## Chapter 237: The Enigma (4K)
Disraeli led Arthur up to the second floor. While the shelves weren’t as densely packed as on the first floor, the decor was undeniably more luxurious.
Four or five bright glass chandeliers illuminated the space. The wood-paneled walls, though slightly faded, were skillfully masked by the paintings hanging upon them, greedily absorbing the rare London sunlight. Large windows, paired with a Persian rug covering the entire floor, composed of intricate gold and red patterns, further enhanced the room’s classic, upscale ambiance.
Perhaps due to the high value of the goods displayed here, the shopkeeper had stationed two assistants to guard the entrance to the second floor.
As soon as Arthur stepped onto the second floor, his eyes were captivated by the dazzling array of merchandise.
Intricately decorated ivory pipes, Ceylon tea packaged in gilded jars, exquisite mechanical pocket watches with their gears and hands constantly turning within their cases – but what truly caught Arthur’s attention was a simple, pure black gentleman’s umbrella leaning against the wall, claiming to be the same model used by Sir Isaac Newton.
Usually, Arthur would dismiss such claims as mere marketing ploys. However, considering that Sir Newton’s former residence was right next door, and that the shop itself had been in business for over a century, with the shopkeeper confidently assuring him that his great-great-grandfather was a close friend of Sir Newton, Arthur could only tentatively believe his story.
However, this trust didn’t last long. After a cursory stroll around the second floor, Arthur discovered that the number of items linked to Newton was simply excessive.
This included, but was not limited to, Newton’s wigs, tops he had spun, manuscripts he had written, and of course, the apple that supposedly hit his head.
Arthur squatted in front of a glass case, leaning forward to stare at the apple labeled “not for sale” for a long time. Suddenly, he noticed the apple’s skin twitching. A hole opened up, and a small green worm, its belly swollen, emerged from within.
Arthur stroked his chin, pondering for a moment before nodding at the worm. “To be alive this long, you’re more powerful than gravity.”
He then turned to the shopkeeper, who was snoring at the counter on the second floor, and shouted, “Sir, come see your great-great-grandfather’s friend!”
With that, he leaned on his cane and strode away from the “Newton’s Choice” counter.
Meanwhile, Disraeli was holding a brown cigar to his nose, sniffing it lightly.
He saw Arthur approaching and waved. “Arthur, you must be tired of ordinary tobacco. How about a Havana cigar today?”
“Cigars?” Arthur took the cigar box from Disraeli, giving it a sniff before nodding. “Alright, I suppose having something to smoke is better than nothing.”
“Oh, Arthur, what are you saying?”
Disraeli scorned him. “Smoking cigars is a refined activity, a fashion statement. Don’t treat it like ordinary tobacco. To enjoy a good cigar, you need to learn a bit about it. Oh, right, I almost forgot, do you have a cigar cutter at home? If not, buy one today.”
“Cigar cutter? What’s that for?”
“It’s for cutting the end of the cigar. Do you have one at home?”
Arthur simply shook his head. “No, but I have Alexander, a French lodger in my house, so I don’t think I need to buy a special tool for cutting cigars.”
Disraeli looked puzzled. “Why? Is Alexander good at biting cigars? It’s quite bitter if you bite into it!”
Arthur replied, “No, it’s because the French are always good at making machines for cutting things. I know there’s a large one in Paris. Everyone who’s used it says it’s amazing. I’ll ask Alexander to make me one like it, for the sake of friendship.”
Disraeli burst into laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. “Wouldn’t using a guillotine to cut your cigar be a bit overkill? But alright, since you said you don’t need one, then let’s not buy it. Shall we go look at some cologne next?”
Arthur pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it, and said, “Let’s go check out the fragrance room in the backyard. The perfumer should be starting work soon.”
Disraeli summoned a young assistant to lead them towards the fragrance room in the backyard, asking as they walked, “Why do you suddenly want to buy cologne? I remember you never really smelled of anything, and even if you did, it wouldn’t be strong enough to require cologne, would it? Arthur, just tell me the truth, are you smitten with some girl?”
Arthur, unfazed by Disraeli’s teasing, retorted, “Benjamin, I’ve got plenty of girls I’m smitten with. Unlike you, I might not be as philanthropic as Eldred, but overall, I’ve always been open to beautiful ladies. You’re different, though. I really don’t understand why you always prefer women who are much older than you.”
Disraeli, as if struck by lightning, trembled from head to toe. “Damn it, Arthur, how did you know?”
Arthur, of course, wouldn’t tell him that Benjamin Disraeli’s file was labeled 001 in the London Police Intelligence Bureau’s archives.
He simply offered a plausible and easy-to-swallow excuse. “I told you, Benjamin, I’m a detective. As Scotland Yard’s most brilliant detective, it’s normal for me to have sharp observation skills. The way you look at older women is clearly different.”
Disraeli looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Thank God I only have one detective friend in my life. If there were more, I’d probably be caught wearing the wrong color underwear.”
Arthur, upon hearing this, suddenly remembered Disraeli’s file, which had been updated recently.
The social climate of the day was still quite conservative on the surface. Therefore, aside from some upper-class ladies who might have a need to buy lace underwear, most people bought fabric and made their own undergarments.
Police Intelligence Bureau agents had recently stumbled upon Disraeli buying a small piece of emerald green fabric at a cloth store. Such a small piece could only be used to sew a pair of underpants.
So, Arthur casually replied, “Emerald green.”
As soon as Arthur uttered these words, Disraeli was stunned. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with shock. “How did you know that?”
Arthur wagged his finger. “Don’t worry, Benjamin, it was just a guess. I just happened to guess right.”
