The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 667 - 326: Early Human Chatrooms

"Has there been any change in London recently?"

"Well... London is still London, not much has changed. However, there has been quite some news from the Royal Society."

"News from the Royal Society?" Arthur asked as he lit his pipe, "Don’t tell me Mr. Faraday didn’t get the Copley Medal?"

"Of course not," Tennyson replied with a smile, "Mr. Faraday was elected unanimously."

Arthur joked, "Alfred, that’s hardly news. It would be news if Mr. Faraday had not been elected. You may not realize what Mr. Faraday’s paper ’On the Laws of Electromagnetic Induction’ means to the scientific community; it’s like the Duke of Wellington’s Battle of Waterloo. So, once he produced that paper, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Faraday would secure the Copley Medal, the highest honor of the Royal Society. Thankfully, the academic committee of the Society did not disappoint, and they finally got this multiple choice question right."

No sooner had Arthur finished speaking than the Great Dumas, standing beside him, pulled back the curtain and pointed at a strange machine connected to insulated copper wires, asking, "Is this some new invention? The wires connected to it are too long, running from the second floor of the editorial department all the way to the very west of Fleet Street. Where exactly does it plan on reaching?"

"Ah! That thing?"

Tennyson stood up and explained, "Actually, I don’t know what it’s for either. When Wheatstone came to install this machine in the editorial department, he only told me he planned to use it to measure the speed of electric current. But because the speed of the current is so fast, he had to extend the wires longer and longer. As far as I know, the other end of the machine is four kilometers away, in a small house."

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but retort, "Couldn’t he have conducted this experiment at the Royal Society? Setting up the experiment at such distant locations, how does he plan to measure the transmission time?"

Tennyson replied with a smile, "I asked him the same question at first. However, Mr. Wheatstone told me that he had set up a similar device inside the Royal Society as well. But the lab at the Society is quite cramped, and he was worried that piled-up wires might induce electromagnetic phenomena, thereby introducing errors into the experiment. Therefore, he personally financed the outdoor installation of a new device. As for the question of measuring transmission time, before each experiment, he comes over to synchronize watches with me, and we agree on a time to switch on the current. At the appointed time, I assist by turning on the electricity from this end."

The Great Dumas, peering out the window at the seemingly endless wire, couldn’t help but ask, "Isn’t electric current instantaneous? As soon as you turn on the electricity here, there’s an immediate reaction there."

Tennyson nodded, "In fact, Mr. Wheatstone’s final measurements largely confirmed the concept that the speed of electric current is instantaneous. I originally advised him to give up, but Mr. Wheatstone was persistent. Recently, I heard he has started to mull over a brand new method to measure the speed of electricity."

"A brand new method?" the Great Dumas asked curiously, "How is he planning to do it?"

Tennyson shook his head, "He explained it to me, but I didn’t quite understand. Anyway, it’s supposed to involve rotating mirrors and the duration of electric sparks."

While the Great Dumas was extremely curious about the experimental method, Arthur’s focus was entirely on the machine itself.

He pointed at the apparatus, "Since our Mr. Wheatstone has deemed this thing useless, let’s have him send someone to dismantle it one of these days. Having such a device really detracts from the aesthetics of the editorial department’s exterior wall."

When Tennyson heard this, he quickly interjected, "This thing can’t be dismantled."

"Why not?"

Tennyson stepped forward, pointed at the instrument’s dial with two small magnetic needles, and addressed Arthur, "Do you see what this is?"

Arthur leaned in closely and observed that the rhombic dial in front of him had indeed been carefully punched with 26 small holes, each thoughtfully labeled with the letters A to Z.

Seeing this device, even though Arthur had never used it, did not hinder him from guessing its true purpose.

Arthur’s eyebrows twitched, "A telegraph?"

The Great Dumas also exclaimed, "Mr. Wheatstone had mentioned this to me before. Who would have thought he actually managed to create it?"

Tennyson gave an embarrassed smile, "I’ve been using this machine to chat and alleviate boredom with Mr. Wheatstone when I have nothing to do, even though the translation work is a bit cumbersome. For people like me and Mr. Wheatstone, there is no invention comparable to a machine that allows us to chat without meeting."

Arthur, with his hands clasped behind his head, leaned back in the velvet chair in front of the editor-in-chief’s desk, and looked at the rudimentary telegraph machine for a long while before suddenly asking, "Can I use this to talk to Charles right now?"

Tennyson looked up and glanced out the window at the sky, "Should be no problem. Around this time, Mr. Wheatstone usually begins working in his private lab."

Arthur nodded slightly, "Alright, help me send him a message. Say you seem to have found a new method for measuring the speed of electric current, and ask him to come to Fleet Street immediately."

Upon hearing this, Tennyson couldn’t help but show an awkward expression, "But Arthur... wouldn’t that be lying?"

"It’s fine," Arthur responded, reclining in the chair, "When he gets here, just tell him the message came from me."

"But..." Tennyson pulled out a thin booklet from the drawer, "You don’t know our codebook. If the message were really from you, he’d spot the deception at a glance."

"There’s a codebook?"

The Great Dumas took the booklet and flipped casually through a few pages, the dense array of characters making his head spin. He asked, "Since no one besides you and Mr. Wheatstone knows how to operate this machine, do you really need to encrypt your conversations?"

