The Shadow of Great Britain

341: Chapter 210: Old Paris (5K2)_3 341: Chapter 210: Old Paris (5K2)_3 However, Jones was met with silence in response.

In his eager eyes, neither a vicious criminal nor a stash of smuggled goods appeared, only a young man with his hands tied behind his back, stripped down to nothing but his underwear, continuously arching his back like a carp trying to break free from its bonds.

Seeing this, Jones, while directing officers to search the other rooms, walked over to the young man and removed the gag from his mouth.

He asked, “Who are you?”

The young man’s left eye was bruised, and wincing in pain, he opened his eyes to look at Jones.

When he saw the uniform, he was first stunned and then tears of relief and joy mingled down his cheeks, “Thank heaven!

You must have been sent by my uncle to rescue me, right?”

“Your uncle?” Jones was equally surprised but quickly became solemn, “So you are Detective Chief Inspector Hastings’ nephew?

No wonder he was so anxious and had to quickly leave to avoid suspicion.”

“Hastings?” The young man was confused, “Wasn’t it my uncle who filed the report?”

“Who is your uncle?”

“Joseph Bonaparte!”

“Don’t know him.”

“What about my second uncle, Napoleon Bonaparte?

You must know him, right?”

Upon hearing this, Jones, who was standing behind Louis Bonaparte and ready to untie the ropes, stopped the officer with a knife in mid-motion and suddenly called to a young officer beside him, instructing, “Ford, remember this for the interview with the reporters later.

The victim, after being subjected to prolonged abuse by a criminal gang, is now mentally disturbed, which is particularly heartbreaking.

It also further highlights the cruelty of Fred and his gang’s criminal methods and their vile nature, which the public finds contemptible.

The Whitechapel police station will, with the help of the Criminal Investigation Department, persistently and vigorously expedite the sweeping and crackdown on this gang…”

Upon hearing this, Louis Bonaparte’s eyes widened, “Have you British gone mad?”

The junior officer just glanced at him, pinned down and unable to move, and quietly replied, “Sir, the one who’s mad is you.”

…

Half an hour later, in the office of the police chief at the Whitechapel police station.

Arthur and Jones were seated on either side of the office desk, while Dickens, now dressed in a fine suit, was taking notes in a meticulous manner with his hat on.

Following the pace of his notes, Arthur read aloud in a soothing voice the pre-drafted content he had prepared, “This operation owed its success to the swift response of the Whitechapel police station, which avoided a repetition of the last situation where the criminal gang had transported the victim to sea before interception.

However, we must also acknowledge the shortcomings in this incident; even with an outstanding leader like Chief Inspector Jones, it’s impossible to fully resolve the issue of insufficient police force in areas like Whitechapel, which is the most significant reason that Tower Hamlets becomes a haven for criminals.”

Upon reaching this point, Dickens swiftly and powerfully punctuated his notebook and whistled, “That should do it, this will make for a good story!”

Arthur, upon hearing this, also revealed a smile, “To have you run over here so early in the morning is quite bothersome for you.

Should we go have some tea together later?”

Dickens laughed, “Tea can wait until later, but before that, Arthur, could you introduce me to any good fishing spots nearby?

I’ve recently taken a fancy to fishing.”

“Huh?” Arthur jokingly said, “Asking me for a fishing spot?

Charles, I fear you have got the wrong person.

Although I am quite the fishing expert, what I catch isn’t from the rivers.”

Upon hearing this, Dickens laughed, “Come on, Arthur, stop joking.

As a police officer, you must know where one can fish.

You probably don’t know, but a few days ago, after I finished writing, I went by habit to fish by the river in front of my house to pass the time.

But after waiting for half a day without a bite, someone came up to talk to me, asking if I was fishing.

I thought he was mocking me for not catching anything all morning, so I explained to him that I caught over a dozen here just yesterday.”

I thought he would be discouraged, but to my surprise, the lad raised his voice and said, ‘Sir, do you know who I am?

I’m the officer in charge of inspecting fishing in this area.

I must warn you, fishing is strictly prohibited in this river!’

Then he fished out a ticket book from his pocket and was about to write me a fine.

Seeing his earnestness, I quickly changed my tune and said, ‘Sir, then do you know who I am?

I’m Dickens, one who writes novels for a living.

You should know, fabricating stories is in a novelist’s nature.’

He was taken aback by my words, and seizing the moment of his confusion, I quickly grabbed my bucket and ran away.

He chased me for a while but never caught up, hahaha!”

Jones, hearing this, couldn’t help but laugh, perhaps the recent accomplishment had put him in a mood for jest.

Jones raised his thumb towards Louis Bonaparte, who was tied up on a bench in the corner, and said to Dickens, “Mr.

Dickens, when it comes to making up stories, you’re certainly an expert.

But I bet you still can’t beat that lad over there.”

Dickens asked in surprise, “Oh?

What kind of story did he come up with?”

Arthur, feigning ignorance, said, “He claims to be a relative of Napoleon.”

As soon as he said this, the office burst into cheerful laughter.

Seeing this, Louis Bonaparte couldn’t help but gnash his teeth and roar, “Don’t think I don’t understand English just because I’m French.

I’ve had a good education!

Do you know?

You are insulting a genuine member of the royal family!”

Hearing this, Dickens laughed even harder, “Just like Alexander, it seems the French sense of humor is consistently impressive.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than there was a bang, and the office door was pushed open.

Standing outside was a stout Frenchman with a protruding belly, who, upon seeing Arthur inside the office, couldn’t help but proudly tap the gun holster hanging on his waist, pointing to the pistol inside and saying, “Arthur, have a look at what I’ve got here.

This gun is much more novel than those standard issue at Scotland Yard, it’s a revolver, can fire three bullets with one loading.

By the way, you left me a note at home, asking me to come to the Whitechapel police station after I get back.

What’s that about?

Any new excitement here?”

Seeing him, Arthur just smiled and spread his hands.

He nodded towards the corner and said, “Come, Alexander, meet your French Emperor.”