36 Lancaster Gate, Bayswater, London.

Night has come, the sky is full of stars outside the window, and the lights in the window are bright.

In the large dining room, a rectangular cream-white dining table was set up, with Darwin and Elder sitting on the mahogany chairs on either side of the table, while Arthur sat in the main seat rummaging through a book.

He muttered, "Benjamin Disraeli, could he be the same Mr. Disraeli who created Vivien Gray?" ”

Elder buried his face in a newly released copy of the Boudoir Secrets, and as he read it, he asked, "What?" Is he famous? ”

Darwin, who was concentrating on the study of naturalist magazines, heard this and said: "I only remembered when Arthur said this, as if there has been such a number one person in the British literary world in recent years. It's just that Mr. Disraeli's reputation doesn't seem to be good, and in the past few years, you can see attacks on him in various literary magazines every once in a while. ”

"Attack?" Elder's face slowly rose from the newspaper: "What did he do?" An affair? Bastard? Or is it some other unclean relationship between men and women? ”

Arthur glanced at him: "These are exactly the areas where literature and artists are most difficult to attack, remember the Paganini we saw at the Royal Theater earlier?" That guy is romantic, and his biggest hobby is selling money in Fengyue venues all over Europe, but fans don't bother to pay attention to this kind of thing, and even praise him for being romantic and amorous. ”

When Arthur said this, Dumas, who had been happily cooking in the kitchen, suddenly felt excited.

Fortunately, no one else noticed that something was wrong with him, and Elder continued to ask, "What exactly did Disraeli do?" ”

Arthur picked up the copy of Vivien Gray in front of him and displayed its cover in front of Elder Ander.

Elder glanced at it, only to find the name of the author of the book, which read: Anonymous.

Elder scratched his head: "Is there something wrong with this Disraeli?" It's not easy to write a book, but it's still anonymous, isn't he going to ask for a manuscript fee? ”

Arthur said, "That's the crux of the matter. Mr. Disraeli's original intention in writing the book was not to make money at all, but to attack an old friend of his in the publishing industry.

It is already shameful to write a book and backstab a friend, and Mr. Disraeli's sarcastic behavior in a vest is even more intolerable in the literary and publishing worlds.

So when his true identity was revealed, he immediately became infamous in the field of British literary creation. Since then, it seems like he hasn't published a new work for a long time.

I thought he should have no face, so he emigrated abroad. Now it seems that Mr. Disraeli should just be avoiding the limelight, as long as the outside world is calm, he will toss again. ”

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, Dumas, in his white apron, brought several plates of fragrant rice to the table in front of everyone.

Arthur looked at the yellow, oily, grainy rice grains on the plate, and the small diced tomatoes and fat sausage slices mixed between the rice grains to flavor the color, he raised his hand and fanned it slightly, and a soft and fragrant smell immediately lingered on the tip of his nose.

He couldn't help but raise his eyes to look at Alexandre Dumas, gave him a thumbs up and said, "I didn't think you still had this hand." When you said you were going to cook, I thought you were joking. ”

When Dumas heard this, he snorted haughtily.

"You can't blame you for that, after all, you Brits make jokes about what you want to eat every day. But I must also solemnly declare to you that even in France, you may not be able to taste such a skill as I am. ”

As soon as Dumas finished speaking, Arthur saw the Red Devil standing behind him, sucking his glittering fingers, and nodded in agreement: "Taste it, Arthur, this fat man really didn't lie to you." ”

Dumas sat down in his chair, tasted his work, and then spoke contentedly.

"Outside of literature, my biggest specialty is making food. Or to put it more bluntly, writing is just a means to achieve my goals in life. My biggest goal in life is to taste all the food in the world, and the other is to let the big guys taste it. The first goal can be achieved by writing alone. But the second goal must be through the republican revolution. ”

Arthur heard him blow so hard that he tasted the letter suspiciously.

He chewed on the rice, savoring the fragrance and aftertaste in his mouth.

I have to say, this stewed rice tastes really good, and if I had to describe what it tastes like, it might be like egg fried rice with oyster sauce and diced ham.

But where did Alexandre Dumas get his oyster sauce these days?

Arthur pondered slightly, wiped his mouth with a cloth, and then looked at Alexandre Dumas and said calmly: "It's oysters, you added oysters." ”

When Alexandre Dumas heard this, he couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised: "I just said, you must be an old French lurking among the English." ”

"Oysters?" Elder caught the key word in an instant, and he hurriedly asked, "Have the leech's eggs gone?" ”

"What leech eggs?" Now Dumas was stunned.

Darwin kindly explained to him: "It's the black thing around the oyster shell." ”

Arthur added: "It tastes like pudding. ”

As soon as Arthur had finished speaking, he saw Alexandre Dumas rush up the spiral ladder with a blue face, and needless to say, he must have gone to find the bathroom.

And Elder couldn't help but change his face when he saw this: "Look at it! Look! Even the French can't stand this stuff! ”

With that, he followed in the footsteps of Alexandre Dumas.

Arthur glanced at their backs, and then shrugged helplessly at Darwin: "Didn't you say that it's cooked?" ”

Darwin smiled and nodded, "That's right, it's really cooked." ”

"Then why don't you eat it?"

Darwin wiped his mouth calmly: "Who will take the initiative to eat that thing before it is time to starve to death?" ”

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a knock on the door.

"It's so late, who's it?"

Arthur picked up the white teacup, stood up slowly, walked down the walkway, stepped on the velvet carpet, and opened the double white door.

No sooner had he opened the door than his eyes flashed with the glow of a portable kerosene lamp.

Before he could see the comer, he heard a voice of surprise.

"Ah, Superintendent Hastings?"

Arthur slowly opened his half-squinted eyes, and only then did he see the person who was coming.

It was Charles Field, a young police officer who had been transferred to Greenwich Police District to assist him in solving the murder and robbery case.

When Arthur saw him, he couldn't help but smile and asked, "Was this your patrol area originally here?" It's so late, what happened to your visit? ”

Field looked a little nervous, and he nodded repeatedly, "Inspector Hastings, I'm afraid you don't know yet, do you?" Superintendent Clemens...... Dead ......"

"Dead?" Arthur was stunned for a moment, and then hurriedly asked, "When, where?" ”

"That's it...... It was this evening that Superintendent Clemens hanged himself from a tree in the northeast corner of Hyde Park. At present, the specific case is still under investigation, so I will go door-to-door to visit nearby households so late. By the way, Superintendent Hastings, did you notice anything unusual in the evening? ”

(End of chapter)