Chapter 1073: A Narrow Escape
When Boulton and his party arrived at Dr. Brusque's clinic, they encountered MP Egerton's assistant and several officials from the Government Investment Fund stepping out of the villa, evidently having just concluded their visit.
Only the day before, Brusque had transferred the two injured men to his private clinic to continue their treatment, citing a lack of proper medical equipment at the previous location.
Led by a servant, Boulton entered the clinic's ward only to find Sir Hope, the director of Chatham Dockyard, already there alongside two officers from the Navy Board.
After a brief exchange of polite greetings with Hope and the officers, Boulton turned his attention toward the hospital beds.
He saw Sandel wrapped in bandages from head to toe like a mummy; however, he still recognized the Boulton-Watt Company's former chief technician from the eyes peering through the gaps.
Rice, also swathed in bandages, lay on another bed in the corner, letting out periodic groans of agony.
Boulton took a seat in the chair beside the bed, finally getting a clear look at Sandel. The man's eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around them was slathered in thick ointment, making for a truly wretched sight.
To achieve this, Sandel had forced himself to stay awake the entire night, ensuring he looked the part of a critically injured victim.
"I'm... so sorry..." Sandel wheezed, his voice strained as he saw his employer arrive. "I shouldn't have... violated... the safety protocols..."
Faulkner turned to Dr. Brusque. "In your opinion, Doctor, how long will it take for Mr. Sandel to fully recover?"
"It doesn't look good," the doctor replied with a grim expression. "To be perfectly honest, I doubt you could find a doctor in all of London capable of bringing Mr. Sandel back to full health."
Frank, posing as Sandel's cousin, chimed in. "Dr. Brusque suggested my brother be taken to France for treatment. After all, they have the most advanced medical technology in Europe."
No one present disputed the claim. In recent years, nearly every groundbreaking medical paper had originated in France, as had innovative tools and treatments like the syringe, the stethoscope, and Glucose solutions. It had become common practice for the British elite to travel across the Channel to seek medical aid when faced with serious illness.
Sandel chose that moment to let out a raspy groan. "It... hurts so much."
Distressed, Boulton offered a few more words of comfort before Dr. Brusque politely gestured toward the door. "Gentlemen, the visit has gone on long enough. The patient needs his rest."
Boulton and the others were left with no choice but to take their leave.
At the clinic entrance, Colonel Watson of the Navy Board suddenly turned to Sir Hope as the latter was about to board his carriage. He frowned. "Sir Hope, don't you find this whole situation a bit suspicious?"
The director stopped and turned back. "Suspicious? In what way?"
"Just as Engine180 was on the verge of completion, this happens," Colonel Watson said, glancing back at the clinic. "The lead designer is critically injured and now insists on going to France for treatment.
"If I recall correctly, Mr. Sandel worked in France for many years. It all seems a bit too coincidental."
He and Hope were perhaps the two people most invested in the Boulton-Watt Company's development of high-output steam engines.
The British Navy Board had already decided to design a new class of third-rate Steam Battleships based on Engine180. These were intended to be epoch-making, formidable warships.
Watson was the officer in charge of the project, while Chatham Dockyard was the designated builder. The contract was worth a staggering 350,000 Pounds Sterling.
With the prototype high-pressure steam engine exploding during development, Britain’s next-generation naval plans were now in jeopardy. It was impossible for Watson not to harbor doubts.
Hope hesitated. "Are you suggesting Mr. Sandel took a bribe from the French and then sabotaged the research at the cost of his own safety, perhaps even his life?
"Forgive me, but that sounds utterly preposterous."
The captain standing beside Watson spoke in a cold, level voice. "And what if he isn't actually injured?"
"What? You saw him just now, he..."
"I only saw a man lying there," the captain replied, his tone icy.
"That's easy enough to verify," Hope said. "We can bring in a reliable doctor for a second opinion."
Watson nodded. "Have Major Sean come here tomorrow."
Sean was a military doctor with whom Watson shared a close personal friendship.
At that same moment, the Security Bureau agents surrounding Sandel also sprang into action. Following the instructions of the Crown Prince, Hart had devised a meticulous plan for this operation, which included contingencies for British suspicion.
At eight o'clock the following morning, Watson returned to Dr. Brusque's clinic with Hope and the others in tow.
Upon meeting Brusque, Watson gestured toward the military doctor at his side. "This is Major Sean, the finest physician in the Royal Navy.
"If even he is at a loss, it won't be too late for Mr. Sandel to seek aid in France."
Brusque looked visibly displeased. For Watson to bring another doctor into his clinic to examine his patient was nothing short of an insult.
"Mr. Sandel has just had his dressings changed. Unwrapping the bandages now to inspect the wounds will likely interfere with his recovery."
Watson offered a thin smile and glanced at the armed soldiers behind him. "And if I insist?" he asked calmly.
Suddenly, Sandel's weak voice drifted out from the ward. "Please... let Mr. Sean... try."
Frank looked at Brusque as well. "I know this is irregular, but if there's any chance it might lessen my brother's suffering, please—for the sake of the Lord."
The doctor hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. "Very well. I only hope you do not disappoint Mr. Sandel."
He pushed the ward door open. "Please, step inside."
"Thank you for your cooperation," Sean said with a polite bow. He entered the room and gestured for his assistant to open the medical bag.
Watson and Hope tried to follow, but Brusque blocked their path. "Colonel, when a burn victim's bandages are removed, we must minimize any dust in the immediate area. Please, do not come too close."
Sean turned and nodded to Watson, confirming the doctor's assessment.
Watson and Hope were forced to stand several paces away, watching the military doctor's movements from a distance.
Sean carefully unwound the bandages from Sandel's left hand, and his brow instantly furrowed.
The hand had clearly suffered horrific scalding. The epidermis was almost entirely stripped away, exposing the pale yellow layer of fat beneath. In some spots, even the blood vessels were visible.
To be certain, Sean began to unwrap the bandages around Sandel's chest. Soon, another massive area of scalded flesh was revealed before him.
As a physician with decades of experience, he could tell at a glance that this was no forgery. In several places, signs of an inflammatory response were already beginning to manifest.
He continued to remove the bandages all the way up to Sandel's nose; the skin there was equally mangled and raw—a truly wretched sight.
Brusque cleared his throat from the side. "I ask that you maintain the mercy expected of a doctor. Stop torturing poor Mr. Sandel."
Sean let out a heavy sigh and nodded, beginning to reapply the dressings.
Based on the severity of the wounds he had just seen, he was almost certain that Mr. Sandel would die a slow, agonizing death within the month.
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