Tennyson shook his head and said, "We’re not creating codes just for secrecy, but also for more convenient and efficient communication. Although there are 26 letters on the telegraph machine, it would be far too cumbersome to transmit them one by one. That’s why Mr. Wheatstone and I designed a set of codes that allow us to communicate using abbreviated content."

As he spoke, Tennyson pointed to a line in the codebook and said, "For example, look here, AD stands for your name, Alexandre Dumas. CW stands for Mr. Wheatstone’s name, Charles Wheatstone."

While pouring tea, Arthur asked, "So, does that mean I would be AH?"

The Great Dumas, who was studying the codebook, suddenly couldn’t help but show a trace of a smile upon hearing this.

The rotund Frenchman spoke up, "You could say you’re half right. Because AH has two meanings in this codebook."

"Is that so?" Arthur took a sip from his teacup, "What’s the other meaning?"

The Great Dumas turned the codebook around and responded loudly to Arthur, "Ass Hole."

The Red Devil, upon hearing this, couldn’t help but burst into laughter. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder and said, "My dear Arthur, why did you have to ask that extra question?"

Arthur put down his teacup and said, "It seems Charles is indeed weighed down by great sin. Perhaps he should also submit to ’The British.’ There aren’t many scientists who can use wordplay so smoothly."

Tennyson replied awkwardly, "Arthur, I don’t think Mr. Wheatstone meant any offense to you, it’s all just a coincidence."

"Never mind," Arthur said with indifference, "As long as he can help me set up a telegraph machine at Scotland Yard to connect to all the main police stations, I’ll be Ass Hole all right."

Hearing this, Tennyson could only pray silently for Wheatstone, hoping that Arthur would at least be willing to pay a bit during the process of setting up the telegraph machine.

To avoid any further embarrassment, he took the initiative to change the subject.

"By the way, there’s been some other news in the editorial department lately, a few items concerning you."

"Concerning me?" Arthur suddenly remembered the matter about Edgar Allan Poe that Owen had mentioned, "Could it be some young person wanting to write detective novels has taken the initiative to get in touch?"

Tennyson replied with a smile, "You’ve guessed it right. One of your supporters, who would like to get a signed copy from you, and if possible, it would be wonderfully nice to meet you in person."

The Great Dumas frowned upon hearing this, "What’s the background of this person? Asking for a signature is one thing, but insisting on a personal meeting? Who do they think they are? We are literary creators, not circus performers."

Seeing the Great Dumas’s dissatisfaction, Tennyson hurried to explain, "If it were some impudent person making such a demand, I would certainly have thrown him out. But... the situation of your supporter, Arthur, is a bit special, and it was Mrs. Shelley who came to submit her manuscript, and requested on her behalf, so it was really difficult for me to refuse."

Arthur immediately caught the keyword, pondering for a moment, "Mrs. Shelley? Well... that would indeed be hard to refuse."

The Great Dumas also caught the keyword and fell into thought, "Her? Well... rejecting a lady does indeed lack gentlemanly manners." freewёbnoνel.com

Tennyson added, "Mrs. Shelley told me before that ever since we recommended her ’Frankenstein’ to the theatre for adaptation into a play, she has recently had many more people approaching her with requests to adapt novels into scripts than before. Plus, with the help of the editorial department, the editing and publishing of Shelley’s posthumous works has also gone much smoother.

So now, she can better focus her life on socializing. A while ago, after a long absence from the Bluestocking Society, she attended one of their reading salons again. If you want to attend a Bluestocking Society event one day, you could have someone give her a heads-up in advance, and she will bring your little fan along."

"So who exactly is it?" The Great Dumas, raising his eyebrows mischievously, nudged Tennyson on the shoulder, "Alfred, you’re not going to keep it from me too, are you?"

Tennyson, half laughing and half crying, replied, "Alexander, it’s not that I won’t say, it’s that I don’t really know the full situation either. Mrs. Shelley only told me that the young lady is not in good health and has difficulty even going outside. If it weren’t for that, she surely wouldn’t have made such an impolite request for Arthur to visit her."

Hearing Mrs. Shelley speak to this extent, Arthur knew that he most likely wouldn’t be able to decline.

He nodded, "In that case, when I next attend a Bluestocking Society event, I will have someone notify her. And when Mrs. Shelley comes to submit her manuscript next time, please convey this to her on my behalf. Also, please explain as clearly as possible that due to the busy work schedule and the cholera outbreak, it might be until next social season starts before I can attend another Bluestocking Society event."

Tennyson, relieved of a burden, nodded and said, "No problem, that’s perfectly understandable, I’m sure Mrs. Shelley will comprehend."

At this point, Arthur suddenly turned to ask about another matter.

"By the way, has Mr. Bernie Harrison been to the editorial department recently?"

"Harrison?" The Great Dumas raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why would he come to the editorial department?"

No sooner had he finished speaking than Tennyson said, "Recently, a Mr. Harrison did indeed come to the editorial department, seeking an audience with you. If I remember correctly, it was just a few days after the Liverpool shooting. As soon as he arrived, he began complaining bitterly to me, muttering things like ’I really didn’t kill anyone’ and ’none of this has anything to do with me.’

But I really didn’t understand what he was talking about. Seeing my confusion, he also told me that it was you who had told him to come to ’The British’ editorial department when he sorted things out. I asked him to calm down, but he just couldn’t. So we carried on talking at cross purposes for quite a while until he realized that I really didn’t know anything. Then he told me to let you know as soon as you return, and he would take the initiative to clear everything up with you."