SGB Chapter 264

## Chapter 264: The Englishman’s Deadly Game (5K)

The streets outside Whitehall were bustling with activity. Arthur emerged from the coffee shop, Bernie Harrison trailing behind him like a defeated rooster.

“Mr. Hastings, about that proposal I just made…”

Arthur tucked the documents into his coat and said, “Mr. Harrison, as I said, while I personally would be happy to reconcile with you, I don’t have a say in this matter. What you have with Scotland Yard needs to be discussed with Chief Rowan. As for the document you just handed me, I need to carefully consider the appropriate way to pass it on to him.”

“Pass on?” Harrison was taken aback. “You… aren’t interested in the Polish issue? Why would you publish those articles in ‘The Englishman’ if you weren’t?”

Arthur finally understood why Harrison had approached him with this document.

He assumed Harrison had taken Arthur for some kind of freedom fighter tirelessly championing Polish independence, like Lord Byron who had gone to Greece to fight the Ottomans for their independence.

After all, such individuals were common in the turbulent 19th century, and they were particularly prolific on the small island of Britain.

But clearly, Harrison had gotten the wrong person this time.

Arthur removed his hat and brushed off the ash from the brim. “Mr. Harrison, I am a Scotland Yard policeman. While I can pass as an intellectual, an intellectual who has climbed to this position in Scotland Yard… shouldn’t this experience be enough for you to see through my true nature?

“Singing praises for revolution is what poets do. As a policeman, my job is to lurk in the shadows and observe them silently. As for Poland, I sympathize with the plight of the Polish people. I’m willing to shed a couple of tears for their situation, but what good will that do them?

“Forgive my shortsightedness, but the furthest I can see is London’s East End. The document you gave me isn’t worth what you think. If Sir Peel is willing to accept it, maybe it can help improve his negative impression of you. As for my favor, remember you haven’t repaid it yet.”

With that, Arthur patted Harrison on the shoulder and leaned in, whispering in his ear, “Don’t even think about running. You can’t escape the eyes of Scotland Yard. Mr. Harrison, stay at home, read some books, and browse the newspapers. I’ll contact you when I need you. I heard from Mr. Remy that your company’s cosmetics are excellent, and your arsenic ratio is always just right.”

Harrison’s lips turned pale, and his whole body trembled. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. After a long moment, he took off his hat and forced a smile. “Well, until next time, Mr. Hastings. If you can help with the matter of the MP, I’m willing to offer a reasonable reward. A bill of exchange for three thousand pounds, from Rothschild Bank, Baring Brothers, or the Bank of England, whichever is convenient. That’s all I ask. Please, do consider it.”

With those words, Harrison climbed into the carriage with stiff steps.

He didn’t know why, but he felt like he was being watched by a carrion vulture when he spoke to this young man.

Those eyes, shimmering with a faint red glow, made him feel like his neck was already in a noose. It was just a matter of time before he was condemned to death, just one word away.

Harrison leaned back in the carriage seat. Only now did he realize his shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

As the carriage rattled into motion, he couldn’t help but mutter, “Arthur Hastings, the best policeman in all of Great Britain, the renowned virtuoso pianist, the electromagnetic madman of the Royal Society, is this what he’s like?”

Arthur watched his carriage disappear around the corner, pulling out a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. “Three thousand pounds…”

Agareus, leaning against a lamppost, grinned and squinted. “Oh, Arthur, why don’t you consider it? That’s almost enough for three Freds. Speaking of which, you’ve got a bit of capital now, but all your assets are in the form of road bridge company shares on the stock exchange and shares in ‘The Englishman.’ With these three thousand pounds, we can have proper servants and a few cases of Chateau d’Yquem. Oh, to be honest, ever since I tasted that bottle of Yquem that the Duke of Wellington sent, I’ve lost my taste for other wines.”

Arthur blew a smoke ring. “Buying a few bottles of Chateau d’Yquem is fine, but Agareus, you’re going overboard demanding Yquem specifically. Why don’t you consider some second-rate wines like Sauternes or Fieuzal? They’re still from the d’Yquem family, and they’re also grapes from the Sauternes region of France. It shouldn’t be that different, right?”

The Red Devil scoffed. “How can it be the same? First, they’re not the same price. Second, that bottle the Duke of Wellington sent was the best of the best, made in 1815. One sip not only gives you the unique aroma of botrytis wine, but you can also smell the flying artillery fire of Waterloo, how can it be the same? And yet, you let that Jew ruin half of it. Arthur, what do you have to say about that?”

“Jew? Wasn’t King Solomon a Jew?” Arthur retorted. “Not only that, but he was also a Jew who died three thousand years ago. I haven’t seen you slander him.”

