The Shadow of Great Britain

"Marvelous! A fake bank, completely under your control. If Mazzini and his people want to transfer uprising funds out of France, they certainly wouldn't cluster everything in those big banks, since big banks usually have government surveillance behind them. So, he would most likely resort to transferring in small batches, dispersing the funds into multiple accounts, flowing out through different small banks."

Schneider stood up and paced with his hands behind his back: "The only issue now is how to make Mazzini trust us, making him willing to transfer funds through this bank..."

"That's quite simple."

Arthur proposed his idea first: "I can, on behalf of the Foreign Office's Paris intelligence station, contact Mazzini and express that we are willing to offer him some sponsorship to maintain friendship. This sponsorship will be distributed quarterly, and all transfers will go through our designated bank. According to the information I have, Mazzini and his men will soon be expelled from France. By then, unless they abandon the money, they will certainly inform us of their next destination. Once we know where they're headed, it won't be possible to hide their large-scale procurement of supplies in the local area."

Upon hearing Arthur's suggestion, Schneider's eyes brightened: "What a brilliant idea! I'll immediately report this to the Foreign Office. Viscount Palmerston is currently entangled in the rugged terrains of Portugal and unable to extricate himself, he would certainly want to keep Metternich of Austria busy, preventing Austria from joining forces with Russia to feast on the Ottoman Empire while we are tied up elsewhere."

Seeing Schneider's positive attitude, Arthur couldn't help but feel relieved.

With the backing of the Foreign Office, the last bit of worry about the bank fraud scheme was gone.

Even if the plan gets exposed eventually and the British Government, out of concern for its reputation, has to impose some punishment on him, it would only be a cold handling like in the case of the reform riots—a demotion in name but a promotion in spirit.

The day when everyone forgets, will be the day Sir Arthur Hastings makes a lightning comeback.

Having solved the political task, Arthur felt considerably relieved and joked with Schneider: "By the way, Auguste, why are you at this social event? Do you have personal relations with the DelaSalle family?"

"Me?" Schneider, contemplating how to draft his proposal document, casually replied: "I previously worked in the Paris embassy for two years as a clerk, and then another year as a second-class secretary. It was during that time I met Mr. DelaSalle..."

At this, Schneider recollected himself and looked over to Arthur with an ambiguous smile: "Oh, have you heard about Miss Emily DelaSette? Arthur, don't tell me you came to this party purely for work."

"Well, not quite. Even a workaholic like Viscount Palmerston can make time to flirt with a few ladies from Almack's Club amidst his busy schedule." Arthur leaned back in the armchair, resting his head on one hand: "Auguste, I'm just a man, not Jesus Christ."

"True enough." Schneider stroked the stubble on his chin: "And your extracurricular life is as rich as mine."

At this, Arthur replied with a double entendre: "Oh, I almost forgot. I'm not Jesus, but you did play Judas once."

Schneider, catching the drift, said: "My good brother, I thought that matter was behind us. Besides, you already had your whip at me, and now we're eels wriggling in the same pit."

"Am I that slippery?"

"Of course, you're much slicker than the average eel." Schneider suggested, "However, although you've generously forgiven me, to make up for my past mistakes, I won't steal your thunder tonight. Go on, Arthur, charge ahead bravely, the wealthy widow of the DelaSalle family and her dowry of one hundred thousand francs await you."

Knock, knock, knock!

The door to the smoking room was gently tapped.

Schneider stood up and opened the door, and the visitor outside was someone they hadn't anticipated.

It was none other than the graceful Miss Emily DelaSette, who had waited in the main hall for Arthur but couldn't find him. Only after directing a servant to search around did she determine that he had already been 'pickled' in the smoking room for half an hour.

Noticing her visit, Schneider immediately greeted her warmly: "Oh, madam, do you still remember me?"

As the most outstanding lady of the DelaSalle family, Emily always had a great memory. She not only remembered every book she read but also never forgot a title from a business card even after ten years.

"Mr. Auguste Schneider?" Emily placed her hands together in front of her abdomen and curtsied slightly: "It's been a few years since I last saw you."

"Haha." Schneider wasn't sure if he was truly laughing or faking it, but he doffed his hat in return: "Thank you for your concern. I didn't intentionally leave without saying goodbye. It was just due to work needs, I had to report back to London, and then I accidentally got stuck there."

"Ah..." In Emily's eyes, the light from the crystal chandelier reflected her thoughts: "So, you were promoted?"

"I wouldn't call it a promotion." Schneider modestly said with a touch of pride: "It's merely a change of venue to continue serving the Britons."

Emily's eyes reflected doubt: "The Britons? But I recall you weren't a Deutscher?"

"Uh..." Emily's remark hit Schneider's sore spot, as he detested being reminded he was a Deutscher, especially in front of a lovely lady, it pained him even more.

Schneider defended: "Miss, I am not deliberately refuting your point. However, I must point out a factual error in your statement. My father is Deutscher, my grandfather is Deutscher, and my entire family is a Deutsche family. But, I, Auguste Schneider, moved to London when I was ten years old. I've lived in London far longer than in Hesse, and my secondary education was entirely completed in Westminster. My heritage is Deutscher, that is undeniable, but culturally, I am now a dyed-in-the-wool Briton.

If you insist on seeing me as a Deutscher, then under the same logic, Napoleon cannot be considered a Frenchman. Because he was born in Corsica, and in his youth, he was a Corsican separatist. Corsica's status in France is akin to Ireland's in Britain. But even so, who in today's Paris would say Napoleon is not French? Hence, you see, when people judge a person, it's not about the blood they carry, but where they finally make their name."

Seeing the situation, Arthur also stood up in defense of his colleague: "Auguste isn't wrong. From what I know of him, neither in personal disposition nor in his hobbies could London find many more British than he is. Just consider the whipping, a proper British hardy man cannot withstand ten strokes of the Nine-tailed Whip, yet Auguste endured twenty without flinching.

"Nine-tailed Whip?" Emily was privately shocked, covering her mouth: "Oh, my God! I used to think a diplomat's work was safe, but I didn't realize you actually had to face life-threatening dangers?"

Schneider, hearing this, puffed up his chest with a red face: "Of course! A man's world, danger lurks everywhere, including diplomacy."

"Indeed." Arthur added, "If you were present at that time, you would certainly have cheered for Auguste's bravery. Facing five or six brawny shirtless men, he remained unfazed, enduring so many lashes without a word of complaint. He even had the courage to taunt them, saying their strength was far from enough."