"Hurry up!"
"Ugh..."
We waited a bit, and then three prisoners were dragged in.
They...
looked quite different from what we see in movies or dramas.
So this is what real punishment looks like!
That's the feeling that hit me.
Think about it: even ordinary people struggle to eat and wash, so what must prisoners be like?
If rumors spread that prisoners were fed decently, people would probably flock to turn themselves in every day.
That's how bad 19th-century London really was...
"These bastards are moving around just fine?"
"The welfare is too good. A dark side of the British Empire... With the money spent feeding these scum, we could have built another colony."
Of course, the thoughts of our genuine 19th-century Londoners were quite different.
Lister, for one, was dissatisfied that the prisoners had enough energy to walk.
Well...
It's not that I don't understand.
Working in a hospital, especially a London hospital, you become all too familiar with what happens when people don't eat.
Every day...
Literally every day, impoverished people, starving to death, are found either having come on their own or abandoned in front of the hospital doors.
'But I'm not sure what I can or should do about this.'
Increase food production by making fertilizer?
But if people are starving to death right here in London, not even in the colonies, that probably won't solve it.
The distribution system itself is broken; that's the core issue.
Anyway, the prisoners, looking like they could drop dead any moment, stood in front of their respective cells.
They looked utterly confused.
And rightly so.
The arsenic wallpaper might be made of poison, but the color was dazzling and truly beautiful.
Even in the 21st century...
I've never seen anything like it.
Perhaps it's something you'd only see after gaining some wealth and fame, only to die anyway... but regardless, it looked incredibly luxurious.
"W-what is this?"
The prisoner destined to enter the room decorated with green wallpaper and wear the dress couldn't hold back and spoke up.
The policeman dragging him didn't answer directly but instead looked at the officer in charge—whom I'd mentally decided to call the section chief for convenience.
The section chief nodded, and only then did the answer come.
"You don't need to know."
Probably not a meaningful answer from the prisoner's perspective.
Sorry... not really.
If they were caught for rape and murder to this extent, huh?
They're genuine lunatics.
"What is this...?"
This time, the prisoner standing in front of the room containing only the green dress asked.
A dress, a dress.
Not men's clothing.
Did the police meticulously alter it into men's wear?
They just roughly cut open the cinched waist area, the neckline, and the armholes.
You might think a scrawny prisoner wouldn't need that, but...
This era is no joke.
It wasn't an era for chest surgery, yet they preferred a cinched waist, a full bust, and simultaneously a slender neck and arms.
'Wait... is there surgery?'
No, probably not.
If they tried that, everyone would die.
If you operated on a poor person and they died, your intentions might be considered good, leading to acquittal. But if a noble died or something went wrong, you were guilty regardless of intent.
"Shall we put it on him?"
"Yes, let's get started."
"Put it on."
"This... thing?"
The prisoner's face became utterly devastated.
He probably thought they were making a spectacle of them.
And rightly so, with chairs lined up and us sitting in them.
Even a comfortable sofa for Inspector Jamie was prepared a little further back.
Actually...
'It is a spectacle, isn't it?'
Strictly speaking, it's observation.
"This is too much..."
Anyway, the prisoner began to whimper.
Understandable.
It was obviously an excessively luxurious dress to anyone's eyes.
It had frills, was ostentatious, and the skirt hem was enormous!
But he is the one who went too far.
Wouldn't his victims have thought, 'Was this really necessary?'
"Put it on, you bastard."
Perhaps thinking along similar lines, Lister stomped over, his sword at his hip.
"Whoa, if you kill him now—"
A policeman tried to intervene, but it was useless.
"As he said, do you want to die now? Or put it on?"
Lister even used the policeman's劝阻 to threaten him.
"I-I'll put it on! I'll put it on!"
As always, Lister's threats were remarkably effective.
The prisoner frantically pulled the dress on any which way.
It seemed easier to put on since they'd cut it open in various places.
Originally, dresses in this era required help to put on, but he managed it alone.
Though he was trembling because of Lister...
"Why aren't you putting yours on?"
"I-I'll put it on!"
The guy standing in front of the next cell also hurriedly put on the green dress.
This one was a more casual-style dress.
Whatever it was, it would contain enough arsenic.
And it would slowly kill the wearer.
And anyone close to the wearer.
"You, just go inside."
"Yes!"
The prisoner who had been standing in front of the wall decorated with green wallpaper, watching his fellow inmate put on the dress, looked somewhat relieved and went inside.
And so, the three prisoners soon entered their respective cells.
The one wearing the green dress inside the green-walled cell spoke up.
"There's something... a moldy smell in here!"
"What, should we clean it for you?"
"No, no! I was just letting you know it smells!"
"It smells in your cell, why make such a big deal about it?"
"No... it's incomparably stronger than over there."
"Huh?"
The section chief tilted his head with a puzzled expression.
Not just him; we all did.
Wasn't the prisoners' area further inside?
There couldn't possibly be ventilation shafts...
