"What your security plan protects is the Crown and the Nobility, not the people. What your laws protect is property and private interest, not life. The city you govern looks neat and orderly in your eyes, but in ours it is covered in wounds!" As he spoke, Pinkerton was almost grinding his teeth. "Maybe in many people's eyes, you're a Junior Knight, you're the Permanent Under-Secretary of the Home Office, the man every Scotland Yard constable looks up to! But to me, you—Arthur Hastings—you are an accomplice of this unjust system!"
The inside of the carriage was unnervingly quiet.
Arthur leaned back in his seat, his hands resting naturally on his knees, his expression showing neither anger nor any sign of being convinced.
It was as if that torrent of accusations just now had not been directed at him at all, but at the sound of the rain outside the carriage, at the noise on the street corner.
By his ear the voice of the Red Devil suddenly rang out.
