Chapter 42: "Our Great British Empire is the Most Open Country in the World"

December 5th, Wednesday.

Dowell rose early and hastily ate a few bites of breakfast with his beloved wife, Hopkins, before hurrying to Stran Street.

Along the way, he occasionally lifted the curtains of the carriage to look outside.

Although Hopkins had become accustomed to this, she couldn't resist teasing her husband, saying, "What? Looking for a newsboy to buy The Scottish?"

Dowell's face reddened. "There's an ancient Chinese saying, 'Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated.'"

"Haha," Hopkins laughed, poking fun at her husband. "You know even this Chinese proverb? Are you studying the opponent's cultural background along with the opponent?"

Dowell gave his wife a stern look but couldn't come up with a retort.

Hopkins chuckled to herself, feeling grateful to Lu Shi deep down. During this time, Dowell had been tirelessly writing again, as if he had regained the passion for creating from his earlier years. As a wife, seeing her husband undergo such a change naturally brought immense joy to her heart.

Hopkins said, "Your perseverance in writing is commendable."

Dowell sighed helplessly. "That's how my dear wife is. It's all about the process for her; the result doesn't matter. But I do value the result! I don't want the Sherlock Holmes series to be surpassed by other mystery works, let alone have my lifelong fame surpassed by this brat Lu Shi."

Just then, the voice of a newsboy came from outside:

"Extra! Extra!"

Dowell quickly stopped the carriage and waved to the newsboy, saying, "Child, give me a copy of The Scottish."

He reached for a five-penny coin.

Unexpectedly, the newsboy shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. Dowell?"

Dowell quickly covered his face. "Um, just give me the newspaper."

Each time he bought The Scottish, he made an effort to cover his face to avoid gossip headlines like "Famous detective defeated? Dowell surrenders to other novels."

The newsboy, unaware of Dowell's thoughts, simply gave him a curious glance before saying, "Sorry, The Scottish is sold out."

Dowell was mildly surprised. Since the review edition in The Manchester Guardian, The Scottish had been reprinted with the support of fans. Its weekly distribution had reached a terrifying thirty-three thousand copies, making it readily available. Moreover, it was early morning, and there was no reason for it to be sold out.

Dowell asked, "How could this happen?"

The newsboy shook his head. "I'm not sure. When we went to pick up the papers today, each of us only got ten copies, whereas we used to get thirty."

Doing a rough calculation, the printing quantity was only one-third of the usual, which meant ten thousand copies.

Next to him, Hopkins asked, puzzled, "Could there be a problem with the printing factory in Edinburgh?"

Dowell pondered for a moment and speculated, "Perhaps Lu Shi changed the manuscript at the last minute, catching Cooper off guard... Haha, great! During the previous visit, Lu Shi said he didn't like making outlines when writing, and it's probably this habit that caused problems in the content of the novel!"

Hopkins shook her head, holding her forehead. "Arthur, you're positively glowing."

Dowell didn't respond but urged the coachman to set off and continued to look for newsboys along the way to buy newspapers.

After asking three newsboys in a row, Dowell finally received a newspaper at the cost of a shilling. He then eagerly flipped to the supplement.

However, the anticipated situation did not occur.

The world created by Lu Shi did not present any inconsistencies. The fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of "And Then There Were None," as the climax of the novel, were perfect. Various suspenseful elements progressed layer by layer, culminating in an inevitable death.

"She slipped the noose around her own neck.

Hugo stood there, watching her, as she walked down this fateful path.

She kicked away the chair..."

Finishing the last paragraph, Dowell unexpectedly felt a sense of melancholy, as if bidding farewell to an old friend.

Hopkins felt the same way, even feeling a bit drained. She couldn't help but praise, "Brilliant! It's truly brilliant! Arthur, do you remember the last line of the nursery rhyme? 'One little Indian boy, left all alone; he went and hanged himself and then there were none.'"

Dowell said, "This book could be considered finished here. But there's still the 'Epilogue,' which probably unveils the mystery from a third-person perspective. We..."

Before he could finish, the voice of the coachman came from outside.

"Sir, madam, we've arrived."

They had actually arrived long ago, but the coachman didn't rush earlier out of courtesy for the tip Dowell had given him. Now, hearing Dowell say, "This book could be considered finished here," prompted him to remind them.

Hopkins took out her pocket purse and gave the coachman more tips, then said to Dowell, "Arthur, keep reading."

However, Dowell only frowned and remained silent.

Hopkins was puzzled. "What's wrong?"

Dowell whispered, "The night has given me dark eyes, but I use them to seek the light... Hmm... Although it's only two simple lines, is this a poem?"

...

"With this text, we mourn Mr. Oscar Wilde."

The Queen set down her teacup.

Wilde...

The surname seemed somewhat familiar.

The Queen asked, "Do you remember anything about this Wilde?"

Margaret, beside her, said, "Mr. Wilde was a great playwright. His 'Lady Windermere's Fan' was performed at the Royal Opera House not long ago."

On the other side, Stevenson said, "Wilde was... um... a dangerous criminal who was sentenced to two years of hard labor, imprisoned successively in London's Pentonville, Wandsworth, and Reading prisons."

The two almost spoke simultaneously.

The Queen raised her hand. "Stop! Let me think..."

Margaret couldn't help but glance at Stevenson, silently urging him to mind his manners.

Stevenson awkwardly rubbed his nose.

After a while, the Queen seemed to remember something and said, "Ah, I think I know. Wilde... Wilde... was he the 'effeminate aesthete' accused by the Marquess of Queensberry?"

The case was so sensational that it reached the highest echelons.

The Queen chuckled and said, "I remember Mr. Wilde later went to Paris. Mr. Lu probably didn't have a chance to meet him."

Margaret nodded. "Professor Lu publicly admitted to appreciating Mr. Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.'"

The Queen looked at the poem again and sighed, "It's written so well. It's just that it might upset certain people~"

The other two present naturally knew whom the Queen was referring to.

The answer was simple: the conservatives.

The Queen said, "It's alright. Our Great British Empire is the most open country in the world. Otherwise, Mr. Wilde's works wouldn't have been performed at the Royal Opera House."

What does the Great British Empire have to do with being open?

Margaret turned her head slightly, trying hard to hold back her urge to ridicule.

Stevenson on the side said, "Your Majesty is right. Our Great British Empire is the most open country in the world."

The Queen nodded, looking at the poem again, and sighed once more, "So well written..."