Chapter 70: Utilitarianism

Chapter 70 Utilitarianism
The public carriage rattled, and Arthur sat in it looking out of the window, while Field, the little policeman, sat on one side of it in consternation.

Though there was not much difference in age between the two, even Fields was a little older.

However, for some reason, perhaps it was a matter of personal aura, or perhaps it was because of Arthur’s unchanging expression, Fields always felt an invisible pressure.

He was silent for a long time before he finally couldn’t help but open his mouth and ask, ”Sir, how exactly did you find out about those cases. You probably don’t know, these days our place is spreading like crazy, seeing through the truth of that hotel murder case in just three words, this is simply too amazing.”

“Amazing?”

Arthur leaned against the window, “If you put your mind to it, you could in the future.

Whenever there’s a murder, it’s just those few rules, either it’s because of emotion or because of profit.

Although it is true that there are people in this world who have no conscience and little humanity, but they are very few, you may not be able to meet those people in ten years of cases, and it is difficult to find out the pattern of those who kill people, and it is very likely that they are only on the spur of the moment.

In most cases, you can only rely on technical means to track and trace those people.

However, a minority is still a minority, and for most cases, you just have to reason logically.

All in all, it is because as long as a person lives in this society, he will always have some social nature in his body.

Of course, society is changing, so the social nature of man is also changing, and this is really worth noting.”

Fielder asked curiously, “Is there any difference between the sociality of the present and the sociality of the past?”

Arthur pursed his lips and spoke, “Haven’t you ever heard the clergymen’s bulletins in the streets?

They say that since we entered the 19th century, everyone is looking to money, and that the old, beautiful England is gone for good.

So, fewer people kill for love, those who kill for honor have disappeared, and all that’s left is for money and lust.

Though they didn’t exactly say such things out of justice; after all, it was common knowledge that the clergy hated such things as the factory-owning community.

But sometimes, looking back, what the clerics said couldn’t be considered wrong.

Because if you don’t have a clue about a case, trying to start with the suspect’s money bills first often leads to unexpected discoveries.

And there are muggers, pickpockets and thieves right there on the streets of London.

Prostitutes can be seen everywhere, from day to night, selling songs and soliciting customers.

Those MPs say that these hardships sharpen their spirits and make them better people.

But they just don’t mention that the suffering has brought a thirty percent underage crime rate to the East End of London.

They also say that poverty is due to laziness, but they also don’t mention that the average factory worker in London works more than fifteen hours.

In case you don’t know, I studied history at university.

So I know that even in the Middle Ages, which the world says was dark and lightless, the poor didn’t live like this.

In those days, they could still have a little stone house in the countryside and collect random firewood in the fields.

But now?

You could probably break the law by collecting firewood in a field in the countryside, because it’s not land that belongs to you, and the peasants are running out of land of their own.

And the workers, let alone the workers, I know that in Whitechapel there are two or three thousand families with over ten thousand people crammed into fourteen hundred little shabby houses.

And that’s not just an example, because places like Bettner Green or St. Giles are even worse than that.

Many London workers start working in factories from the age of six, and if they’re unlucky, they’re going to fall ill in their teens.

And then no place will want them anymore. They are left to live on the streets, the men selling their violence and the women selling their bodies.

And we, the police, have to put them in jail and fine them.

The first time they go to jail, they may get some sympathy.

The second time they go to jail, they might get some understanding too.

But what about the third or fourth time?

Then the jury and the magistrate won’t show any mercy.

So, in fact, as soon as a poor man commits his first offense, then his fate is already sealed.

Either the gallows or exile in Australia, no exceptions.

They have already lived like this, and yet after they die, someone has to steal their bodies and put them ……”

Arthur felt a little breathless in his chest as he spoke, and he remembered again the sight he had seen that day at St. Thomas’ Hospital.

He pulled out his pipe and was about to light it when he hesitated and put it back in his pocket.

Seeing this, Fielder hurriedly waved his hand and said, “You smoke yours, I don’t really care about that.”

Arthur smiled at his words and shook his head, “But I care.”

Fielder looked at Arthur and asked strangely, “So that’s why you’re so eager to hang that group of corpse stealers, murderers and sellers and those doctors together?”

Arthur didn’t shy away from it, “Morally emotionally, yes. But legally, a corpse is a corpse. We can only hang the ones who actually do the killing, but not the ones who pay them to do it.”

Felder thought for a moment as he asked, “And is that the right thing to do?”

Arthur looked out the window as the rain continued to fall, “I don’t know if it’s right. I’m just a cop, and I’ve been told to guard justice and righteousness, but I’m not sure what exactly constitutes justice and righteousness. At least those written laws we have at the moment don’t call it that, because I know a lot of people are unconvinced by it.”

The figure of the Red Devil shimmered behind him, and after disappearing for the night, today Agareth was dressed differently than he had been in the past.

He had not only thrown away the pitchfork that he had been carrying around, but he had also changed into an ebony robe and even a pair of spectacles.

On his shoulder stood a black raven with blood-red eyes, summoned from nowhere, and in his hand was a scroll of parchment with unintelligible writing.

Agareth chuckled heatedly as he rubbed his palms together and spoke, “Arthur, what’s the point of thinking so much? Your justice is justice, and your justice is justice.

As long as you make up your mind, I can offer you the location of the murderer right now. The price is very fair and cheap.

Let’s hurry up and finish this case, and then we can run towards an even greater future.”

Arthur ignored him and instead dropped his gaze outside the window, the road ahead seemed to be crowded with people, even the speed of the carriage had slowed down.

Arthur pulled back the window and poked his head out, the streets here looked very familiar to him.

This was Gower Street in the Bloomsbury district of London, the place he had spent four years.

His head had just stuck out the window when he felt a solid slap on the back of his head.

Arthur whipped his head around to look up, just in time to meet Elder’s underhandedly smiling face.

“Arthur! My good man! I knew you’d be here today, after all, it’s Jeremy Bianchin, the spiritual mentor of us London University students, who’s visiting the school to speak today!”

“Jeremy Bianchin?” Arthur was silent for a moment, he seemed to remember something, “Utilitarianism?”

(End of chapter)