The Shadow of Great Britain

255: Chapter 170 Tsarist Russia Spy (4k4)_3 255: Chapter 170 Tsarist Russia Spy (4k4)_3 It seemed that these statues might not have been crafted by professional stone masons, but rather were the practice pieces of stone carving enthusiasts.

He looked up at the marble statues and then at the color of the gravel path beneath his feet, and suddenly, it seemed like he understood something.

Indeed, geniuses were always in the minority, no matter the era.

Mediocrity and enthusiasm tended to be the main themes.

Arthur pondered these things and quickly traversed the several dozen meters of the gravel path, walking up the steps supported by four stone columns over three meters high to the front hall.

Two officers, standing by the door chatting in Tsarist Russian uniforms with longswords at their waists and sporting sideburns, saw a guest approaching.

One immediately turned back to send a message, while the other stepped forward to interrogate Arthur with his exotic-accented English.

Fortunately, the interrogation did not last long, and the officer who had gone to send the message quickly returned.

He began, “Mr.

Hastings, please wait a moment.

The head maid said that Madam Levin is applying makeup.

You can sit in the lounge for a bit.”

Arthur, hearing this, recalled what the military police at the door had previously told him.

Wasn’t Madam Levin supposed to be receiving guests?

Why was she putting on makeup?

However, Arthur did not voice his doubts directly.

Instead, he smiled and fished a tin of tobacco from his pocket, asking, “Would either of you care for some of this?

It’s tobacco from Santo Domingo in the West Indies; quite pure indeed.

Normally, it’s used for making cigars.

If I didn’t have a friend working on a plantation there, I, a mere policeman, could never get my hands on such fine stuff.”

The two officers initially intended to decline, but upon hearing the tobacco was from the West Indies, they hesitated briefly before graciously accepting, “Well then, we won’t be shy.”

Arthur handed over the tin box, and soon after, smoke wafted around outside the embassy’s front hall.

The bearded officer puffed on the tobacco and, giving a thumbs-up, praised, “This is indeed much better than Russian tobacco; our land isn’t suited for growing tobacco.”

The other officer, speaking awkward English, also laughed and said, “Sir, did you say you’re a policeman?

That really is a coincidence.

I could be considered a policeman too, if that’s the case.

We’re practically in the same profession.”

Arthur, upon hearing this, took a couple of puffs and asked, “Is that so?

Are you an officer from the Russian Home Office?”

The bearded man waved his hand, “You know quite a lot about Russia.

I indeed used to be part of the Home Office, but I was transferred out a few years ago when we had a departmental reform.”

“Is that so?

Then I must congratulate you,” Arthur joked.

“The police job isn’t easy; even transferring to another department for cleaning duties would be a promotion.”

“Hahaha!” Arthur’s words seemed to really strike a chord with the bearded man, who joked in return, “I’d rather be a cleaner, you may not know, but since the reform, my work has gotten even tougher than before.”

“Oh?

Why is that?”

“Why?” The bearded man exhaled a large cloud of smoke: “Because I wound up in the damned Office of His Majesty’s Third Bureau.

Although I’m mainly dealing with paperwork now, those documents are just too damn many.”

The Office of His Majesty’s Third Bureau?

Upon hearing this name, Arthur’s smile grew even brighter.

It appeared that the rugged-looking bearded officer was indeed not lying—they truly were colleagues.

The Office of His Majesty’s Third Bureau might sound a bit too ornate and hard to understand.

In Russia, the locals generally call it—the Tsar’s secret police.