Even these cells were usually for those who had bribed the police to stay temporarily.
Why?
Because they were near the stairs, got some light, and most importantly, were better ventilated.
Naturally, the moldy smell should be much less here.
"Ah?"
Then a thought struck me.
Moldy smell...
I've smelled that too.
At home.
Ah, not my home, but at Alfred sunbae's (senior's) house.
'Don't tell me...'
They said arsenic wallpaper was popular in France too.
But they said no one had died there in this manner.
Of course, people probably died...
but not enough for anyone to notice. What's the difference between here and France?
There is one.
The weather is better there.
It's much drier...
'Could it be that this arsenic wallpaper emits a particularly strong moldy smell when it gets damp?'
This is it.
This must be it!
"Hey. Where are you going?"
When I came to my senses, I found myself heading deep into the basement of the police station.
Towards where those awaiting execution were held, not the official prison.
"Ah, an idea just occurred to me."
"Everyone here has committed unforgivable crimes, but that doesn't mean anything goes."
"That's not it."
"Not it, my foot... Do you think I don't know your vicious streak? You can confess to me."
"I said it's not that!"
"The fact you're getting angry proves I'm right."
I gave up on persuading Lister and went further in.
The policemen on guard tried to stop me but stepped back when they saw Lister.
They recognized him...
And they were probably scared too.
The moment he draws that sword and swings it, the corridor would obviously become a bloodbath.
Lister's amputation shows were popular lately, so most citizens had probably seen them and could easily imagine it.
"It's definitely... less moldy smelling here."
"Ah, are you bothered by what that bastard said? It's probably nonsense. How could a prisoner's mind be sound?"
"No, no. I've smelled mold from arsenic wallpaper before too."
"Huh? Where? At Inspector Jamie's? It didn't smell there."
"No. At home. It was really foul... But even the basement here doesn't smell that bad."
"You really must be from nobility. Not being familiar with the smell of mold."
With Lister's words, I turned and came back out.
The whole way back, I racked my brain.
'That smell is similar to mold but probably isn't mold. London is humid year-round... Could the smell be caused by the arsenic volatilizing due to that moisture? They say it's odorless, but if a chemical reaction occurs creating another kind of gas, that's a different matter.'
Does 'odorless' refer to solid-state arsenic?
Yes, that must be it.
Although my chemistry knowledge is limited, making more precise推理 impossible...
There's no other way to explain everything.
"This is going to take a while, isn't it?"
It took about 15 minutes to get back.
Naturally, none of the prisoners had died in that time.
But it seemed it wasn't a given for the policemen either, especially the section chief, who muttered with a bored expression while moving his steps towards the stairs.
"Instead of staying here like this, why don't we take shifts being on watch?"
The section chief made the suggestion to us and the servants sent by Inspector Jamie.
Hearing it, it seemed a perfectly reasonable proposal.
'Well, we don't all need to be here staring, do we?'
Moreover, even if less than those prisoners, being nearby would inevitably expose us to arsenic.
So, for reducing that risk too, this was better.
"Then shall we do one-hour shifts?"
"Yes, that sounds good. Inspector Jamie can't wait here forever anyway. He said he'd come when contacted."
"Then let's have two people per shift: one to contact and one to observe. Alfred, Colin, you're team one."
"No... I..."
"Yes!"
By my command, Alfred and Colin became team one.
Somehow...
the first hour probably wouldn't mean much.
The next shift was me and Joseph.
Then Lister and Blundell.
The police also offered to form teams, but I shook my head.
Wouldn't it be more meaningful for doctors to observe?
I had already explained the symptoms of arsenic poisoning on the way.
So, it was decided these three teams would take turns.
"How was it?"
"Just..."
Team one was a bust.
"How was it?"
"Not much..."
Team two, meaning me, was also a bust.
"How was it?"
"Are we sure this kills people?"
Team three, the Lister-Blundell team, was also a bust.
The first round ended with everyone striking out.
The second round was the same.
The change came during the third round.
Right around when we were getting tired from catching fragmented sleep, the guy in the middle cell...
The one wearing the dress and surrounded by wallpaper... began to lose color in his face.
"Ugh..."
Simultaneously, he seemed to be in pain.
"Quickly! Quickly, call the families! And Inspector Jamie!"
The 'families' mentioned here aren't the prisoners' families.
Ordinary people hardly had human rights, what rights did prisoners have?
The victims' families came running, out of breath, upon hearing the prisoner was suffering.
Inspector Jamie's house seemed to be further away, so it probably took him longer.
Or maybe he was dawdling, reluctant to admit the arsenic was harmful.
"That bastard! He's really in pain, right?"
"Yes, probably severe abdominal pain."
"Good."
"Excellent!"
Seeing the families rejoice, the slightly uneasy feeling I had disappeared.
Yes...
If you kill people, and not by accident but intentionally kill several, you deserve punishment.
And if you can contribute to humanity while doing so, this might be a reward rather than a punishment.
With that thought, I watched the prisoner trapped in green, dying.