The Shadow of Great Britain

385: Chapter 228: The British’s Deadly Game (5K)_2 385: Chapter 228: The British’s Deadly Game (5K)_2 “A Jew?

Wasn’t King Solomon also a Jew?” Arthur curled his lip and said, “Not only that, but he’s also dead for three thousand years.

I haven’t seen you disparage him, though.”

Upon hearing this, the Red Devil slapped his hand on a lamp post and emphasized, “How can you compare the two?

Just as Château d’Yquem is the king of wines, King Solomon is the king among Jews!”

“And what of it?

Just as a Scotland Yard inspector is still but a blue lobster, Benjamin might be the Prime Minister among Jews, but at the end of the day, he’s still the ‘Jew’ you speak of.”

Arthur, puffing on his cigar, craned his neck to look around.

He was about to hail a carriage when, to his surprise, one with black and gold-trimmed capes slowly stopped in front of him.

The carriage window was gently lifted, revealing a familiar silver-haired old man.

“Nice weather today, young fellow from Scotland Yard.

Know why I prefer you over Fouché?

It’s precisely this difference: that scoundrel Fouché works at least eighteen hours a day.

Other than grasping for more power, his life is devoid of pleasure.

You are different, you balance work and leisure well, just like me when I was young, already loafing in cafés before noon.

If all the Cabinet Ministers in Europe worked like the two of us, there would be far fewer problems.”

Arthur also knew how to interact with this aging playboy.

He took off his hat and greeted, “Mr.

Talleyrand, to find you not at cards but lurking around Whitehall at this hour—it’s quite unusual.

Has your workload increased too dramatically of late?”

Talleyrand burst into laughter and said, “Can’t help it, the King sent orders from Paris, telling me to have a good talk with your Foreign Secretary about the Poland matter.

I, as France’s Ambassador, can’t always be slacking at meals, can I?

Although I’m old, I still need to stir myself occasionally, otherwise, the Embassy’s operating funds won’t be easy to justify to Paris.”

Arthur asked, “But seeing you return so early, the talks today didn’t go smoothly, did they?”

“Hmm…” Talleyrand gently lifted his white eyebrows and said, “Anyway, I’m not in a good mood.

Do you have money on you?”

Arthur fished out his wallet and began counting the notes, “Five pounds, that should be enough.

I’ve got a few pennies in my pocket too, do you want them?”

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

Arthur exhaled softly and gestured to the Red Devil squatting at the street corner, “Looks like we’ve sorted out our Château d’Yquem.”

Arthur climbed into Talleyrand’s carriage, which was more spacious than the ones he usually hailed, and in a corner of the carriage, there was a small wine rack and several glass cups, clearly indicating Talleyrand often enjoyed a tipple on the go.

While shuffling the deck of cards, Talleyrand spoke, “Help yourself to whatever you’d like to drink, but be careful to hold the glass steady.

If you spill it on yourself, don’t blame me for ruining your nice clothes.

By the way, what cigar are you smoking?

West Indies?”

“I’m not sure where it’s from; I bought it from that exclusive Newton shop on Jermyn Street.” Arthur nodded and said, “But Alexander assured me it’s the real deal, so I trust his expert opinion.”

Upon hearing this, Talleyrand chuckled, “That’s one of the reasons I find London better than Paris.

In London, you can find any goods from any part of the world.

Whether it’s tobacco from the West Indies, spices from India, tea from China, or dried grapes from Iberia or France, you can find them all here.”

While handling the cards, Arthur asked, “So, are you planning to go to Savile Row to order a top-tier morning suit, or are you heading to Jermyn Street to buy a few boxes of these cigars I’m holding?”

“Skip the shopping; that’s something the ladies are experts at.

My mood isn’t too great today, so I’m not planning to make it worse.

I’m looking to have some fun, like going to watch a boxing match or something.”

“Boxing match?” Arthur couldn’t help but frown at the mention of this sport.

Noticing his reaction, Talleyrand casually asked, “What?

I thought young men like you would definitely enjoy boxing matches.”

Arthur tossed a card and took a breath, “I’m not particularly fond or averse to boxing, but as a policeman, I’ve always had a strong aversion to large sporting events.

Take boxing, for example; every time there’s a championship bout, the audience numbers are counted in the thousands.

If you’ve been following London’s boxing matches, then you might have heard about last year’s challenge by Simon Burn and Sandy McKay against the boxing champion Jim Ward, which drew nearly ten thousand spectators.

To maintain order at the event, Scotland Yard directly pulled five hundred of its elite from various districts.

And as you may have guessed, me, this fellow who loafs about in cafés by noon, was also conscripted for the task.

I was in charge of maintaining order at that boxing match.”

Talleyrand, unable to hold back his laughter, said, “Really?

I heard that day’s event was quite brutal.”

Arthur frowned and said, “Brutal doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Fools Simon Burn and Sandy McKay, two against one and still getting countered by Jim Ward.

Simon Burn got knocked out by a heavy punch in the third round, while Sandy McKay hit the canvas five times in twelve rounds, too proud to stay down each time, resulting in him being beaten to a bloody pulp and dying on the spot.”