shadow of britain

Chapter 881 The Secret Agent Elder

The morning mist over the Seine had not yet dissipated. Bottles left behind by drunkards from the previous night hung on the stone railings at both ends of the Pont Saint-Michel on Île de la Cité. The river water gently lapped against the bank, reflecting dappled sunlight.

At the corner of the alley leading to the bridge, there stands a three-story stone building with wooden shutters that sway gently in the morning breeze.

Downstairs was a bakery, and the aroma of dough wafted onto the street with the residual heat of the oven, mingling with the damp scent of the river.

The baker was handing a basket of steaming bread to a young apprentice, urging him to hurry and deliver the bread to the cafe on the Left Bank before breakfast started.

Across the street was a relatively inexpensive café. The chairs outside had been kicked over by drunkards during the night, and several college students, not yet fully sober, were leaning against the doorframe yawning. Two newspapers were still covering their faces, with Heinrich Heine's article in the Music Gazette praising "Sir Arthur Hastings, the God of Thunder."

The vendors at the bridgehead had already set up their small wooden stalls early, selling old books, sheet music, and cheap copperplate prints. A copy of "Faust," reproduced by a Belgian pirate, lay open on the ground, rustling in the morning breeze.

Two ragged street performers were pushing a violin case, arguing about whether to go to the market on Île de la Cité or try their luck at Saint-Germain.

Amidst all this hustle and bustle, a dim, yellow light shone from the second-floor window of the apartment.

A small piece of floral cloth hung outside the wooden-framed window, fluttering in the morning breeze.

The air inside was still filled with the lingering scent of red wine and perfume.

Elder was curled up on a rather cramped sofa, sleeping in a disheveled position like a sailor who had just been thrown off the deck by a wave. His riding boots were casually kicked to the foot of the bed, and only one of his stockings was hanging precariously on his calf, while the other had been kicked somewhere else.

The wax on the candlestick by the window had solidified into a strangely shaped wax sculpture, almost as long as a finger.

Several theater flyers stained with wine and half-empty wine glasses were scattered on the table. The actress's shawl was draped over the back of the chair, and the edges of the thin gauze still carried the scent of the decadent and glamorous atmosphere of the theater stage.

Elder was half-awake by his own snoring. He first let out a loud burp, then sat up abruptly, groggily opening his eyes. Judging from his bewildered look around, he probably hadn't figured out which cabin he was in.

He rubbed his eyes, and his vision gradually cleared. Two familiar figures were sitting on two chairs by the window.

One was Arthur, his brows furrowed, staring at his dearest brother with the same cold expression he usually wore only at police council meetings.

The other was the chubby Mr. Alexandre Dumas, whose shoulders shrugged, clearly indicating that he had nothing good to say.

“Oh… good morning, guys.” Elder slurred, his voice still tinged with alcohol. “Oh… by the way, Arthur, when you go to Whitehall this morning, could you please tell Director Beaufort at the Admiralty… that I’m seriously ill, cough cough, I’m dying, and I can’t come to work today. Uh… never mind, I thought about it, I might as well not even bother asking for a day off for me, since probably not many people will notice I’m missing today. If I really ask for a day off, they’ll deduct my salary…”

As soon as he finished speaking, he leaned back against the cushion and grabbed the actress's shawl, wrapping it around himself like a blanket.

The air in the room suddenly became still for a few seconds.

Suddenly, Elder sprang to his feet as if he had been pricked by a needle.

His eyes widened, then he clutched his shawl to his chest in terror, shouting at Arthur and Dumas, "Damn it! What are you two doing here? Wasn't it Miss Rachel with me yesterday? What the hell did you two bastards do to me last night!"

Alexandre Dumas slammed his handkerchief on the table, leaned back in his chair, making the poor chair legs creak: "Eld, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"

Elder was still dizzy. He held his head and said, "Well... let's start with some good news."

Alexandre Dumas immediately nodded seriously: "The good news is that the person who accompanied you last night was indeed Miss Rachel."

Upon hearing this, Elder breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost moved to tears, clutching his chest and letting out a long sigh of relief: "Phew...that's good, that's good...thankfully I wasn't seeing things..."

Then, he narrowed his eyes in confusion: "Then... what's the bad news?"

Alexandre Dumas grinned; he had been waiting to hear those words.

"The bad news is that Miss Rachel just told me that you were very—gentlemanly last night when you left."

As we all know, "gentleman" is usually a positive term.

But what is more widely known is that Elder did not come to Paris to become a gentleman.

The word "gentleman" was drawn out by Dumas, making it sound more like a knife stabbing Elder in the chest.

"gentleman?"

Sure enough, upon hearing that word, Elder seemed struck dumb: "Damn it! Alexander, are you implying that... I knew I drank too much last night! Otherwise... otherwise... I..."