The Red Devil slapped the lamppost, emphasizing, “How can it be the same? Just as Yquem is the king of wines, King Solomon is the king of Jews!”

“So what? Just as a Scotland Yard inspector is still a blue lobster, Benjamin, even though he’s the Jewish Prime Minister, he’s still a Jew in your mouth.”

Arthur sucked on his cigar and looked around. He was about to hail a carriage, but to his surprise, a carriage with black and gold-trimmed upholstery slowly pulled up in front of him.

The window of the carriage was gently raised, revealing a familiar silver-haired old man.

“Nice weather today, Scotland Yard lad. You know why I don’t like Fouché but I like you? The difference between you and Fouché is this: Fouché, that bastard, spends at least eighteen hours a day working. His life has no fun except for grabbing more power. You’re different. You strike a good balance between work and leisure, just like I did when I was young. You’re already slacking off in the coffee shop before noon. If all the cabinet ministers in Europe were like us, there wouldn’t be so many problems.”

Arthur knew how to deal with this old rake. He took off his hat and greeted him, “Mr. Talleyrand, you’re not playing cards at this hour, but you’re here on Whitehall. Have your work demands increased too rapidly lately?”

Talleyrand burst into laughter. “There’s no way around it. The King sent orders from Paris for me and your Foreign Secretary to have a good talk about the Polish issue. I can’t just eat and do nothing as the French Ambassador, can I? I may be old, but I still need to move occasionally, otherwise it’ll be hard to ask Paris for embassy funds.”

Arthur asked, “But seeing as you’ve come back so early, I assume the talks today weren’t smooth?”

“Well…” Talleyrand lifted his white eyebrow slightly. “I’m not in a good mood anyway. Are you carrying cash?”

Arthur reached into his pocket and counted the bills. “Five pounds, it shouldn’t be too little. I’ve got some pennies in my pocket, do you want them?”

Talleyrand tapped the carriage window with his cane. “Get in. If you lose too much, just write me an IOU.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He winked at the Red Devil squatting on the street corner. “Looks like our Yquem is coming our way.”

Arthur got into Talleyrand’s carriage. It was considerably more spacious than the carriages he usually took, and there was a small wine rack and a few glasses in the corner of the carriage, clearly showing that Talleyrand often enjoyed a few drinks on the road.

Talleyrand cut the deck of cards and said, “Choose whatever you want to drink, but be careful to hold the glass steady. If you spill it on yourself, don’t blame me for dirtying your nice clothes. By the way, what cigars do you smoke? West Indies?”

“I don’t know where they’re from. I bought them at that Newton store on Jermyn Street.” Arthur nodded. “But Alexander said they’re authentic, and I trust his expertise.”

Talleyrand heard this and smiled. “That’s one of the things I like about London more than Paris. You can find any product from anywhere in the world in London. Whether it’s West Indies tobacco, East Indies spices, Chinese tea, or dried grapes from Iberia or France, you can find it all here.”

Arthur rubbed the cards and asked, “So, are you going to Savile Row to order a top-of-the-line morning suit, or are you going to Jermyn Street to buy a few boxes of the cigars I’m holding?”

“Buying things is out of the question. Women are the experts in that. I’m not in a good mood today, so I don’t plan on making it worse. I want to find some fun for myself, like going to a boxing match or something.”

“Boxing match?” Arthur’s eyebrows jumped when he heard about this sport.

Talleyrand saw his reaction and casually asked, “Why? I thought you young people would like to watch boxing.”

Arthur threw down a card and stroked his chest, calming down. “I don’t particularly like or dislike boxing, but as a policeman, I’ve always disliked large-scale sporting events. Take boxing, for example. Every time there’s a championship-level match, the number of spectators is always in the thousands.

“If you’ve been following London boxing, you’ve probably heard people talk about the challenge match last year where Simon Byrne and Sandy McKay teamed up against champion Jem Ward. That match attracted nearly ten thousand spectators, and Scotland Yard pulled five hundred elite officers from various districts to maintain order.

“You’ve probably guessed it, I, the guy who hangs out in coffee shops at noon, was also drafted. I was in charge of maintaining order at that boxing match.”

Talleyrand couldn’t help but laugh. “Really? I heard it was pretty brutal that day.”

Arthur frowned. “Brutal doesn’t even begin to describe it. Those two idiots, Simon Byrne and Sandy McKay, were two against one and still got killed by Jem Ward. Simon Byrne got knocked out by a heavy punch in the third round, and Sandy McKay went down five times in twelve rounds, but he couldn’t save face and had to get up each time. In the end, he was beaten to a bloody pulp and died on the spot.

