer rushed to shake Arthur’s hand with his sweat-stained one, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

He couldn’t see Arthur’s face, and could only spot two slightly reddened eyes in the midst of a dimness.

Arthur’s gentle, broad voice rang out.

“I have heard about Willox’s absconding with public money and guns. It’s a real misfortune for Scotland Yard that this happened, so you must be a warning to him.”

Jones’ body stiffened, and he almost subconsciously stood at attention and saluted, “Yes, sir!”

(End of chapter)