The Shadow of Great Britain

It's not that the residents here don't want to use this small courtyard; it's just that the dirt's surface, the walls, the tree trunks, and branches have accumulated a thick layer of compacted dirt over time. It looks like coal smoke turned into a gelatinous substance. If you smear this stuff on a person's face, they wouldn't be able to breathe either. So, naturally, you can't expect the plants to thrive in such an environment.

But the courtyard is not entirely useless, at least the two buildings on the east and south sides rely on it for light.

As for the other two sides of the courtyard, they're wrapped with walls. But looking at the dilapidated state of these walls, don't expect them to serve any anti-theft purpose. It's already a minor miracle that these walls haven't collapsed yet.

And the more Arthur stands in such a place, the clearer his mind becomes. Because, as an experienced East End of London cop, if you dare to be careless in such a place, your next week's salary will only be received from a hospital bed.

Arthur stood in the courtyard and looked up at the building. Although no one told him the tenants' professions, the traces of life upstairs had invisibly betrayed all of the tenants' privacy.

Here, dyed wool is drying on a long pole, there, washed shirts hang on a rope; some wooden boards are piled in front of certain doors, with spines of book bindings displayed on them.

Women just off work gathered in a group for chit-chat, occasionally singing a few lines. Judging from the lyrics and melody, these women seemed to be mimicking some of the currently popular opera actresses from Paris.

The men, on the other hand, formed a separate group, chatting and bantering. Some complained about the low wages recently, some cursed Louis Philippe, while others said if the Bonaparte Party had risen after the July Revolution, life might be better. Some even reminisced about the old society, praising the contributions of the Bourbon Royal Family. Occasionally, some exclaimed support for young republicans, on the verge of an argument, until a sudden risqué joke shattered the tense atmosphere.

The children didn't want to mix in with the adults' discussions; they had their own clique. These kids shouted loudly, running around and playing games, only occasionally quieted by scolding from their parents.

But not everyone took part in the evening's social activities; a silent carpenter, chewing tobacco, was sawing wood with one leg propped against the edge of the workbench. A coppersmith was noisily working copper on a machine spurting sparks. All artisans together made such a racket that it was comparable to the Paris Opera House.

Arthur casually wiped the iron railing in the passageway, and his snow-white gloves immediately became coated in greasy grime.

Then, he smiled and said to Louis beside him: "I knew it; the shapes of these iron railings are very peculiar, showing how exquisite their carvings must have been back in the day. Although the velvet that once wrapped them is now too filthy to recognize, look at these diamond-shaped nails. They must have been gilded in the past. This indicates that several decades ago, the residents here were either High Chancellors, wealthy priests, or tax collectors involved in land deals."

Louis looked around the courtyard, more curious about why Arthur brought him to this place today rather than tracing the historical past here.

Louis touched the indistinct decorative engravings on the iron railing and softly asked: "Arthur, you said you were taking me to meet a friend. Does your friend live here?"

"Live here?" Arthur replied, with a pipe in his mouth, glancing toward the tenants under the eaves who were casting curious glances at him and Louis: "I don't know where they actually live; perhaps they've stayed in worse places."

Louis also noticed the growing interest from the tenants in him and Arthur. He raised his hand to cough softly, covering his mouth: "Are you sure there won't be any trouble here? It's almost dark, and staying here isn't safe. Even if we had to come, we should've changed into less conspicuous clothes first."

"Conspicuous, but recognizable." Arthur removed his gloves, dusting off the shabby chair's dust before sitting down with support from his cane. He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time: "Be patient, someone will contact us soon."

Louis saw Arthur's calm demeanor and could only half-heartedly follow suit. He joked: "Are you talking about a thug or a robber?"

Arthur tucked the golden pocket watch's chain into his coat pocket: "Perhaps both."

Just as Arthur finished speaking, Louis saw a middle-aged man with gray hair, dressed entirely in black, walking toward them.

The man's steps resembled those of marching, very stiff. He tried not to notice Louis and Arthur, but his poor acting was obvious even to a newly hired police secretary, who could figure out what was on his mind.

Arthur's hands were clasped atop the cane's round handle, with his right fingers casually tapping the left hand's back. He kept his head down, staring at the dark floor as if oblivious to the gentleman in black who had passed in front of him three times.

Louis, feeling both anxious and excited, restrained himself. During his time at Scotland Yard, he often heard stories from Tony and others bragging about their experiences with informants; however, Arthur never approved of him taking on such dangerous tasks, so the noble Bonaparte could only fantasize about executing dangerous contact missions in his dreams.