??204: Chapter 140 The Little Devil from Scotland
204: Chapter 140 The Little Devil from Scotland
Tower Hamlets, Whitechapel Parish, 25 Brick Lane, Martin’s Tavern.
Although Martin’s Tavern had been open for just over a month, its reasonably priced fare and Mr.
Martin’s favorable relations with both Brayden Jones, the sergeant of the Whitechapel area, and Miss Fiona Ivan ant that the local ruffians dared not leave their tabs unpaid, let alone cause trouble.
Thus, even as a newly opened tavern, it did not prevent Martin’s Tavern from turning a profit last month.
At dusk, the small tavern gradually lit up with oil lamps, and in the flickering light, sailors reeking of sweat, bricklayers, and even pickpockets who had just made a big score, all flocked here.
In the crowded, noisy environnt, the patrons drank watered-down beer as they exchanged toasts, played cards, tossed dice, and bet on odds and evens, scattering all kinds of coins across the tables.
Near the bar, a gentleman in a wide-brimd hat and an overcoat was holding a pipe and chatting with Mr.
Martin.
Mr.
Martin’s face was a picture of sycophancy; he seed intent on dishing out all his complints for the year to the gentleman before him.
Arthur looked at the yellowing stains on the floor and the scattered playing cards and coins on the tables, and asked, “Do they play these gas every night?”
Mr.
Martin nodded and bowed, “Mr.
Hasting, you know as well as I do.
For us who do physical labor, these are the only pleasures we have.
Either drink or gamble.
Those who are tight on money stick to cards; those who can afford a bit more, go betting on horses.
Besides, we could buy lottery tickets before, but weren’t they banned by the governnt a couple of years ago?”
“The mbers of parliant think buying lottery tickets encourages people’s laziness, increases poverty, leads to dissoluteness, disrupts the dostic harmony and even adds to the number of lunatics.
But I think the MPs are really making a mountain out of a molehill on this issue.”
“After all, buying lottery tickets is a traditional entertainnt of ours in Britain.
I rember my grandfather saying that we started doing this back in the 16th century during the ti of Elizabeth I.
Back then, prizes weren’t just money; there were also tal cutlery and fabrics and such.”
“It was a lot more interesting than the underground lotteries we play now…”
As Mr.
Martin said this, his face suddenly changed; he realized he had spoken too much.
Unexpectedly, Arthur didn’t delve deeper into his words.
Mr.
Hasting simply stirred his coffee cup with the silver spoon specially reserved for him at Martin’s Tavern.
Arthur said, “Don’t worry, I’m off duty now, can’t be bothered with many things.
But as a friend, I advise you to play less of that stuff.
Those underground lotteries are not much different from scams.
I can understand workers without prospects buying into that; they don’t have many other ways to strike it rich.”
“But Mr.
Martin, you are different; your business is doing well.
As long as you sell your products honestly, sooner or later, you will live a decent life.
Why chase after an unrealistic dream of getting rich quick?
Or are you actually involved in running those underground lotteries?”
Upon hearing this, Mr.
Martin quickly waved his hands, “Mr.
Hasting, please don’t misunderstand, I might occasionally add a little extra to the goods I sell, but I don’t engage in any illegal activities.
You know , I am a good citizen.”
Arthur nodded, “Alright then, good citizen, have you received any news about the ssage I asked you to pass to Fiona the other day?
A brown leather wallet containing so money, two business cards of Mr.
Eld Carter, and a Royal Navy supply pick-up receipt from the Beagle.
Oh, and his silver pocket watch was also stolen.
That watch is quite distinctive and should be easy to identify.”
“That’s true, especially since pocket watches with a background of a blond nude are rare.”
Mr.
Martin picked up a cloth from the counter and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “But Mr.
Hasting, you know I wouldn’t dare neglect your instructions.
However, as you know, there are many pickpockets in London.
Though Miss Ivan has taken over so of Fred’s clients, her influence isn’t quite at the level it used to be with Fred, and not every pickpocket thinks of her imdiately when they need to offload stolen goods.”
Arthur replied, “That may be true, but she should at least know which pickpocket groups frequently operate in the Marylebone area.
