The Shadow of Great Britain

But where Ledley’s true skill lies is not in the clothes themselves.

His complexion was deliberately adjusted to look somewhat gray, like someone who has been running outdoors for years and hasn’t had a good night’s sleep. His chin was covered with a layer of uneven stubble, looking as though he had forgotten to shave, yet without making one suspect it was intentionally grown. There was also a very faint old scar below his left cheekbone, cleverly hidden by his beard and shadows.

The most brilliant aspect is his gaze. Ledley’s eyes are slightly unfocused, his line of sight always half an inch above or below the actual object of observation. Even when he occasionally meets someone’s gaze, he’ll look away instantly, resembling a little man accustomed to killing time at the street corner but having to be on guard against trouble.

This is the hardest part to disguise; Arthur knows it well.

Clothes can be changed, accents can be learned, gait can be practiced, but those eyes long tamed by power are often the easiest to betray a impostor.

And Ledley came close to perfection in this regard.

When Ledley approached, he first slowed down hesitantly like an ordinary passerby, his gaze swept back and forth between the editorial department entrance and the street twice, as if confirming whether he had mistaken someone. Not until the distance shortened to within two steps did he look up and speak softly: ”Apologies, Sir, it’s inconvenient to greet you here.”

Arthur did not intend to pursue this matter and nodded as a reply: ”Ledley, you came in person, this matter seems significant.”

”It’s not that significant,” Ledley responded: ”It’s just that there are some words that I feel necessary to report to you in time.”

Arthur did not respond immediately but instead glanced sideways at the entrance of the editorial department, Disraeli’s figure already disappeared at the end of the staircase.

”May I borrow a moment of your time?”

”Let’s head over there.”

They turned into the alley nestled between two printing workshops, not deep but very narrow, the ground perpetually damp, and the wall bottom piled with unread waste paper parcels and wooden boxes. Sunlight only cascaded down from the slender gap above, like cut by a knife, falling onto the ground in segments.

Ledley led the way, his gait relaxing upon entering the alley. But the current Chief Police Officer overseeing the West London district didn’t halt his steps; instead, he raised a hand to make an inconspicuous gesture across his chest.

Following closely behind, Officer Cao Li immediately understood, retreating to the alley entrance where two plainclothes officers stood silently at either side, each taking up position: one leaning against the wall to light a cigarette, the other bending over to adjust bootlaces, and the last simply standing at the street entrance pretending to flip through an untraceable leaflet.

To outsiders, this simply appeared as idle men gathering.

From within, the alley had already been completely sealed off.

Arthur stopped and lightly tapped the gold cane head against the damp cobblestone: ”Go ahead, I’m pressed for time, still have esteemed guests to entertain today.”

Ledley turned around, reporting earnestly: ”At your request, we’ve recently conducted a comprehensive review of Radical Party supporters. The scope included not only public key figures but also local organizers, those responsible for printing leaflets, intermediaries for fundraising and liaison, and the owners of taverns and tailor shops regularly providing venues for gatherings.”

He paused briefly here, as if confirming whether Arthur required further elaboration.

Seeing Arthur nod, Ledley continued: ”So far, in every formal rally of the radicals within the London area, we’ve had at least one undercover agent planted. For larger gatherings, the number increased to two or three. The sources for intelligence personnel include old informants as well as new ones recently developed.”

Arthur pressed further: ”Are the identities of these newly developed informants clean?”

”As clean as possible,” Ledley cautiously replied: ”A portion of them don’t even know who they’re working for. They only think they’re helping friends gather information or helping tavern owners watch venues and maintain order.”

When Arthur heard this, he nodded slightly: ”Small gatherings can rely on these informants, but if it’s a large gathering, we must send our own people. When dispatching, be sure to select those with ample experience and adaptability, as neither the Home Office nor Scotland Yard wishes to see a repeat of the Cold Bath incident.”

”Understood, Sir.” Ledley saluted: ”However, outside of the gatherings, we’ve also uncovered some even more intriguing movements.”

The alley remained silent, so much so that the distant sound of carriages from Fleet Street could be heard, progressively muted by layers of brick walls, leaving only muffled echoes.

Arthur did not urge, merely swapped the cane into his other hand, motioning for Ledley to proceed.

”During recent assemblies...” Ledley continued: ”Several faces have appeared repeatedly but don’t consistently partake in organizing nor handle specific affairs. They rarely speak, but each time they do, it’s to steer discussions in a more radical direction.”

”For instance?”

”For example, taking discussions originally about petitions, signatures, Parliament procedures and abruptly shifting them towards ’whether the government should be made to feel fear’. Their wording is very cautious, never directly referencing violence, but the insinuations are quite clear.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed imperceptibly: ”Worker background?”

”Doesn’t seem like it, their accents are too clean, and their language suggests they’ve received a good education,” Ledley shook his head: ”Moreover, recent changes in the gatherings, especially worry us. Our detectives have found that while London was previously dotted with various radical associations, these associations severely lacked cohesion. Some advocated anonymous voting, others demanded universal suffrage for adult men, the radicals lacked unified goals and shared little consensus. However, since the so-called People’s Charter was published in the North Star, these radical associations have become increasingly cohesive. Even renaming to Charter Movement local activity centers and assuming the Charter Party identity. Though I’m reluctant to make rash conclusions, I must admit, these radicals are moving towards unification.”