“I know it was a guess! You can’t be standing in my window every day watching me change my underwear, can you?” Disraeli asked, “I’m asking how you guessed it.”
Arthur glanced at his flamboyant attire and said calmly, “Like you said, Benjamin, you’re a fashion icon in London’s social circles. Your style is always meticulous. For example, today, you’re wearing a Byzantine purple tailcoat with burgundy trousers. So, from a color coordination standpoint, I’d assume you’d pair it with emerald green underpants.”
Disraeli couldn’t help but clap his hands in admiration. “Arthur, I never thought your observational skills were this detailed. I always thought detectives were extraordinary people, having to understand chemistry, natural history, and even criminal psychology. I never imagined you’d be so keen on fashion trends and color matching. You truly deserve your status as a respected figure in the London police force.”
Arthur simply smiled and tipped his hat in return. “Benjamin, you’re too kind. My observations on London fashion are far less insightful than yours.”
Disraeli asked again, “But you haven’t told me yet, why do you suddenly want to buy cologne? You really don’t smell of anything.”
Arthur, in response to Disraeli’s question, chose to deflect the topic. After all, this case involved a member of Parliament. He wasn’t planning to reveal too much until he had a clearer picture of the situation.
He simply interjected, “I don’t have body odor because I bathe regularly, Benjamin. Don’t listen to those science magazines, bathing less often doesn’t reduce your chances of getting sick. Simply wiping yourself with a wet towel every night won’t solve your hygiene problems. As for the cologne, I plan to use it as a deodorant. I’m going to have the dung collector fill in and clean the cesspool in my house soon, and I’ll need cologne to freshen the air.”
Disraeli, upon hearing this, couldn’t help but ask, “Speaking of which, my toilet needs cleaning too. By the way, is the cleaning price still two shillings?”
Arthur replied, “It’s gone up slightly. The economy is doing well recently, so wages for all kinds of jobs have risen. But for such dirty and tiring work, a few extra pennies are deserved.”
The two continued chatting as they walked, and soon arrived at a small cottage in the backyard.
Even before entering, they could smell various fragrant aromas in the air.
They took a light sniff and felt refreshed. It was a rare treat in a place like London.
As soon as they stepped inside, they saw a middle-aged man sitting at a long table covered with colorful bottles and jars. He was muttering to himself, his left hand holding a measuring spoon, his right hand holding a bottle of perfume.
“The Countess of Londonderry’s Mediterranean Passion, 8 drops of bergamot, 1 drop of grapefruit, 5 drops of orange, 1 drop of cardamom… Lord Winchester’s Bordeaux Countryside, 4 drops of lavender, 4 drops of clary sage, 2 drops of orange blossom, 2 drops of rosemary…”
The young assistant, seeing this, approached and softly called out, “Mr. Enigma, there are guests here to have their custom cologne blended.”
Enigma?
Arthur, upon hearing this name, immediately thought of the “Book of Perfumes” he had snatched from Fiona. Was this the French perfumer, Enigma, who was making waves in London recently?
Enigma, upon hearing the young assistant’s voice, merely rubbed his hair in irritation.
“Alright, I get it. Leave the order, I’ll make it later. I need to finish these big orders first. Blending perfume is a delicate process. One drop too much or too little, and the scent will be completely different. I need to carefully consider how to make these gentlemen and ladies emit a unique aroma at the banquet, so that just one whiff will remind people that the person who blended the fragrance is no ordinary artisan.”
The young assistant, seeing this, wanted to say a few more words to Enigma, but hesitated.
He knew that the perfumer in front of him was hired by the boss at a high price. If he angered him and he quit, he wouldn’t be able to bear the responsibility.
Arthur, seeing this, simply patted the young assistant on the shoulder, signaling that he could go about his business, they were fine here.
The young assistant, relieved, took off his hat and gave Arthur a slightly apologetic smile before stepping back.
Once the assistant was out of sight, Arthur walked behind Enigma with his hands behind his back.
He watched as Enigma, trembling slightly, dipped the measuring spoon into the jar of essential oil and carefully added it to the blending cup, drop by drop.
Arthur suddenly asked, “I heard there’s cologne here that Sir Isaac Newton used?”
Arthur’s voice, though soft, startled Enigma. He almost knocked the blending cup to the ground.
He turned his head abruptly, his half-long hair whipping back with the movement, falling behind his head.
Enigma roared, “What are you doing? This is my private space, no one is allowed to enter without permission. Didn’t Mr. Baxter tell you?”
The Baxter Enigma was referring to was the owner of the shop. It seemed he mistook Arthur for a new employee.
However, to Arthur, it didn’t matter what Enigma thought of him.
Thanks to his previous interactions with Vidocq, he had fully grasped the key to dealing with a Frenchman.
Arthur simply pulled out his police badge and placed it in front of Enigma. “Arthur Hastings, Inspector, Criminal Investigation Department, Metropolitan Police. May I come in now?”
“Police?!”
Enigma, upon hearing this identity, recoiled in shock, shielding his perfume jars.
“You… what are you here for? I’m just running a legitimate business, I haven’t done anything illegal. Why are you arresting me?”
Arthur put away his badge and smiled. “Mr. Enigma, you’re right. The French police don’t need any reason to arrest people, but British police still need a reason. So, I’m not here to arrest you today, I’m here to have you blend some cologne for me. What kind of fragrance do you think I need to make criminals feel threatened just by smelling me?”
Enigma, upon hearing this, finally relaxed a little. He swallowed and said, “With all due respect, you’re already dangerous enough, you really don’t need cologne.”
To be continued…
(End of Chapter)