That young devil with the Scottish accent is an old hand, and he managed to pick my friend’s pocket right under my nose without anyone noticing.”
“If you tell
that such a deft little devil works alone and is still a newcor, then you’re challenging the common sense of a Scotland Yard officer.”
Mr.
Martin thought for a mont and then asked, “Have you sent soone to old Fagin in St.
Giles to ask around?
It could be the work of soone from the West District.
If so, even if the goods haven’t reached Fagin’s hands, he should at least know which gang did it.”
“Of course, I sent soone to Fagin,” Arthur said, sipping his coffee.
“What did he say?”
Arthur pursed his lips, “He said that his boys have been behaving recently, and the organized gangs in the West District were too scared by Fred’s death to stir trouble, so most have been living off old scores.
If soone really stole a wallet with a Royal Navy supply receipt, anyone with a brain would turn it over to Scotland Yard.
So, it couldn’t have been those West District ‘gentlen.’ He ntioned that the kind of person bold enough yet brainless, usually mixes in the East District.”
After thinking it over, Martin murmured, “Sounds sowhat reasonable.
After all, you just took care of Fred recently; anyone daring to commit a cri now must really think they are too long for this world.”
While they were talking, suddenly, they heard the sound of a door being pushed open and a bell jingling.
A few sowhat familiar thugs walked into the tavern, and without a second thought, they waved at Mr.
Martin, “Martin, we found the man you were looking for.
Damn, you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to find that kid.
You said he had a Scottish accent, so we thought he might be Kyle’s man, but it turns out this bastard really is a loner.
If it wasn’t for his pocket watch being hard to fence, we wouldn’t have had a clue to nab him.”
Arthur turned his head and his gaze t that of the lead thug.
He knew him, it was Jas, once forced to have a gun barrel shoved in his mouth.
Jas hadn’t noticed him at first, but as his gaze dropped and saw Arthur, his body couldn’t help but tremble three tis, and he quickly took off his hat and said, “Hasting… Mr.
Hastings?”
Martin quickly spoke up, “Why would I need a man?
Did you bring the goods?”
Rushing, Jas fished a wallet out of his pocket and took two steps as one to place it on the counter, “The pocket watch, business card, and receipt are all inside, but the money’s been spent by that brat.
Anyway, I’ve brought the person too, whether you send him to jail or give him a beating and let him go, it’s up to you two.”
With that, Jas signaled his n with a glance, “What are you standing around for?
Bring the guy up here!”
“Oh, oh, oh!”
The boss angry, the subordinates hurriedly scrambled to make way; soon, there appeared a scrawny thug holding onto a kid with a rag stuffed in his mouth and hands bound behind him with a cloth.
As he walked, he complained, “Jas, you do this next ti; this Scottish brat has quite the strength, almost like carrying a bloody donkey.”
“Less talking!” Jas glared at him, then couldn’t stop himself from smiling apologetically at Arthur, “Mr.
Hastings, don’t mind them, they are new, not familiar with our ways yet.”
Arthur didn’t mind and was just looking at the Scottish brat, who was glaring defiantly, and asked, “You said he’s a loner, what’s that about?”
Jas explained, “You might not know, but this kid said he walked all the way from Glasgow in Scotland to London.
He worked odd jobs along the way, and not long after arriving in London, he ended up in your hands.
If this kid had found a good ntor after coming to London, with his skills, he could have been a sobody.
Of course, I an sobody in our line of work, obviously he can’t compare to a respectable gentleman like yourself.”
“Walked all the way from Scotland to London?” Hearing this, Arthur grew curious.
He approached the boy, who looked no more than eleven or twelve years old, and smiled as he removed the rag from the boy’s mouth asking, “Not bad!
What’s your na, kid?”
But the boy just snorted at Arthur’s words and turned his face away.
Seeing this, Jas slapped him on the cheek and said, “Kid, do you know who this is?
Getting caught stealing and still acting tough?
Do you want to go to the Magistrates’ Court?
If I had been half as tough as you back in my day, I’d probably have t God by now!”
Upon hearing Jas ntion the Magistrates’ Court, the boy clenched his mouth and reluctantly gave his na, “Don’t… don’t be mad, sir.
I was just trying to make so money… I… my na is Alan Pinkerton.”
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