The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 598 - 301 Shooting Incident_3

Later, perhaps it was running into too many walls with his poetry that sobered him somewhat. But in writing to me, he was still unwilling to admit defeat, saying something along the lines of, "I haven’t taken Byron as a role model for a long time, now detective novels are in vogue. Considering our many years of friendship, please do me a favor by handing over this manuscript of ’Bond Street Murder Case’ to the ’British’ editorial department, and relay a message to Mr. Arthur Sigma that the author of this piece is his fan, Edgar Allan Poe."

Arthur’s fingertips tapped on the desk. "Really? Edgar Allan Poe? A big name indeed! Now I definitely must check out his manuscript."

Owen drank his tea and waved his hands repeatedly. "Mr. Hastings, although I also think that young man is somewhat arrogant, your mockery of him is too much."

Arthur shook his head seriously. "No, Mr. Owen, I’m not joking with you. All of what I said is true. I am genuinely interested in my fan’s work. ’British’ is not like ’Blackwood’s’; we always strive to discover young authors. You, as the father of American literature, certainly can’t stifle the hope of American literature in its cradle, can you?"

Owen set down his tea cup and commented, "That’s Arthur Sigma for you, speaking just like how he writes, always so suggestive. I see now why ’Blackwood’s’ has such a deep-seated hatred for ’British.’ The literary criticism you guys publish every now and then targeting ’Blackwood’s’ has the same flavor. But it’s one thing to say ’Blackwood’s’ has low literary standards; why also mock their editor Mr. Wallace for being a hack?"

Arthur said regretfully. "Mr. Owen, that’s where you’re mistaken. The majority of the literary criticism is done by Mr. Disraeli. Of course, Mr. Dumas occasionally gets inspired and writes a few pieces too. None of these concerns me. after all, I’ve never been exposed by ’Blackwood’s’ for embezzlement, nor have I been rejected by Mr. Wallace."

"Well then, let’s leave literary matters there for now."

Owen began, "Actually, I didn’t come just to discuss publishing today; I primarily wanted to inquire whether there are any merchant ships leaving Liverpool for the United States. If so, I would like to book a ticket."

Arthur asked, "Buying a ticket? Such a thing shouldn’t require a special trip to Liverpool, right? There are so many routes from London to the United States; there must be quite a few ships. I even bought a ticket to Boston last year. It just never materialized due to various reasons."

"To Boston? Last year?" Owen spoke, "Then your young fan was indeed unlucky; he almost had a chance to meet his idol. Last year, he had just been discharged from the harbor troops in Boston, and this year he has already gone to West Point Military Academy."

Arthur laughed. "A military academy student? Looks like he will have a good future. Though I don’t know what the status of American officers is, in Britain, military service is a mainstream choice for nobility offspring to make their careers. Although entering politics is also decent, standing out among a host of talented individuals is quite difficult."

Owen shrugged. "Unfortunately, in the United States, only the most despicable individuals tend to pursue politics, decent people ought not to live by swindling, cheating, and bluffing. As for military people, they charge headlong into battles for these ambitious folks, so obviously, they’re even sillier. However, your young fan was lucky. At the beginning of this year, he was court-martialed for writing poems that satirized his instructor and intentionally skipping classes—ultimately, he was dismissed from the military."

Arthur asked, "So, are you rushing back to the United States to console him?"

"Not exactly, just... some work-related changes."

Owen continued, "They think I’ve done well at the Embassy, so they’re planning to transfer me to the Foreign Office. In British terms, I’ve moved up another notch on the pole; yes, I’ve been promoted. The U.S. Foreign Office wants me to return and report by February 1832, but due to cholera, the ships in London are currently under strict quarantine. So, when I heard you were stationed in Liverpool, I thought I might try my luck here. If it’s not possible here, then I’m truly out of options."

"Then you’re in luck," Arthur announced. "I’m aware that Schwaiger & Son have a ship that’s about to finish quarantine and can leave the port soon. The only downside is that they specialize in the West Indies route, so you might need to make a stopover on an island in the Caribbean Sea before returning to the United States."

Owen pondered for a moment, "That sounds quite good, certainly better than nothing. But may I boldly ask you, can you confirm when exactly the ship will depart?"

"It should be very soon," Arthur replied, taking out his pocket watch to take a look. "At this time, the port authority should be on duty. If you don’t mind, you can come with me to the port authority office. They are always in charge of quarantine matters."

Owen stood up, put on his hat, and expressed his gratitude, "Thank you very much, Mr. Hastings."

As he said this, he did not forget to take a key out of his pocket and place it on the table.

Arthur looked down and asked, "What’s this?"

"It’s the key to the house I rent in London. I’ve already informed Mr. Tennyson of the address. If there isn’t enough time, you can go there directly to fetch the manuscripts. Right after entering, it’s in the second drawer on the right, and I’ve also placed the letters from my young fans there. I’ve paid the rent until April this year. You can take the items anytime before then."

Arthur, having heard this, also stood up and put on his hat, smiling, "I can see that you are indeed in a hurry. In that case, let’s not delay any further. The carriage is downstairs; let’s go now."

Arthur accompanied Owen as they clattered down the stairs. Just as they stepped out of the hotel lobby, a carriage sent by the City Hall was waiting at the entrance.

Louis and others who were chatting near the carriage saw them coming and promptly extinguished their pipes, shouting, "Break time’s over, back to work!"

Arthur opened the carriage door and was about to get in when a glance at the street corner revealed several other carriages parked there.

He winked at Charles Field, the Chief of Police, who was leaning on the carriage. Field immediately understood and responded, "Those carriages are watching us. We’re not clear yet who exactly is directing them, but it’s probably from a few places: the Liverpool Association, the City Council, or the Customs. If you would like, I can go and have a talk with them later."

Arthur looked at those carriages, shook his head, and said, "Let it be, if they want to follow, let them follow. I don’t have anything to hide from them."

As Arthur stepped on the carriage’s footboard, holding the handle and about to climb in, suddenly, a gunshot rang by his ears.

Immediately, something whizzed past his ear, and with a loud bang, the wooden lamp post beside him was instantly drilled with a small hole, splinters flying and sparks scattering everywhere.

Following that, there was the sound of a crowd screaming and scattering in panic and the intermittent roar of voices.

"Somebody is shooting! Protect Mr. Hastings!"