"I suspect this fellow has connections with the mob! Arrest him!"
The arrival of reinforcents ended the whole fight cleanly and swiftly, and the fat police chief once again resud his usual domineering stance, arrogantly pointing at Jero Bonaparte and ordering the police to arrest him.
The officers who had fought alongside Jero Bonaparte exchanged glances but did not act.
"You... Are you intending to disobey my orders?" The fat police chief was furious at their defiance.
Then, he pointed to several officers unfamiliar with Jero Bonaparte, demanding they arrest him.
"Mr. Stalin is not a mobster! Mr. Stalin just helped us!" George John stood up to defend Jero Bonaparte, who showed a relieved smile, thinking the young man still had so conscience.
"If I say he’s a mobster, then he’s a mobster!" The fat police chief twisted his authority, saying, "Who knows if he was colluding with the mob earlier! Maybe he’s the insider for the mob!"
"You..." George John was too angry to speak.
"Alright, kid!" Jero Bonaparte gently patted George John’s shoulder and said kindly, "There’s no reasoning with scum like this!"
"You..." The fat police chief rolled up his sleeves, wanting to give Jero Bonaparte a beating.
"Are you sure you want to fight ?" Jero Bonaparte kindly "reminded," "If it’s a private duel, it can be deadly!"
The fat police chief, realizing Jero Bonaparte’s prowess, sullenly rolled down his sleeves.
The cowardly act caused disdain among his subordinates and fellow officers.
In this 19th century when the spirit of noble duels had not completely declined, private duels were certainly sothing for all ages.
Anyone who dared not accept a challenge was considered a coward, unable to hold their head high in the noble class.
Thus, many noblen and commoners would choose to duel out of a mont’s resentnt, and in Britain, the annual death toll from duels was by no ans less than from car accidents.
"Quick! Arrest him for !" The fat police chief shouted in anger and sha.
Although the fat police chief knew he could do nothing to this guy, he still wanted Jero Bonaparte to taste the trouble of being detained.
Several officers surrounded Jero Bonaparte, and one of them, with an apologetic smile, said, "Sir, do you have any ssage for your family?"
The officer implied for Jero Bonaparte to seek family help for bail.
After all, London’s prisons could only hold paupers, not gentlen of the United Kingdom.
After informing George John of the location of the Louvre Mansion, Jero Bonaparte handed Ham and his cane to George John, "Make sure to deliver my ssage to those at the mansion!"
"I understand!" George John nodded affirmatively.
As they parted, it seed Jero Bonaparte rembered sothing, and he called out to George John, "Tell the mansion people to inform my family that the United Kingdom has imprisoned ! They need to accuse of advocating for workers!"
George John didn’t understand Jero Bonaparte’s aning but decided to relay his words verbatim to the mansion people.
Accompanied "thoughtfully" by over 200 police officers, Jero Bonaparte and McGrath arrived at the London tropolitan Police Detention Center.
"Chief, it seems this isn’t a prison!" Jero Bonaparte smiled and said to the fat police chief.
"You..." The fat police chief said nothing, then ordered two officers to lock Jero Bonaparte and McGrath in the sa detention cell.
The detention cell wasn’t big but was clean.
Two small wooden beds, a round wooden table, and an extinguished kerosene lamp on the square table were the only furnishings in the detention cell.
Sunlight stread through the square iron window into the room, the only bright spot in the entire room, with the iron-barred door completely severing Jero Bonaparte’s connection to the outside world.
With nothing urgent at hand, Jero Bonaparte lay on the small bed waiting for Percy’s rescue.
Even if George John didn’t inform Percy, his angel investor Lionel Rothschild would also rush over to bail him out.
Jero wasn’t mindlessly entering the detention center; sotis, staying inside had more influence than being outside.
A certain "great man" from South Africa inspired Jero.
Moreover, with the situation outside so chaotic, the prison was the best way to jump out of the whirlpool.
Jero Bonaparte lay on the bed preparing to close his eyes when McGrath’s voice awakened him.
"Hmm?" Jero Bonaparte opened his eyes and looked at the conflicted McGrath, "What’s the matter?"
"Well..." McGrath reorganized his words and asked, "What were the answers to those questions you raised there?"
"Which questions?" Jero Bonaparte scratched his head.
"About what to overthrow with? What’s..." McGrath repeated Jero Bonaparte’s previous questions again.
"Oh, that..." Jero Bonaparte looked at McGrath with interest and then lay back down.
"You rascal!" After hesitating for a long ti, McGrath bit his teeth and said, "Tell ! What do you want for the answers?"
Jero Bonaparte rose again, glanced at McGrath, then shook his head, "Mr. Karl Marx and Mr. Friedrich Engels are undoubtedly more authoritative on this than . You should seek them out! As for my previous question..."
Jero Bonaparte orally recited a portion of the Dragon Slaying Skill to McGrath from mory.
After speaking, Jero Bonaparte summarized, "Sotis, a revolution might not happen in the strongest places of imperialism. Instead, those weaker places are more revolutionary! Especially in regions where contradictions are sharp!"
"You an Ireland?" McGrath seed to understand sothing.
"I never said anything!" On the surface, Jero Bonaparte showed a look of "Not I, didn’t, do it," but internally, he was sowhat hopeful that the sharp Anglo-Irish contradiction might nurture a powerful enough bomb under the catalyst of Dragon Slaying Skill.
"The future depends on you!" Jero Bonaparte said to McGrath in an experienced tone.
After speaking, Jero Bonaparte lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, leaving McGrath to ponder and digest the knowledge imparted by Jero Bonaparte alone.
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