Shadow of great britain

In the lecture preparation room of the Royal Society, Charles Wheatstone was sweating, his lips were white, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. Thinking that he would have to stand on the podium in front of hundreds or thousands of listeners tomorrow, he was so excited. My legs couldn't help but tremble.

Wheatstone sat on the chair for a while, but felt uneasy again. He stood up and paced back and forth in the room, but after a while, he felt weak in his calves again.

Obviously this morning, he felt that his physical condition was better than ever, but now, he felt that he was not far away from death.

Wheatstone murmured: "Maybe I should find a chance to escape from London until the Royal Society forgets about me and then come back?"

Just as Wheatstone was talking to himself, he heard a click and the locked door was pushed open from the outside.

Wheatstone was startled. He took a step back and almost knocked over the floor-length mirror behind him.

He asked in shock: "Isn't it my turn yet? I will go on stage tomorrow."

He took a quick look and saw a young man standing at the door who looked slightly familiar.

The young man held his pipe in his mouth, raised his hand slightly and raised his big-brimmed hat covering his forehead, and greeted Wheatstone: "Hello, sir, I came here to apologize to you."

"It's you?!"

Of course Whetstone knew the guy who tripped him at the entrance of the college not long ago. If it weren't for this kid, he might have escaped from this 'hell' by now.

He originally wanted to spar with Arthur, but when he discovered the physical difference between the two, Whetstone wisely gave up the idea.

Even though he couldn't defeat the opponent, he still chose to love peace.

Wheatstone sighed, "So, who are you anyway?"

Arthur took off his pipe and extended his hand to Wheatstone in a friendly manner: "Arthur Hastings, I heard Mr. Faraday say that you seem to want to chat with me?"

"Black...Hastings? Are you Mr. Hastings?"

Whetstone slapped his forehead: "Oh my God! How could it be you?! I...I'm sorry, I really can't associate you with the image of a thug who stretches his legs to trip people..."

Arthur couldn't help but touch his chin when he heard this: "Oh? Really? Didn't Mr. Faraday tell you that in addition to being an electromagnetic researcher, I am also a policeman of Scotland Yard? The policemen and thugs of Scotland Yard are actually There is no difference, the only difference between the two may be that our use of violence is legal."

Hearing this, Wheatstone rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment and replied: "You are a policeman from Scotland Yard. This...I have heard of this. But Mr. Faraday also told me that you are very gentle and polite, unlike ordinary policemen." Same. So in my imagination, you should have a pale face, a bit of weakness between your eyebrows and eyes, and an air of nobility in your movements..."

Arthur shrugged upon hearing this and said: "Please forgive me, Mr. Wheatstone, if you are pale and weak, you must have tuberculosis. That is not an aristocratic atmosphere. But I can also understand your thoughts. After all, the current social trend is In this way, nobles are always described in this way in novels.

If you want to express their noble birth and beautiful appearance, you will always write something like 'her delicate neck is like the long neck of a swan, and her fair skin is as pale as the midnight moonlight', or 'her slender and graceful hands and arms' It is a perfect quarter, like heraldry's natural mark for them.

This kind of morbid description has become a template. Therefore, this is indeed a strange society. Those who are really sick wish that they are not sick, while those who are not sick wish that they are sick. "

Wheatstone laughed twice: "I'm sorry, sir, this is my fault. I...I'm not as good at words as you. You may not know that although I am called a scientist by them, the big question in my life is I spend part of my time working in the musical instrument workshop at home, and I spend more time communicating with the violin than with people.”

Arthur smiled and said: "I am just like you, I am not that good at words. You may not know that although I am a Catholic recognized by everyone, I have spent most of my life walking in hell, and I have made love with the devil. Transactions are far more important than praying to God.”

"You...what are you going to do..."

Wheatstone sensed something was wrong in Arthur's words. He stepped back step by step, and the corner of his eye could not help but drift to the door behind Arthur.

Of course, Arthur also noticed his reaction. He casually took out the flintlock pistol from his arms and slapped it on the table in front of him.

Arthur said: "Mr. Wheatstone, you study acoustics, so you must know that the propagation speed of sound in the air is 343 meters per second. And I study bullets, so I can definitely tell You, the bullet is faster than the sound. If you don’t believe it, we can do an experiment now, after all, practice can test the truth.”