“The gamblers in the stands were all freaking out when they saw this. The supporters on both sides started shouting at each other. It escalated to beer bottles flying everywhere. The gamblers who were trying to cheat wanted to snatch their money back, and the drunks, seeing blood, wanted to fight with everyone else. The ladies were screaming and running around with their skirts lifted. The East End and West End gangs took advantage of the chaos and made a fortune.

“If we hadn’t brought fifty guns that day and fired several rounds into the air, and if we hadn’t had enough police there, I’m sure more than just McKay would have died. But even so, we police officers still got injured in the aftermath of the match, and a few unlucky souls almost got their heads cracked open by beer bottles.”

Talleyrand laughed. “It seems London boxing is even more lively than I imagined. I guess the most lively sporting events are probably like this.”

Arthur chuckled to himself. “That’s not true. There are even more messed up things than that. Mr. Talleyrand, have you heard of the Running of the Bulls in Staffordshire?”

“Running of the Bulls? What’s that about?”

Arthur explained, “The Running of the Bulls is a very old festival in Staffordshire. If you trace it back, it might go back hundreds of years. Every November, they release several rutting, injured bulls onto the streets. Villagers from dozens of villages gather on the streets to celebrate, and they’ve had casualties every few years.

“The British Animal Protection Society has always considered this festival a thorn in their side, and they sue the organizers of the Running of the Bulls every year. They claim that the festival is inhumane to both people and bulls. But the local magistrate believes that the Running of the Bulls is a historical tradition of Staffordshire and completely ignores the Animal Protection Society’s demands.

“When the Animal Protection Society realized they couldn’t get anywhere in court, they teamed up with their old comrades – the Wesleyan ministers. The ministers also abhorred this behavior, and they often worked with the Animal Protection Society to crack down on bullfighting, cockfighting, and other such activities.

“But in one instance, after the Animal Protection Society and the Wesleyan ministers were tossed into the air by a bull, Parliament finally decided to completely eradicate this centuries-old tradition of the Running of the Bulls. Two years ago, when I first joined Scotland Yard, I was lucky enough to participate in that operation.

“You won’t believe this, but it was a huge scene. Police, army, cavalry, and local magistrates filled the streets. You wouldn’t know that Britain was at war with France again.

Talleyrand chuckled. “So, did you succeed in the end?”

Arthur shrugged helplessly. “Unfortunately, while the Parliamentary report described the operation as a draw, it was a terrible operation in my opinion. Parliament’s troop deployment plan angered the locals. The farmers used pitchforks to clear the way for the bulls, and the farm owners generously sponsored several times more bulls than usual.

“The Household Cavalry lost three fine horses, and several soldiers from the 5th Royal Infantry Regiment were almost tossed onto the rooftops. With the cavalry and infantry in such a state, we Scotland Yard policemen could only direct traffic with our truncheons. Ultimately, according to Staffordshire’s historical records, the casualties of that year’s Running of the Bulls may have been the most severe in recent decades.”

Talleyrand couldn’t stop laughing. “So, did Parliament compromise in the end?”

“You can’t say compromise. Sir Peel wouldn’t like that word.”

Arthur smirked. “After the anger subsided, Sir Peel immediately called a temporary meeting with the Treasury. The day after the meeting ended, the Treasury submitted a proposal to Parliament for an additional治安稅 of six pence per pound of house rent on the areas hosting the Running of the Bulls. The Treasury also threatened that if Staffordshire didn’t show a willingness to improve the situation, this tax might be raised further in the future.”

Talleyrand couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a truly British solution. In my opinion, the Running of the Bulls must have improved significantly after the tax was imposed.”

Arthur nodded slightly. “You’re right about that. The scale of the Running of the Bulls has been shrinking over the past two years.”

“Well, it seems that boxing and the Running of the Bulls are quite dangerous. Is there no more civilized sport?”

Arthur took a sip of wine. “There are civilized ones, like rowing, for example. Have you seen the Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race this year? It’s the one held on the Thames in late March or early April.

“There’s also horse racing, which is popular all over Europe. The Derby Stakes, held every June, is also a major sporting event in Britain. Last year, the number of spectators along the route added up to more than a hundred thousand.

“But I’m sure you’ve seen enough horse racing in Paris, and it doesn’t have much participation. So, if you want to find a sport to relieve your boredom, why not try golf today?

“A friend of mine has been inviting me to the Royal Blackheath Club to practice. If you don’t mind, let’s change course and head to the City. We’ll bring him along, and it’ll be a good way to find you a companion. What do you think?”

(End of Chapter)