The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 525 - 275: Special Treatment for Sudden Serious Illness

The laboratory was quite spacious, and its furnishings were very simple; aside from a Faraday cage, there was nothing else.

However, it is possible that this room wasn’t always so austere. At least from the unburned fabric ashes beneath the window sill, it would seem that curtains once hung there.

Inside the Faraday cage, a laboratory table was placed squarely in the center, surrounded by various materials and components used for experiments.

As for the central figure of our narrative, Mr. Charles Wheatstone’s attire today was much more distinctive than usual.

The strong electric current caused an electronic breeze to blow through the cage, fluffing Wheatstone’s hair so that it seemed to stand up, strand by strand.

This typically bespectacled British gentleman was far from his usual quiet and reserved self. He was clutching a resistor in one hand and an ammeter in the other, and one foot rested on a stool as he laughed uncontrollably at the onlookers.

"Son of a whore! If you’ve got the balls, come over here! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, not even God could pull me out of this cage today!"

Great Dumas and the others were shocked and speechless, unable to comprehend how the mild-mannered Mr. Wheatstone could engage in such conduct.

Where on earth did that shy, four-eyed lad go?

Arthur was silent for a moment, removed his pipe, and exhaled a plume of smoke. He turned to the apprentice next to him and asked, "How long has Mr. Wheatstone been exhibiting these symptoms?"

The apprentice, rubbing his temple with a pained expression, replied, "About a week, I reckon. Ever since he discovered this cage, he’s never been at peace."

Another apprentice sighed, "The medical journals all say that hysterical neurosis is something only ladies suffer from. But from what we’re seeing, it appears the doctors were mistaken; gentlemen, too, can fall prey to this malady."

"Hysterical neurosis?" Great Dumas exclaimed in surprise, "Mr. Wheatstone has contracted this illness? This... This is truly unfortunate."

The apprentice nodded and said, "Just a few days ago, we even had doctors from Bethlem Royal Hospital come to have a look. At that time, the doctors thought that Mr. Wheatstone might just be under a great deal of mental stress and would recover after some care. However, rather than improving over the past few days, his case has intensified. Every morning, he locks himself in the cage and doesn’t come out until after we’ve gone to bed. He curses at anyone who passes by the lab. This morning, we couldn’t stand it any longer and so we notified the staff at Bethlem Royal Hospital. They’ve sent a few carriages to and from the Royal Society, but no matter what, we couldn’t coax Mr. Wheatstone out of the cage."

Upon hearing this, Wheatstone immediately widened his eyes in fury, shouting, "Bullshit! I’ve never been ill; I’m in an unprecedentedly good condition now! You are the ones who are sick, all of you are fucking sick!"

With a sigh, the apprentice said, "See, gentlemen, he’s started again."

Upon witnessing this scene, Louis’s expression became rather peculiar. In recent times, in order to keep up with the pace of investigations at Scotland Yard, he had self-taught a great deal of medical knowledge. Naturally, he was acquainted with hysterical neurosis, a condition doctors deemed to be highly prevalent.

Discreetly, Louis inquired, "I heard that the treatment for ladies with hysterical neurosis usually involves... well... the doctor physically assisting them to relieve mental stress. Typically, they would first ask the husband to attempt it, and if that proved ineffective, they would then turn to a professional like the doctor. But in the case of a gentleman falling ill... may I presume to ask, what exactly does Bethlem Royal Hospital intend to do to treat Mr. Wheatstone?"

At that, Great Dumas, being an old hand at the game of love and a seasoned French bon vivant, clapped his hands as he had an epiphany, "No wonder Mr. Wheatstone has come down with such a vile sickness. After all this while, it turns out it’s an issue of frustration! Indeed, great minds think alike. Although I possess only some knowledge of battlefield first aid and lack the experience of diagnosing medical conditions, I had suggested to Mr. Wheatstone before his outbreak that a man like him indeed needs the nourishment of love."

Heine, standing nearby, spoke with a mix of melancholy and sorrow, "Alexander, though love is indeed beautiful, I must say that most love does not bring happiness. It cures no diseases, only wounds like a rose with its thorns."

Great Dumas clearly disagreed with Heine’s view. As a bestselling author who practically grew up steeped in romance and had countless lovers, his perspective was quite different from that of Heine, who had suffered the woes of unrequited love.

However, out of respect for his friend’s feelings, Great Dumas ultimately refrained from pointing out Heine’s heartbreak.

After all, not everyone can remain upbeat after being rejected by two cousins, and although Great Dumas was prepared to share some romantic wisdom with his friend, now was clearly not the time.

He turned and, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur, declared, "Arthur, I believe you must take full responsibility for Mr. Wheatstone’s transformation."

"Me?" Arthur frowned slightly, "Are you suggesting the work targets I set for Charles were too onerous? Come now, he hasn’t done a lick of work in two months. This whole time, he’s been occupied with deciphering love letters, acting as a relationship advisor, a confidant. Most importantly, I wasn’t the one who assigned him this task."