The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 806: Chapter 377: Britain, Do Not Cry for Me (Part 2)

If we are destined to accomplish something, then everything in the past is merely a prologue.

——Shakespeare “The Tempest”

In the London Stock Exchange, Lionel bowed his head and quietly listened to Arthur’s plan. The heart of this Jewish young master was like an ancient well undisturbed. Neither a trace of a smile nor the slightest hint of sorrow appeared on his face.

He merely gripped his silver-plated round-headed cane, gently stamping it on the hall floor, and lightly shook his head at Arthur. He softly muttered: “Arthur, we are certainly friends, so if you want Rothschild to provide an interest-free loan, ten thousand pounds, twenty thousand pounds, that’s no problem. But this isn’t about tens of thousands of pounds. If I truly do as you say, and if the situation in Greenwich doesn’t develop as we expect, then the efforts of Rothschild in Britain for the past ten to twenty years will be ruined today.”

Saying this, Lionel took a check from his jacket pocket and placed it in front of Arthur: “This money represents my personal trust in you. But, beyond this amount, it’s not within my personal decision. Arthur, you have to be responsible to the London citizens, just as I must be responsible to all investors who trust Rothschild.”

Arthur removed his hat, glanced at the check in front of him, and combed his hair, seeming somewhat troubled.

However, he still smiled as he shook Lionel’s hand: “I must say, I’m a bit disappointed. But, Lionel, I understand your decision.”

The trader at the window overheard the conversation between the two eminent figures, feeling as though the sky was about to collapse. He prayed fervently to God, yet he still couldn’t prevent today from becoming a day of suffering for the stock exchange.

He looked at Lionel’s departing figure and cautiously asked Arthur: “Sir Officer, now, do you still want to buy public bonds?”

“Certainly.” Arthur gathered the checks at the window: “And I want to buy even more, thirty-seven thousand two hundred pounds, plus the five thousand pounds personally sponsored by Mr. Rothschild.”

Upon hearing this, the trader smiled wryly: “Sir, why would you do this? If you’ve read ‘Don Quixote,’ you should understand that as a knight, charging at windmills doesn’t end well. In unfavorable circumstances, holding out stubbornly isn’t smart, because wise people usually choose to preserve their lives and wait for future opportunities. And the firmest foundation in the world is money.”

Arthur, hearing this, merely smiled as he handed over a stack of warrants: “It seems you really like ‘Don Quixote’ so much that you can easily recall its famous maxims. If that’s the case, then you must also remember it says: ‘You know, sir, a sensible Don Quixote is of little use; a mad Don Quixote is infinitely more interesting.’

The trader sighed, pursing his lips, and involuntarily continued Arthur’s words: “Forgive me for saying this, but I really wish Don Quixote would remain mad forever.”

Arthur removed his hat and slightly bowed, smiling at him: “Then please proceed, sir.”

The trader took a deep breath, stood up from his trading seat, and shouted vehemently, waving the check still warm from Arthur’s body temperature: “Sir Arthur Hastings, at eighty-five point five, purchasing British public bonds worth forty-three thousand five hundred pounds!”

Thirty-seven thousand two hundred pounds is a large sum, large enough to buy dozens of upscale villas in London.

But in the London Stock Exchange, it appears as a mere pittance, so small that even with all effort, it can only raise the panic-stricken British public debt by 0.1 points.

The stockbrokers and investors took a glance at Lionel, who had turned away from Arthur and now sat in Rothschild’s seat, motionless, neither selling nor buying public bonds prominently.

Those seasoned veterans who had fought in the London Stock Exchange for years understood what this meant. Rothschild had received no information, and the crisis in Greenwich was still unresolved.

In an instant, the recently calmed London Stock Exchange plunged into a new round of madness. Many people mustered all their strength to rush to Arthur’s trading window, merely to be the first to seize the bond purchase price, which was 0.1 points higher than other windows.

“I have two thousand pounds in public bonds, sell them all!”

“I have three thousand seven hundred pounds, sell, I will sell them all!”

“I… I have… Damn it! Miller, you old bastard! Don’t push me! I never realized you were such an uncouth fellow!”

In the new round of selling frenzy, these Financial City gentlemen, renowned for their grace and aristocratic demeanor, were just like lions starving for weeks, willing to fight to get a sliver of meat from the rib Arthur threw out.

If not for the fear of the thirty-plus Scotland Yard officers who had just arrived, they might have already drawn the handguns tucked at their waists and started shooting.

Arthur’s thirty-seven thousand two hundred pounds were like a bottle of water poured into the sea. Although it caused a splash, it wasn’t long before the sea returned to its normal state.