The Shadow of Great Britain

Capítulo 1493: Chapter 244: Black! Damn, It’s Really Black! (Part 3)

“Sabotage?” Arthur lifted a pink letter with a faint scent of perfume from the ledger using his pipe. “My job is to guard Britain’s literary dignity, and you’ve compared Milton’s Satan to a Russian bear in stockings. If those old scholars from Oxford and Cambridge see this, they could write a joint letter to the Privy Council, accusing the Foreign Office of treason.”

Blackwell suddenly knelt on one knee, a position that caused the hem of his coat to sweep over the copper spittoon under the bed. “Sir, for the sake of our sneaky drink from the Earl of Dalmo’s wine stash in St. Petersburg! That mink shawl indeed has intelligence and strategic value, as you know, Miss Duke Golitsyn’s boudoir adjoins the Winter Palace’s west wing corridor!”

The freshly added pinewood in the fireplace crackled loudly, and sweat appeared on the tip of Blackwell’s nose. “I can also explain those theater ticket stubs… Actually, actually, they were for gathering intelligence on Polish exiles for the embassy!”

“Bringing a ballet dancer back to the embassy for intelligence gathering?” Arthur took out a small gilded mirror from his coat, on the back of which was engraved: To my dear Henry—Natasha.

Arthur calmly opened the ‘Moscow News’, where an article was published about a British diplomat bravely fighting off Moscow robbers, accompanied by a caricature of him fishing by the Neva River.

Upon seeing the dense evidence laid out by Arthur in front of him, Blackwell, despite the freezing weather, was covered in a sweat as though he had just entered a sauna.

“Oh, well. Look at you, Henry, what am I going to do with you?” Arthur used the newspaper to hide his upturned mouth. “The Foreign Office did raise questions about the expense reports, but I didn’t throw you under the bus. I just wanted to kindly remind you to be careful next time.”

Blackwell, feeling as if he had received God’s blessing, straightened his back. “How did you respond?”

“In the report to London, I wrote: Blackwell, to obtain the Winter Palace’s floor plan, did not hesitate to sacrifice himself to enter the lion’s den. As for the mink shawl, I classified it as materials for cultural research in the Caucasus Region. On the Foreign Office’s end, Assistant Secretary Auguste Schneider, who is in charge of verifying this, has shown understanding. In short, the matter is settled.”

Upon hearing this, Blackwell hurriedly grabbed the feather pen on the table, holding it as though it were a dagger. “You broke three ribs; there’s no need for you to personally bother with the medical bill reimbursement. I’ll immediately draft an injury report for you, and I’ll handle getting the medical certificate from Dr. Hobbes.”

Arthur nodded slightly at this. “Make sure to state that I fought against many robbers with few people.”

No sooner had Arthur finished speaking than Blackwell quickly added, “Of course, and be sure to include—wounded while confronting three retired Cossack Cavalry!”

“Hmm…” Arthur nodded with satisfaction. “I speak, you write.”

“The first sentence should be written like this…” Arthur’s pipe traced an elegant arc in the air above the parchment. “On the night of the 24th, while carrying out diplomatic duties, I encountered seven bandits armed with standard sabers…”

“Seven?” Blackwell’s quill splattered ink spots. “Last night, you clearly dealt with only three drunks…”

“Seven who are secretly wanted by the Tsar! Three were captured, four are on the run!” Arthur’s staff repeatedly tapped the floor. “Two of them are Georgian officers involved in the Caucasus rebellion, and three are Polish exiled nobility—the last two…”

He caught a glimpse of Martha, who came in pushing the door open with a tea tray, her chapped hands showing frostbite scars. “Make them Crimean Tatar spies.”

Understanding the cue, Blackwell licked the tip of his pen. “Got it! Also mention they received service medals from the Tsar and turned to banditry out of dissatisfaction with delayed military pay.”

He suddenly lowered his voice. “But wouldn’t standard sabers be too specific? If the Russian Army Department decides to verify…”

“Then change it to possibly Turkish scimitars used by Napoleon’s old troops,” Arthur sipped his tea. “Remember to emphasize that I was wounded protecting the Sword of Honor given to me by His Majesty the King—the folks at the Foreign Office love these loyalist stories.”

Blackwell, upon hearing this, quickly gave a thumbs up in praise. “Brilliant! Brilliant!”

Under Arthur’s guidance, it wasn’t long before Blackwell had written a flawless investigation report.

Arthur took the report, glanced at it, and nodded in satisfaction. “Now that’s more like it.”

After speaking, he didn’t forget to warmly invite Blackwell, “Now that you’re here, no rush to leave; I’ll give you a good feast.”

Blackwell was just about to agree when he remembered he hadn’t finished his work yet.

The secretary took out a document from the briefcase and handed it over. “Sir, the feast can wait until tonight. Take a look at this first; thanks to you, the embassy has just received news from the Caucasus, and Sir David Eckett’s whereabouts have been confirmed. However…”