Lionel's brief tea meeting with Robert Stephenson was originally just a minor interlude in his trip to England.
However, he severely overestimated the journalists' integrity, and The Daily Mail published their interview the next day.
The headline was: The Heart of the Empire, Also a Hotbed of Crime – An Exclusive Interview with the Author of A Study in Scarlet!
The article's content did not distort facts; it almost verbatim reproduced the main parts of yesterday's conversation.
But the headline was a bit sensationalist.
Lionel cursed under his breath:
"That scoundrel..."
Foreshadowing the controversy these words might stir, he immediately packed his bags, checked out, and headed straight for London's railway station.
—————
Just as he expected, The Daily Mail's report instantly caused a stir in London.
The first to react was London City Hall, which published a stern rebuttal in The Times titled: On London's Public Order and Urban Development.
The article began with a condescending tone, "applauding" Mr. Sorell's imagination as a novelist.
However, it then shifted gears, pointing out that "conflating the darkness of literary fiction with real society is extremely dangerous and irresponsible."
The article emphasized that London, as the heart of the British Empire, generally enjoyed good public order, and the police were highly effective in maintaining order and combating crime.
The so-called "hotbed of crime" was merely Lionel's "exaggeration" to promote his novel.
The article concluded by urging the public to "remain rational and not be misled by pessimistic rhetoric deliberately sensationalized for dramatic effect."
It also asserted that "London's order and prosperity, like the cornerstone of the Empire, are indestructible."
However, the general public of London, especially the ordinary residents of the East End, were not convinced at all.
The very next day after the report was published, emotional citizens gathered outside many newspaper stands, loudly airing their grievances to other reporters who had caught wind of the situation.
A grocery store owner in the East End excitedly waved his arms:
"Exaggeration? That French gentleman couldn't be more right!
Last month my shop was broken into twice!
The police? What can they do besides registering it? I'd sooner rely on my watchdog than on them!"
A dockworker, turning his pockets inside out, roared:
"Mr. Sorell is absolutely right!
Last week I was robbed of three days' wages in broad daylight!
The police? By the time they slowly saunter over, the robbers are long gone!"
A housewife living near Whitechapel complained with a worried expression:
"Good public order? I don't even dare let my daughter go out after dark!
Do the gentlemen at The Times know how many dirty deeds hide in those alleys? They won't even pass through our area in their carriages!"
A young clerk sarcastically remarked:
"London's public order is as 'good' as London's air!
It's foggy outside, and foggy inside; nobody can see clearly, which just makes it easier for those scoundrels to operate!"
These voices from the streets spread through various evening newspapers, directly contradicting the City Hall's narrative.
In this storm of public opinion, Scotland Yard, especially the Criminal Investigation Department, which was at the center of the whirlpool, remained silent.
Inside Colonel Howard Vincent's office at 4 Whitehall Place, his secretary placed several newspapers on his desk.
The secretary cautiously suggested,
"Colonel, public opinion is very unfavorable to us. Should we issue a statement to refute Mr. Sorell's remarks?"
Upon hearing the words "issue a statement," Howard Vincent almost jumped out of his chair:
"What statement? Absolutely not!"
He pointed to a sentence in the interview—
[Local magistrates and the police have long been overwhelmed. This isn't their fault, but an inevitability of the era!]
"Refute? Refute what? Refute the reality that we are understaffed, underfunded, and overworked? Or refute this 'inevitability of the era' that he pointed out?"
Howard Vincent stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the bustling street below:
"He's telling the truth; our detectives are genuinely struggling on the front lines!"
He recalled the blueprint Lionel had outlined a few days prior; compared to those empty accusations, this young Frenchman at least offered a possibility.
Howard Vincent turned around and gave instructions to his secretary:
"Maintain silence! Tell everyone, no one is to accept interviews from reporters!
Coming out to refute now will only make the public think we are guilty and arrogant. Let those gentlemen fight their war of words in the newspapers!
We have more important things to do!"
——————
Lionel had already moved away from the center of the storm, though not back to Paris.
On the very morning The Daily Mail article was published, he and Arthur Conan Doyle had boarded a train bound for Edinburgh.
Visiting Dr. Joseph Bell was one of his original purposes for this trip, and the unprincipled Robert Stephenson had merely advanced the schedule.
The train smoothly traveled northward on the tracks, with England's pastoral scenery flashing by outside the window:
Rolling green hills, white sheep dotting the landscape, stone churches occasionally passing by, farmhouses with smoke rising from their chimneys...
Lionel leaned back in his comfortable seat, gazing out the window, feeling relaxed, with several newspapers he had bought last-minute before boarding placed beside him.
He knew that some considered him a "forthright novelist," while others branded him a "Frenchman slandering the glory of the Empire."
But he had experienced such mixed reviews more than once, so his heart remained undisturbed.
Conan Doyle, sitting opposite him, appeared somewhat apprehensive, constantly adjusting his tie.
Conan Doyle couldn't help but ask:
"Lion, do you think Dr. Bell will like the gift we've prepared?"
Lionel withdrew his gaze from the window, smiling as he looked at Conan Doyle:
"Arthur, are you truly just nervous about the gift?"
Conan Doyle turned his head away, a little embarrassed:
"I... I really don't know how to explain my decision to him."
Lionel patted his shoulder, comforting him:
"Relax. Dr. Bell is a scholar who values reason and facts.
If he knew we were applying his 'deductive method' in practice to save more lives, he would be pleased."
Conan Doyle nodded, still looking worried.
Just yesterday, he had submitted his resignation to the Royal Infirmary, where he served as an assistant physician, intending to focus on being Lionel's literary assistant.
Especially after "Holmes's Boys" were organized, he was seen as a leader-like figure.
All the data collected by the medical students would then be organized and summarized by him, a workload that would be immense.
After a night of deliberation, he still made this decision—his only concern was whether Dr. Joseph Bell would be disappointed in him because of it.
Lionel hadn't expected Conan Doyle to be so resolute, even submitting his resignation without consulting him.
But once the arrow is shot, there's no turning back; he could only accept this reality.
He turned his head again to admire the scenery outside the window, his tone leisurely:
"Look how beautiful this scenery is; compared to London, it's practically paradise."
Conan Doyle gradually calmed down too, following his gaze out the window—he had seen these landscapes countless times, but this time they felt remarkably different.
(End of Chapter)