Chapter 393: A Gifted Visitor
One seemingly ordinary morning, Charles sat at his desk, munching on bread brought by his orderly, neither having washed his face nor brushed his teeth. Once, he would have found this unhygienic. But after Gallipoli, where trenches reeked of blood and filth, the stench of decay constantly hung in the air. Now, such trivialities no longer concerned him.
Tijani waved a newspaper at him and said, "Incredible, isn't it? You can actually see through to people's bones!"
"What?" Charles asked, mouth full.
Tijani placed the newspaper in front of him and tapped on an image. "Here. Madame Curie's latest invention."
Charles paused mid-bite at the mention of Marie Curie. Growing up, he'd always heard her name and admired her, but it hadn't fully dawned on him that she was alive, working, and now in his timeline.
He looked at the headline: "The 'Little Curie Fleet' Has Treated Over 100,000 Wounded Soldiers."
In the accompanying photo, Marie Curie sat in a vehicle with a pensive gaze. The article explained that Curie had equipped a car with an X-ray device, which she called the "Little Curie Fleet," to provide frontline radiology services.
"A remarkable woman," Charles remarked, admiration in his voice.
Tijani agreed with a nod but shrugged slightly. "Sadly, the people of France don't seem to appreciate her as much."
"Not appreciate her?" Charles looked up, shocked. "Why?"
Tijani raised an eyebrow, surprised by Charles' ignorance. "You haven't heard? It's practically common knowledge in France."
Charles shrugged. "I don't follow gossip, except in books."
Tijani rolled his eyes—he knew Charles' parents had probably kept him sheltered.
"About three years ago," Tijani explained, "Marie Curie sent a love letter that was published in Le Journal de Paris. That's how people found out about her relationship with Professor Langevin, one of her late husband's students."
Charles laughed. "That's all?" It was nothing but a romance between a professor and her former student's widow.
But Tijani added, "Langevin is married."
Charles fell silent—he hadn't known that.
Tijani continued, "The rumor mill spun out of control. Many suspected their affair started before her husband's death, some even suggested it drove him to suicide, and others speculated about conspiracies."
Charles sighed, suddenly understanding why Marie Curie often looked so solemn and withdrawn in photos.
As he took a sip of milk, he shook his head. "The French are strange. They worship courtesans like Hélène, yet can't forgive a minor blemish in Marie's character."
This was supposed to be free-spirited France!
Tijani stopped to consider, eventually offering a tentative explanation: "Maybe people hold scientists to higher standards. After all, they hold you to high standards, too."
Charles put down his empty glass, glaring at Tijani. "Which is why you sent Hélène into my bathroom?"
Tijani's face twisted in surprise—he hadn't expected Charles to bring that up.
"Damn!" Tijani slapped his forehead, feigning regret. "I missed a perfect headline moment! I should have had reporters and cameras ready!"
Charles hurled his leftover bread at him, but in truth, he understood. It wasn't just because Curie was a scientist; it was because she was a woman. Society was still mired in prejudice.
At that moment, a guard hurried in to report, "There's an American here who wishes to see you, sir. He claims he has vital intelligence on the Germans."
Charles immediately thought of "The White Lady," an intelligence network with agents from various countries and backgrounds. But he quickly dismissed the thought—an agent from that network wouldn't be so bold as to risk exposure.
"Bring him in," Charles instructed, his curiosity piqued.
Tijani was more cautious, asking the guard, "Has he been searched?"
"Yes, sir. He has no weapons or suspicious items," the guard assured them.
Charles led the visitor to the conference room, where he studied the elderly man before him. With his head full of white hair, the old man looked more like a professor than a spy.
"Well," Charles said, gesturing for him to speak. "What would you like to tell me?"
The man looked visibly nervous, wringing his hands before he finally spoke, "Well, General… um… Two years ago, when the Titanic struck an iceberg and sank, I began… considering certain ideas…"
Charles raised an eyebrow, realizing that the Titanic disaster had been so recent.
The old man continued, "I had this thought… It's… about detecting underwater icebergs."
Charles interrupted with a smirk, "What, that it was sunk by the Germans?"
"Oh, no, no, of course not!" the old man flushed. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Actually, General, I'm afraid I don't have any information on the Germans."
Charles suppressed a sigh. A fan, perhaps, angling for an autograph?
"Did you bring a notebook?" Charles asked, reaching for a pen. "I'd prefer you not use a trick like this again."
The man blinked in confusion. "Notebook? For what?"
"To sign," Charles said dryly, realizing he'd misjudged the situation.
The man's face lit up as he finally introduced himself: "No, no, General. My name is Fessenden. I'm a radio scientist. For the past two years, ever since the Titanic tragedy, I've been working on a way to detect icebergs underwater. I've recently patented an 'echo-sounding device' that can detect icebergs up to two miles away. I thought… this might be of use to you."
Charles' eyes widened.
A radio scientist?
An echo-sounding device capable of detecting objects two miles away? Was this not the precursor to sonar?
What a stroke of luck—this talent had walked right in through his door!
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