He slammed his fist on the cushion, scratching his head in regret, looking like a heartbroken monkey.

Arthur, who had been observing coldly, finally spoke up: "Don't be so sad yet, Elder, I have even worse news for you."

"What is it? Speak! There can't be anything worse than being a gentleman!"

Arthur crossed his legs, his white-gloved hands resting on his knees: "Because of your nonsense in Paris these past two days, I regret to inform you that you probably won't even have the chance to be a gentleman during the rest of your trip."

Elder's eyes widened, and he stood there stunned, his mouth agape, wide enough to fit an entire croissant.

Then, he slapped his thigh and let out a bloodcurdling howl: "What? Arthur! You damn cop, are you trying to get me to tell you that you want to strip me, your good friend, your good brother Mr. Elder Carter, of my citizenship! Normal!! Rights!!!" He lunged at Arthur, nearly knocking the wine bottle off the coffee table: "The opportunity to be a gentleman, that's a fundamental human right! How can you just abolish it with a single sentence? Are you trying to bring your Whitehall rules to Paris?! This isn't London! This is Paris! Here, there's freedom, champagne, and girls! You can't use those cold, hard rules to completely destroy all the joys of my life! Arthur, don't forget, you're the Secretary General of the Police Commissioner's Committee, not the King of France!"

Upon hearing this, Alexandre Dumas couldn't help but burst into laughter, clutching his stomach: "I never imagined that I would live to see you speak well of France."

Upon hearing this, Arthur raised an eyebrow coldly and said indifferently, "Elder, I am certainly not the King of France, but if you continue to spout nonsense in Paris, I will have to show you the administrative efficiency of Scotland Yard."

Perhaps the alcohol was still controlling Elder's mind, or perhaps the air in Paris really did have a special healing effect, but Elder stood on the coffee table, his posture unsteady, yet he managed to straighten his back.

He held the actress's silk scarf high, as if waving a tricolor flag, his voice hoarse yet firm, carrying an undeniable air of pride.

"Freedom! Freedom means that everyone, whether the King or the Second Secretary of the Admiralty, has the right to sleep in until they naturally wake up in the Parisian morning! That's human nature, that's right!"
Equality! Equality means that Liszt can be lauded in concert halls, and I, Elder Carter, can enjoy the same applause in salons and theaters! Paris cannot have only one idol; Paris needs a stage for everyone!
Philanthropy! Philanthropy is not indulgence, nor is it depravity, but self-control! The reason I didn't overstep my bounds last night, and didn't take advantage of Miss Rachel, is because I know that Paris needs a virtuous sailor, not a drunken beast!

Upon hearing this, Dumas was filled with awe and stood up to applaud, saying, "Elder, although I hate to admit it, I must say that I misjudged you before. You are simply the Mirabeau of Nottingham. If this were during the French Revolution, you would certainly be on the guillotine, and among the first to be beheaded."

Arthur stared at Elder, who was standing on the coffee table, draped in a thin veil, shouting "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," and couldn't help but tap the armrest of his chair with his knuckles. "Elder," he said, "I can't deny your words; after all, everyone has their own pursuits. But if the Admiralty heard what you said today, do you know how serious that would be?"

Upon hearing the name "Admiralty," Elder immediately became much more obedient, much like a monkey hearing "zoo."

He hurriedly threw down the silk scarf, then approached Arthur with a forced smile: "Oh, Arthur, my dear old classmate, you know me. I just like to say nice things to make a good impression. Don't take it seriously. Please don't report what I just said to the Admiralty, or Sir John Barrow will definitely launch a security investigation against me!"

Arthur, who had been sitting with his legs crossed, shifted his posture: "Security investigation? Elder, you've always been upright and honest, what's there to be afraid of in a security investigation?"

Elder's face flushed red. He chuckled twice and said in a forced tone, "Indeed, there's nothing to be afraid of in a security investigation. I've always been upright and honest, and I've never done anything shady with the accounts."

He paused, coughed lightly, and glanced out the window, seemingly casually: "But... you know, our kind of transactional work always involves many links: contracts, warehouses, docks, contractors. If any one of these links is vaguely written, it could cause unnecessary misunderstandings during the investigation..."

Arthur nodded calmly: "For example..."

Elder, sweating profusely, tried to defend himself: "For example... well... the books say five hundred rolls of rope, but there are only three hundred and fifty rolls in the dock. To the untrained eye, this would seem like we're missing cargo, as if someone pocketed those one hundred and fifty rolls. But think about it, Arthur, the Royal Navy fleet travels all over the world—Malta, Jamaica, Cape Town—the process of resupplying and allocating supplies is incredibly complex. It's perfectly normal for the documents to not match the actual goods once they've been at sea."

