The Shadow of Great Britain

"Is this man a secret agent set up by the British Foreign Office in Paris?" Louis pondered this in his mind.

After all, everyone knows just how much the Brits like to plant spies in France. As early as the time of Elizabeth I in the 16th century, the then head of British intelligence, Sir Francis Walsingham, had established nearly 300 intelligence stations in France. Louis believed that this number had only increased in the 300 years since.

Just as Louis was fantasizing about the grand spy drama of British agents meeting in secret, he suddenly felt a shadow cast over his face.

When Louis looked up, he was stunned to discover that the middle-aged man who had been pacing in front of them had stopped and was now standing before them.

It was only at this moment that Louis could finally take a closer look at the man's attire.

Dressed in black from head to toe, indicating he was a man of steady character. The worn-out pants and threadbare wool socks suggested he lived a frugal life. The once valuable-looking boots had clearly seen many years of wear, to the point that their shape was now somewhat distorted, giving them a slightly asymmetric look...

Regarding this attire, Louis could only give a respectful evaluation in his heart: "This is a very professional spy. If the full score is ten, I would give him a nine."

Though the outfit looked quite shabby, it blended seamlessly with the environment, without appearing at all out of place.

The reason he could only score nine out of ten was that, unfortunately, the gentleman had some inherent flaws. His thinning hair made it clear to anyone that he was most likely from across the Channel.

Standing before this 'old British spy,' Louis forced himself to remain calm, hoping to appear like a seasoned professional in the field. As a noble Bonaparte, he shared some characteristics with his uncle, namely not wanting to be underestimated by others in any aspect.

Even if he went to a new upscale café for the first time, he had to act nonchalant and coolly tell the waiter, 'The usual,' using such theatrical tactics to prove his status as a regular patron.

If he behaved like this even when dining, naturally, he wouldn't want to lose face in front of seasoned intelligence personnel.

He mimicked Arthur's manner of tapping the cane, taking a deep drag of smoke, and then leisurely exhaling a thick puff of white smoke from his Nose.

Louis raised the brim of his hat with his hand and presumptuously asked, "Sir, is there something you need from us?"

The middle-aged man examined Louis's face and replied sternly, "It's not about me needing something from you, but rather you needing something from me. As far as I know, gentlemen like you and your companion come to Rue de Foy mostly because there's some grievance to present to me."

"Grievance?" Louis was taken aback.

"Of course," the middle-aged man said earnestly, "Aren't you two here to entrust me, the Assistant Prosecutor of the civil court, to plead your case?"

Louis pondered for a moment and then suddenly realized.

These words 'grievance' and 'Assistant Prosecutor' might appear harmless at first glance, but they were most likely some form of British Foreign Office jargon. 'Grievance' would mean 'intelligence,' and 'Assistant Prosecutor' referred to his position within the intelligence agency, or something like that. Just like Arthur, wasn't he once the Assistant Police Director of the Greater London Police Department? Perhaps this middle-aged man with the thinning hair was an assistant station chief at some British intelligence station in France?

Louis nodded serenely and said, "I was mistaken; you're right. We're legally wronged and currently have a grievance to present to you."

At this point, Louis turned his gaze to Arthur, giving him a slight nudge.

Unexpectedly, Arthur shivered, and the seasoned officer almost knocked his hat off as he jerked his head up.

Louis's eyes widened, and it was only then that he finally understood.

"Arthur, damn it, were you asleep?"