The Shadow of Great Britain

Also, because these shopping streets are often near theaters and cafes, the surrounding entertainment industry quickly boomed.

Paris’s popular theaters and ballrooms also opened one after another on Temple Street in the Third District, with performances tailored for various enthusiasts and affluent families, from Saint Martin Street westward to Montmartre Road in the Second District. Walking from Montmartre Road to Italian Road, besides various private underground casinos and luxurious brothels, one could find many fashionable foreign restaurants and cafes, with the most sought-after by the petit bourgeois being none other than Paris Café, followed by Tortoni, Mason Golden Youth, and England Café, known for its ice water.

The carriage gradually stopped on Italian Road, right facing Paris Café.

Although the façade here doesn’t match the grandeur of the Louvre Museum, it carries a certain fashionable flamboyance exclusive to the petit bourgeois.

The wide glass windows directly cast the store’s brightness onto the street, the copper-framed door handle polished to a sheen, with the doorman in a dark coat and white apron nimbly stepping forward to open the car door for visiting guests.

As the carriage stopped, Arthur noticed several petit bourgeois enjoying themselves at the entrance.

They are just fur traders, real estate agents, or junior bank clerks, yet each adopts the demeanor of a financial oligarch.

Top hats must be tilted to a precise angle as dictated by many ostentatious articles in ’Gentleman’s Magazine’, with boots polished to reflect one’s silhouette.

Someone rested a cane on their arm as if the carved wood was their family crest.

Others shook their cloaks vigorously, ensuring everyone saw their gold-threaded waistcoats flash in the sun.

While speaking, their voices lowered but annoyingly stretched the endings as if each nasal end deserved everyone’s steadfast listening.

Someone loudly flipped through ’Le National’ while sipping coffee, while another fussily critiqued the temperature of the ice water before the waiter, claiming Tortoni’s ice cubes were ”purer” than here.

Someone was narrating the recent opening ceremony of Saint Lazare Railway Station, claiming they ”almost” bought the first ticket to Lepeck.

Another eagerly chimed in, boasting of knowing a major shareholder in the railway company and even implying someone from the Cabinet was investing.

The others nodded, as if these wild rumors would turn into cash by tomorrow.

When Arthur got off the carriage, he didn’t bother meticulously adjusting his hat but casually pushed it back.

Eld, a guy from the Royal Navy, appeared even more relaxed, tossing his coat over one shoulder and leaving his other hand casually in his pocket, showing no particular rudeness, merely seeming at odds with the well-dressed guests here.

This ”disinterest in performing” attitude immediately drew discreet glances from several customers at the entrance.

Someone smirked, muttering lowly: ”From the provinces.”

While the whisper ”from the provinces” still lingered in the air at the entrance, a hearty laughter suddenly erupted from the end of Italian Road.

Leading the group was an elderly gentleman of modest stature, yet his attire was remarkably eye-catching.

A black top hat adorned with a silver ornament on the hat band. A dark blue long coat gleaming slightly in the sunlight, with velvet trims at the collar and cuffs, a crimson silk waistcoat peeking from beneath, his right hand adorned with an emerald ring about thumb-joint size, a gold watch chain dangling from his waist, gently swaying with every step.

And the silver eagle-headed cane he held looked identical to Arthur’s, as if they were brothers, almost indistinguishable.

Behind him walked eight burly men, each broad-shouldered, with scars or cuts on their faces, eyes sharp, short knives and handguns faintly visible at their waists, resembling a pack of wolves emerging from the shadows.

Francois Vidocq.

In Paris, no one publicly welcomes this former thief king turned detective agency head.

Yet once he appears, the atmosphere immediately changes.

The guests who were just critiquing Arthur and Eld suddenly shrunk their necks, fearing causing trouble might lead them to be pulled into alleyways by this group.

”Sir Arthur.”

Vidocq had just extended his hand, before he could continue, Arthur grasped it.

Arthur joked with a smile: ”Mr. Victor, just call me Arthur.”

Vidocq’s laughter carried a hint of the underworld charm: ”Oh, brother! You came to Paris without giving a heads up? I had to learn about your arrival from Mr. Zhongma’s mouth before knowing you were already on the way.”

He even deliberately shook his head while speaking: ”I, Vidocq, am at least someone trying to earn a living in Paris. If you didn’t find me, outsiders might think I’m not loyal enough!”

Eld, unable to contain himself, coughed lightly beside him, just about to interject, his brows suddenly furrowed, his gaze drifting to an old acquaintance behind Vidocq: ”You... aren’t you...”

The coconut tree that maintained a cool facade was suddenly locked onto by him, shivering with goosebumps: ”You might be mistaken.”

”Really?” Eld pondered: ”That can’t be...”

Vidocq, noticing them about to dredge up unpleasant past events, hurriedly intervened: ”Oh, Mr. Carter! Your eyes are too sharp! My brothers, with scars on their faces, if you go by that, they’d all be your old acquaintances.”

Upon hearing this, Eld didn’t delve into it further, just stuffing his hands back into his pockets since thinking back, that affair wasn’t particularly his proudest moment: ”Mr. Victor, I’ve heard your business in Paris is thriving, the Great Paris Police Hall is nearly your branch office now?”

Vidocq waved his hands repeatedly: ”Mr. Carter, saying so may kill me. Paris is now Director Delisset’s territory; how dare I snatch his tasks? However...”

He paused, his eyes twinkling with a sly gleam: ”On Paris streets, to find some clues or gather secret information, sometimes even the capable Director has to detour to knock on my door. You see, Jusco fell hard on Belgique Street for ignoring advice, getting tricked down there.”

”Huh?” Arthur asked abruptly: ”Are you saying the director of the Great Paris Police Hall has been replaced?”

”Correct, DelaSalle has ascended.” Vidocq snorted dismissively: ”Just as I told you previously, he’s the one who climbed ranks by pulling the director’s wife’s skirts.”

”How did that happen?”

”Actually, nothing in particular,” Vidocq explained: ”Two years ago, there was a case on Belgique Street. The Great Paris Police Hall received anonymous intelligence saying a major robbery would soon occur at a bank on Belgique Street. The intel was vivid, claiming a large gang of robbers had secretly assembled, armed and ready for violence. Jusco took the intel seriously, ordered a rapid mobilization of police forces, including the army and constitutional soldiers, deploying these men around the bank for an immediate bust. But when they surrounded the building with guns loaded, they found nothing inside.”

Vidocq mocked: ”No thieves, no conspiracy, not even suspicious signs. This blunder quickly spread across Paris. Newspapers seized the chance to mock, saying the renowned Police Hall director had been fooled, treating the city like monkey business. With Jusco being everyone’s enemy before, this time he instantly became the public target. The criticism soared, even the authorities found it hard to maintain his prestige. So just like when they forced me out, they let him resign gracefully.”