The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 278 - 278 186 The French Women's Dress Corps 4K

278: Chapter 186: The French Women’s Dress Corps (4K) 278: Chapter 186: The French Women’s Dress Corps (4K) In the pitch-dark alley outside the Coburg Theatre, a pair of eyes glinting with criminal intent lay hidden.

Clutching a knife, with mud spots on his blue trouser legs, the ruffian surveyed the throng of prostitutes at the theater’s front door, calculating how to abduct and rob one who was alone.

At a loss, the ruffian suddenly noticed a lady of distinguished appearance, with delicate makeup, approaching the alley in a beige long dress.

His heart leaped with joy as he eyed the lady with ill intent, his gaze traveling up and down her form, and a new plan formed in his mind—perhaps after robbing her, he might consider some relaxation.

He quickly pressed his body against the wall to avoid detection, waiting for the lady to draw near so he could tenderly caress her delicate neck with his blade.

As she came closer, the corners of the ruffian’s mouth turned upward in anticipation.

Just as he raised the sharp knife, ready to proceed with standard practice, the would-be prey suddenly looked towards him, concealed in the darkness.

“Brother, got a light?”

Startled, the ruffian thought his ears had deceived him; the voice was raspier than sandpaper scraping a butt.

The lady took out a pipe and put it in her mouth, seeing no reaction from him, she furrowed her brow: “I said, brother, got a light?

Are you fucking deaf?”

The ruffian intended to retort furiously: “God damn it, you filthy whore.”

However, no sooner had he finished speaking than he heard a sharp smack; the other person’s hand slapped against the wall beside his ear.

Feeling a massive vibration, the ruffian heard a series of cracks, and before he knew it, the lady had a brick in her hand, which she had forcibly removed from the wall.

Weighing the brick in her hand, the lady asked: “What did you say?”

Petrified, the ruffian’s body jolted.

He hastily threw the knife to the ground, and with trembling hands, struck several matches against the box before lighting one, then bowed and scraped to light her pipe.

“Sister, you smoke here.

I’ve got to work early tomorrow, so I’ll be off now.”

No sooner had he turned around than he felt someone grab his collar.

“Hold on.”

Removing her pipe, the lady elegantly blew out a ring of smoke: “Got any money on you?”

The ruffian slowly turned back, his face screwed up tightly, misery written all over it: “Sister, forget the matches, but are you planning a counterattack now?”

“Quit your yapping.” The lady smacked him squarely on the face with a crisp, ringing slap, clearly a practiced hand at doling out slaps.

Holding his stinging cheek, the ruffian’s eyes brimmed with tears: “Why are you hitting people?”

“Did you bring any money?”

Sniffling, the ruffian replied: “I haven’t started work today, where would I get money for you?”

“Useless!”

The lady backhanded him again: “If you were in Paris, you wouldn’t survive three days.

What kind of business prowess is this?

At your age, I was already living the good life every day, going to jail felt like going home.

This line of work isn’t as easy as you think.

If you don’t have the talent, you might as well find a factory job sooner rather than later.”

Enraged, the ruffian’s face turned a fiery red as he exclaimed: “It’s one thing to hit me, but to insult me personally?

Stay right there, I’ll come back with my men to take you down.

Just so you know, I have connections with all the friends in this area.

Don’t think that just because you have some looks, you can do whatever you want; there are also those around here who don’t like women.”

“Sure!

Bring it on, I’d love to see what London’s underworld is made of.

A twenty-year-old kid can get you to submit—do you really think you stand a chance against me, Francois Vidocq?”

Mr.

Vidocq, in his long dress and makeup, finished speaking and, with no regard for the risk of exposure, delivered a low blow to the ruffian.

The ruffian winced in pain but refused to concede with words, so he hobbled away, hand covering his privates, hopping and shouting as he fled: “Miss Vidocq, is it?

You filthy shrew, you just wait!

I’m going to get my brothers to deal with you.

Let me tell you, I have ties with people from around here; don’t think you can get away with everything just because you’re pretty.

We have guys here who don’t like women, too.”

Vidocq merely spat on the ground: “It’s the same stupidity the world over; London’s hoodlums aren’t any smarter than Paris’s.

Don’t like women?

If that’s the case, then I’m even more your specialist.”

Vidocq then leaned against the wall and silently smoked his pipe.

But after a while, he saw another lady walking this way.

Compared with Mr.

Vidocq, the new arrival had a different charm.

While Vidocq was heavily made up, this lady was petite and adorable.

As soon as she entered the alley, she abandoned her ladylike demeanor and spoke obsequiously: “Boss, I didn’t find any suitable marks either.

Looks like we’re both locked out.

Personally, I think instead of saving these couple of pennies, we should just pay to go in.

After all, we spent quite a bit on these dresses and corsets; wouldn’t it be a waste not to go in?”

Vidocq glanced at his subordinate, chastising him: “We’re not here to enjoy the music.

We’ve already confirmed that Inspector Hastings from the Greater London Police Department has taken the bait; Mr.

Dumas is surely with him in the theater tonight.

We can’t risk causing an international incident by raiding the private home of a Scotland Yard inspector.

After all, I’m in it for the money, not to mess up the London conference.

According to the information we have, Britain’s Home Office has already revoked the protection order for Mr.

Dumas.