Wheatstone's Adam's apple twitched and he swallowed heavily: "I...you...are we discussing scientific principles now?"

Arthur pulled up the chair and sat down. He took a puff of cigarette and exhaled a burst of white mist: "Yes at the moment, but if you are not honest, it will no longer be the case soon. Although I may not be better than you in science, but My research on violence, ten of you may not be able to compare with me."

Whetstone took a breath and raised his hands slightly: "Okay... okay, I listen to you... you..."

Before he finished speaking, Wheatstone suddenly sprinted toward the door, but before he could cross the threshold, he heard the sound of the pistol's safety being turned on behind him.

As soon as he said it, Wheatstone suddenly squatted down and held his head, shouting: "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! You're right! Bullets are faster than sound! Damn it! Why do you have to let me go on stage to give a speech?" What? Except for this matter, obviously I can do anything! Mr. Hastings, why don't I help you make a violin, and we will be even."

As soon as Whetstone finished speaking, the devil beside him couldn't help but whistled: "Oh! A violin!"

Arthur glanced at the excited red devil and said, "Sorry! Mr. Wheatstone. According to Scotland Yard's internal regulations, we cannot ask for anything from good citizens. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Wheatstone slowly squatted on the ground and turned around.

Arthur turned the pistol in a circle and put it back on the table: "Unless this gift is out of friendship. If there is indeed friendship between us, I might also consider making a small request to the Duke of Sussex. , such as postponing your speech time or something, after all, he still owes me a favor."

"A violin can delay my speech?"

Whetstone's eyes lit up. He rushed forward and held Arthur's hand as if he had seen the savior. An excited expression filled his face: "Oh! Hess... No, my dear Arthur. ! You are worthy of being an upright police officer worthy of the public's trust. You will always be there for the citizens when they need you. Mr. Faraday is absolutely right. In addition to your scientific talent, you also have this golden personality. conduct!"

When Arthur heard this, he smoked and shook his head: "Mr. Wheatstone, don't get me wrong. Even if I help you, it's not because of the violin, but because of friendship."

"Yes, friendship!" Wheatstone giggled: "Of course it's because of friendship, how could it be because of the violin? Arthur, are you willing to accept my friendship?"

As soon as Arthur said it, the fish jumped into his fish basket, and he had no reason to refuse.

"Of course, my friend. Of course I am willing to accept your friendship. Out of consideration between friends, I plan to invite you to attend a banquet in the West End of London this Sunday evening. I believe you will not refuse. Reason?"

"Banquet?" Wheatstone's smile suddenly froze: "Isn't friendship a violin?"

Arthur did not intend to continue to argue with him in this regard. He leaned down and put his hat on Wheatstone's head.

"Mr. Wheatstone, by accepting your violin, I accept your friendship. And by accepting my banquet invitation, you accept my friendship. The courtesy between friends and the rules of communication between people, I can I can’t owe you anything. Do you agree with what I said?”

Wheatstone glanced at Arthur's glowing red eyes, and noticed the creepy smile on the corner of his mouth.

What's more, if there's a gun pressed to the top of your head, it's really hard to react otherwise.

Whetstone forced out a smile that was uglier than crying. He nodded and said, "It's really hard to disagree with your friendship."

Arthur smiled and patted his shoulder: "You will get to know me gradually in the future. Mr. Wheatstone, you have to know that I have always been good at communication. So, in return, your science lecture will be postponed until next month. During this period, I will provide you with speech training to help you overcome your fear."

Wheatstone blinked twice with tears in his eyes: "Do you need to point a gun at me during training?"

"No no no."

Arthur shook his finger: "The training is free, and during this period, if you can make some breakthroughs in the field of acoustics, it may be able to solve your fear of speaking once and for all. That millionaire of yours Invention, I have heard Mr. Faraday say that if you can combine the sound production principle of the music box, maybe you can come up with something incredible."

Whetstone was stunned for a moment. Arthur's words gave him a flash of inspiration, and he seemed to be about to touch something.

"You...you mean?"

Arthur smiled and asked: "Mr. Wheatstone, since your megaphone can present the sound curve characteristics produced under different vibration modes, why not reverse it? In this case, you don't need to stand Can a lecture be completed by just placing a machine on the podium?”