He quickly added, "Of course, I'm not saying this happens often, just occasionally. A discrepancy between the books and the actual goods doesn't necessarily mean someone is embezzling. It could just be a time difference, a delay in transport, or a difference in document practices. But if the auditors get hung up on it, they'll conclude there's something wrong. Actually, it's just a flaw in the system, the usual practice. We junior clerks are just keeping the empire running."

Dumas clutched his stomach with one hand and slammed his other hand on the table, laughing so hard he could barely breathe: "My God! Elder! I thought your Admiralty was all about warships, colonies, forts, spices, and gold, doing astronomical deals, but it turns out... you're like rats, even stealing a few rolls of rope?"

Elder's face flushed red, his neck stretched out in agitation, veins bulging on his forehead: "Nonsense! How can rope be considered theft? How can you slander me like this?! The leeway left by the system can't be considered theft... Can systemic construction be considered theft? Besides, these things aren't only available to the Admiralty; the Home Office, Scotland Yard, when purchasing police uniforms and equipment, don't they also..."

Upon hearing this, Arthur quickly stood up, gesturing for him to stop: "Alright, Elder."

Elder continued, seemingly unsatisfied, "I was just giving an example, like Scotland Yard, they..."

Upon hearing this, Arthur's face turned as black as the bottom of a pot. He couldn't help but remind him, "Eld! You won't go far in Whitehall like this. If Sir John Barrow, if the members of the Naval Commission heard what you said today, what do you think they would think of you?"

Elder shut his mouth, somewhat embarrassed, after hearing Arthur bring up all the mountains of criticism he had ever faced.

He wrapped the shawl around himself and said, "Alright, alright, if the leak is coming from the top of the Navy Headquarters, we can all pretend we're blind. But if it's coming from the waist down, then they'll have to start a security investigation."

Looking at his cowardly appearance, Dumas couldn't help but tease him, "Elder, where did that revolutionary who was shouting liberty, equality, and fraternity at the coffee table go? If you were on the guillotine, you'd probably be kneeling down and begging for mercy before the blade even falls."

Elder, now more experienced, wasn't going to fall for Dumas's provocation: "Come on, Alexander, I've got all the guillotine parts in my pocket. Who knows if it'll even work?"

At this point, Elder suddenly realized something: "Wait a minute... you two still haven't told me how you found this place."

Arthur slowly removed his gloves and placed them on his knees. "Eld, finding a drunkard in Paris is no different to me than finding a thief in London. Especially since I already knew beforehand that you spent the night at some actress's house last night."

"Huh?! Could it be..." Elder seemed to have heard some terrible news. He glanced suspiciously at Dumas and shouted through gritted teeth, "Damn it! Alexander, could it be you? Do you have a directory of all the actresses in Paris hiding away?"

Alexandre Dumas retorted irritably, "Don't make false accusations! I don't have such a thing!"

"You little brat! Trying to fool me?" Elder stomped his feet in anger, not believing Dumas's nonsense: "If you have such a good thing, why didn't you lend it to me sooner?"

Alexandre Dumas shook his finger: "I said no, and I mean no. But Mr. François Vidocq does have a whole book. If you pay the right price, he might even give you the one that includes the male actor."

"A...a male actor?!" Elder reacted as if he'd been stung on the butt, half his alcohol fumes vanishing in fright: "Alexander! How could you say that?!"

Alexandre Dumas said in a serious tone, "That's Paris for you. As long as the price is right, whether you're playing Juliet or Romeo, Paris treats everyone the same. Of course, there are some actors you can't hire even if the price is right, like Franz Liszt. Do you remember anything about Liszt?"

“Liszt? Remember anything?” Elder panicked immediately upon hearing this: “I…I don’t remember…After I came to Paris, I attended a Liszt concert with Mr. Heinrich Heine. We probably had a few drinks during the concert, but I don’t think we did anything out of line, did we?”

Arthur calmly retorted, "Are you sure? It's not too late to think about it again. I'm not talking about the few drinks you had with Heine. You are, after all, a second-class clerk in the Admiralty. Elder, you'd better get rid of this habit of jumping to conclusions."

“Then…what else could it be?” Elder was stunned, as if some shameful secret had been exposed. He suddenly hugged the actress's shawl tightly to his chest, his face full of terror. “You…you're scaring me! Arthur, you don't mean…Lister, he? No, that can't be! He's so busy, how could he…how could he…”

Dumas put on a serious expression: "Elder, you should take responsibility for your own actions. Don't try to shift the blame onto Lister."

Arthur remained expressionless, as if he hadn't heard Dumas's quip, and simply added, "You'd better remember. Heine heard you say it yourself: Arthur Hastings came to Paris to teach that pianist a lesson."

(End of this chapter)