The Shadow of Great Britain

263: Chapter 176 The Circle of Great Writers in France 263: Chapter 176 The Circle of Great Writers in France Bayswater District, in the living room of Arthur’s mansion.

Great Dumas, Arthur, and Victor were sitting at the dining table in the living room.

As Arthur poured tea for Victor, he quietly listened to the story of the man reputed to be the best criminal investigator in the world.

“In fact, I am not as legendary as everyone thinks.

Since you’ve read my published ‘Memoirs’, you should understand that I’ve been quite the rascal since I was five or six.

Of course, this had something to do with my older brother, too.

Our family ran a bakery in Ostend, and as children, my brother and I often stole money from the shop.

After this behavior was discovered by my father, he was so angry that he sent my brother to apprentice at a tailor’s shop in Lille.

As for me, because I was younger and my mother begged for me, I escaped that fate.

However, I didn’t repent.

Instead, I became even bolder.

When I couldn’t steal money from the shop anymore, I stole the family’s silverware and even joined forces with my worthless friends to pretend to kidnap myself in order to extort a ransom from my own parents.

But that time, my plan was discovered by my parents, and it resulted in my first stint in jail.

If I remember correctly, I was locked up for two weeks.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but joke, “Mr.

Victor, you should be thankful you were born in France.

Over here, those acts, even if they didn’t lead to the gallows, might have got you transported to Australia.”

Victor laughed heartily, “Transported to Australia?

That might’ve actually suited me.

Back then, I was nothing but a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old scoundrel.

I stole two thousand Francs from home, dead set on running off to America.

Yet, before even leaving France, I was swindled out of every last cent.

During that time, I could only scrape by playing a dwarf from the West Indies and a cannibal at a circus.”

Arthur inquired, “So how did you later leave the circus to go to Paris?”

Victor, a bit embarrassed yet vaguely proud, smiled and raised an eyebrow, “This is rather humiliating to talk about, but it’s been so many years, and now it seems like an amusing tale.

The reason I was cast out of the circus was because I had an affair with the circus master’s wife.

She was a young and beautiful lady who took me in when I had no food to eat.

Looking back on my life, she might be the only woman who genuinely cared about me.

As for the others, like the actress from Paris or the wife who hid her pregnancy by another man from me, yet came to me proposing marriage—even though we had our happy moments.

When I fell on hard times, they each left me in turn.”

Arthur took a sip of tea and said, “Although you might not like me saying this, I think that formal relationships and affairs are two completely different concepts.

The former requires a material foundation, while the latter doesn’t require either party to be responsible—so it’s enough for them to get together just for fun.

If you had married the circus master’s wife, you probably would have felt the same towards her as you did the actress and your wife.”

Resting back in his chair with a piece of breadstick in his mouth, Victor laughed out loud, “Young man, must you put things so bluntly?

Don’t you find life to be quite dull then?”

Arthur smiled and nodded, “I do feel that way occasionally.”

Removing his hat and placing it beside the table, Victor said, “However, looking at things straightforwardly is indeed one of the indispensable qualities of a good detective.

Recently in Paris, I worked on a case of company funds disappearing.

Do you know how I cracked it?”

Arthur smiled and replied, “I would love to hear your insights on such cases if you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Victor began, “After I got to the company, I first questioned the personnel who handled the funds, then I pointed at a 45-year-old female accountant and declared, ‘This woman is the criminal.’

No one present at that moment believed me, but subsequent investigations proved that I was right.

We found a large quantity of unexplained money and jewelry in that female accountant’s home.”

Arthur, driven by curiosity, pressed on, “Just from knowing a few people involved, you were able to make a judgment?

Exactly how did you figure it out?”

Victor slapped his thigh and laughed, “I didn’t see it, I smelled it.

Just like the early experiences I mentioned to you, I realized from that circus lady that a woman who exudes the scent of expensive perfume at nine in the morning is definitely doing it for a man.

And if a woman has a lover, then that lover is her motivation for stealing money.”

“And indeed, that’s what the investigation revealed: the female accountant from the company was stealing to support a lazy, luxurious-living gigolo.”

Arthur couldn’t help laughing as well.

“You seem to understand life even better than I do!

If that’s the case, then why do you write yourself in your books as if you don’t understand anything?”

Victor dug at his ear with his pinkie, “There’s no choice.

If I didn’t write it that way, how would my ‘Memoirs’ sell?

Do you expect me to point at the readers’ noses and curse them—’You selfish bunch, I can see right through even your underwear’?

Please, writing books isn’t the same as solving cases; you have to leave some space for fantasy.

That way, they feel safe and satisfied, and I can make a killing.

Everyone gets a bright future.”

Arthur had initially thought that this great figure from the French police would be a stern person, but after getting to know him, he realized Mr.

Victor was much easier to get along with than he had imagined.

But on second thought, how could someone who had made it big in both the underworld and the law in France possibly be someone who put on airs and was aloof from worldly affairs?

Of course, Arthur didn’t take Victor’s words at face value.

After all, he hadn’t forgotten how the man made his fortune: a ruthless individual who, to avoid the gallows, betrayed his former underworld brothers to curry favor with the police headquarters in Paris.

If Arthur remembered correctly, in Victor’s first year at the helm of the Paris Crime Investigation Bureau, he took part in 811 arrests.

Sacrificing at least two brothers every day, with such an efficiency in case handling, it’s clear to see Victor’s social and investigative skills.

Francois Victor was certainly not an absolutely bad man, but he couldn’t exactly be called a good man either.

Fortunately, Arthur was much the same.

Perhaps, as Victor had said, having two faces was also a necessary quality for intelligence work?

Arthur was enjoying his conversation with Victor when suddenly, Great Dumas, who was sitting opposite, reading Hugo’s letter, furrowed his brows and looked up to ask, “Mr.

Victor, do you share the same view as Mr.

Hugo?

Are you trying to persuade me to return to France?”

Victor leaned back in his chair, “I am not here to give any advice, whether you go back or not is up to you.

You should know that after Louis XVIII passed away, since Marc Duplessis was appointed as the head of the Paris Police Prefecture, I’ve always been suppressed by the department, which is why I resigned in anger later on.

“After this July Revolution, if the new prefect hadn’t invited me repeatedly, I would not have wanted to come back into the fray.

Being so far removed from the police and power circles for so long, I am also not clear about the higher-ups’ attitude towards you.

“However, since Hugo dares to persuade you to go back, he probably has heard something, right?

If you trust his words and also find it uncomfortable to stay in London, then you might consider returning to Paris.”

Having heard this, Great Dumas glanced at the letter in his hand and, after hesitating for a long time, replied seriously, “Of course I long to return to the land of France, but I don’t think now is the right time.

I’ve just reached a one-year writing contract with a literary magazine in London, and it would be a breach of contract for me to leave now.”

Victor replied with a hint of regret, “Is that so?

That’s too bad.

But I can understand you.

A writer, once the pen is picked up, can’t put it down until the work is finished.

Honoré is the same.”

With that, he took out a book from his bag and placed it on the table, “I didn’t bring any gifts for you this time.

I simply brought you Honoré’s newly published masterpiece to whet your appetite, to ensure you don’t feel too lonely in a foreign land.

At the very least, you will be able to see literature from home.

By the way, this new book includes some stories based on me.”

Arthur stared at the cover of the book.

Though he didn’t know much French, he could still spell out a simple name.

Author: Honoré de Balzac

As for the title, although Arthur didn’t understand, he guessed it was probably ‘The Human Comedy’.