The Shadow of Great Britain

"Miss Clara, I don't want to interrupt your fun at this moment. But please don't forget that we aren't really here to have fun. Remember the script I gave you earlier? There are many successful gentlemen here, with pockets full of Francs, and we need to find a way to get them to transfer their money into our bank account, or at least jointly participate in our project."

Arthur's earnest demeanor didn't make Clara serious; instead, it made the lady burst into laughter.

She poked Arthur's chest with her fan: "Look at you, talking as if you were a real Sir."

Arthur took out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his hand stained with wine: "You're right, a real Sir probably works just like I do. Only they usually have subordinates, so they don't have to personally do this kind of dirty work."

Clara nodded in agreement: "Alright then, I wish you one day can also live such a life, dear."

Just as Clara left the foyer to return to the banquet hall, Arthur hadn't even had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief when he felt something cold and cylindrical press against his waist.

"Brother, we meet again, how have you been during this time?"

Arthur calmly lit a fire, took a puff, and blew out smoke. He didn't speak immediately or move recklessly.

At this distance, he had no hope of escape, even if his drawing speed was fast, he couldn't complete the action of drawing and firing before the other pulled the trigger.

"No need to be so mysterious, I can't run and wasn't planning to. Instead of making me guess here, why not just tell me straight what you want."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, a hearty laugh and a German profanity came from behind him: "You bastard, no wonder you've laid in a coffin before."

Arthur turned his head to see, standing behind him was an unexpected figure, an older colleague from the Foreign Office, and a frequent visitor to the Nightingale Mansion, Mr. Auguste Schneider.

As for the thing pressing against his waist, it wasn't a handgun, but Schneider's cane.

"Auguste? What brings you to Paris as well?"

Schneider patted the dust off his pants, raised his eyebrows, and complained: "Isn't this all thanks to our wise and mighty Foreign Secretary Viscount Palmerston? If it weren't for his misjudgment, I wouldn't be running all over the world like this."

"Misjudgment?"

If it were some minor blunder from another department, with Arthur's network, he might know some information.

But when the Foreign Office makes a mistake, it's something entirely different.

To put it nicely, it's said that Foreign Secretary Viscount Palmerston is very good at maintaining secrecy.

To put it bluntly, Palmerston has built the Foreign Office like an impenetrable iron drum.

Even Prime Minister Count Grey might not fully know what the Foreign Office is up to; even insiders can't entirely grasp what the minister is up to under the table.

In this regard, Viscount Palmerston shares the same style as his predecessor, Sir Canning, leading the diplomats at White Hall to privately call him a more cunning, stronger, and more temperamental version of George Canning, nicknaming him 'Lord Tumbleweed.'

Before Arthur could ask, Schneider already began his own rant: "Do you remember last year when Egyptian Governor Muhammad Ali declared war on the Ottoman Empire?"

Arthur recalled: "My memory remains at the stage when Ali's son Ibrahim led his troops to capture Syria. After that, I was ambushed under the Tower of London. Then it was coffins, decoration, internal reviews, and convalescence, leaving no time to concern myself with the squabbles between Egyptians and Ottomans."

"Hm… you don't need to be concerned anymore, for the results are already out."

Schneider sighed.

"At the time, we thought Egyptian Governor Ali, although influential, was just a governor under the Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman Sultan Mahmud II shouldn't be so incapable as to fail in managing his own provinces.

But what we didn't expect was that in the Battle of Konya last December, the Egyptian Army, led by Ibrahim Pasha, won against larger numbers with fewer troops, achieving a great victory over the 60,000-strong Ottoman army led by Grand Vizier Resid Pasha.

After the Battle of Konya, the Egyptian Army swept into the Anatolian Peninsula like a released tiger, rapidly advancing to capture Qu Xita Ya by the end of February this year, just three days from the Ottoman capital, Constantinople.

It was only then that Viscount Palmerston realized something was amiss. Previously, when the Ottomans sent out distress signals, the Foreign Office was focused on the issue of the Portuguese Civil War.

Moreover, if we intervened, the French would certainly use it as an excuse to get involved in the Ottoman-Egyptian conflict. London and Paris kept their eyes on each other, leading to everyone losing out, ultimately benefitting the Russians."

"What do you mean by this?"

Schneider pursed his lips: "Seeing London and Paris reluctant to assist, Ottoman Sultan Mahmud II turned to Saint Petersburg. The Russians acted quickly, with the Black Sea Fleet carrying 18,000 Russian troops arriving in Constantinople by February 20th after Mahmud II's request for aid to the Russians in January this year.