The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 725 - 348 The Great Game

So you’re a spy?

Uh...not exactly, sir... I’m actually a thief, not a patriot, nor some great British hero. At most, the government just utilized my professional skills for their work. ƒreewebɳovel.com

——Michael Ondaatje "The English Patient"

I authorize you to reorganize the Abwehr, Germany needs to establish an institution like the British Secret Intelligence Service as soon as possible—a united group of people, working passionately.

——Adolphe Hitler, Chancellor of the Third Reich of Germany (appointed William Canaris as the first director of the German Intelligence Agency under the supreme command of the military in 1933)

We monitor everyone equally, in the spirit of impartiality, and in line with the glorious tradition laid down by Sir Arthur Hastings when he established the national security system in 1832, without exception.

——Herbert Morrison, Home Secretary of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland (answered reporters’ questions in February 1941)

Arthur looked at Fiona, who was cradling the brothel permit in her hands with joy, as if she had received precious jewels, and calmly picked up the teapot to fill his cup.

Just like Fiona’s expression, for her, the permit was undoubtedly the most precious gift she had received in her twenty-four years of life.

But expensive gifts usually come with some negligible costs.

So, Fiona, what’s the cost?

Although Fiona was a prostitute, she had always regarded herself very highly, which was evident from the price she set for herself when she was still not successful.

But she was also a cool-headed, merciless woman. She knew all too well that her flesh and blood could not pay such a high price.

Even when the annoying Bishop’s group in the House of Lords had not issued an order to investigate the widespread outbreak of syphilis in London, such a permit could easily fetch a few hundred to a thousand pounds on the market.

And this was assuming you had relatively solid personal connections to seal the deal.

Fiona didn’t have any strong personal connections; the toughest person she knew was the York lad in front of her, so she couldn’t offer Arthur any help with connections.

As for money?

Don’t make me laugh.

From the day Fiona began working for Arthur, she had realized one thing.

Mr. Hastings and the London Police Intelligence Department under his control were not interested in money; they never worried about finances and didn’t have the headache of financial audits.

Perhaps some employees in the institution occasionally worried about money, but Mr. Hastings, as one of the few in charge of the institution’s finances, never demanded gift vouchers or receipts, nor did he have the ’bad habit’ of providing a detailed account of funds.

In other words, they were very opaque, just like the secrets they sought.

She knew what Arthur wanted, just as Arthur knew what she wanted.

However, Fiona had no intention of speaking first because she believed that, as a lady, she should be even more reserved in such matters where men must be cautious.

Arthur stirred his teacup, watching the sugar slowly dissolve in the dark red tea.

He suddenly asked, "Do you like it?"

"Mm..." Fiona nodded cautiously, "It’s quite a surprise."

"Don’t get too excited yet, madam," Arthur said, crossing his legs and taking a sip of tea, "because there’s an even bigger surprise to come."

"Like what?"

"For example, I plan to send some capable new employees to your shiny new establishment. The recent cholera outbreak has frightened London and hurt the economy, so I hope you can assist me in re-employing some of the unfortunate officers who have been laid off by Scotland Yard."

Arthur stood up with his teacup, paced over to Fiona, leaned down close to her ear, and whispered,

"I can assure you, they are much more formidable than the second-rate thugs you pick up from the streets. With them in charge, no one will dare cause trouble in your establishment. And all you need to think about is how to expand and strengthen your business, make your mark in London, and attract as much of London’s high-end clientele as possible.

As far as I know, successful people generally have very active needs in other areas, and the recently deceased Mr. Harrison was an outstanding example. Annie’s boyfriend, that poor fellow, can’t afford the high prices your girls charge. Just think, if all the clients prowling your establishment were big spenders like Mr. Harrison, my dear Fiona, you’ll soon be rich."

Fiona listened to this, and while she couldn’t smell the scent of wealth, she did catch the stench of rotting corpses.

She felt herself breaking out in sweat all over—perhaps Arthur’s breath on her face was too hot, or perhaps the call of God sent shivers down her spine.

She somewhat regretted coming to Martin’s tavern that day. But she knew, even if she hadn’t come today, Arthur, the grim reaper, would most likely have knocked on her iron windows under cover of night.

Fiona held her slightly hot forehead; her cheeks were flushed as if she’d just had two glasses of sherry: "De...dear, I... I’m not feeling very well..."

As for Fiona’s little ruse, Arthur just smiled and casually said, "Don’t worry, if you’re feeling unwell, you can sleep here, the night is still long. If you can’t sleep, I can tell you a little ’Bible’ story to help. Haven’t the bishops said so? The ’Bible’ can prevent cholera, listening to a bit of it will be good for your health."