The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 967: 44: Assassinating the King and Killing the Emperor_3

Chapter 967: Chapter 44: Assassinating the King and Killing the Emperor_3

But in France, a place where politics takes precedence, especially during sensitive times like now, a person’s background can negate all their abilities and achievements.

Although Louis Philippe is much more enlightened than the overthrown Charles X, he can at best ensure that he isn’t using the opportunity for political retribution and won’t directly threaten the lives of Bonaparte Party and Orthodox Party members. However, for him to heavily use people from other factions is naturally impossible.

Sure enough, when Louis Philippe heard Jusco’s words, he did not continue to inquire but rather politely apologized: “Victor, with your achievements, it is entirely appropriate for the theater to fervently write about your life. But considering that our appearances are somewhat similar, if that ‘Parisian Sleuth’ were to be staged as scheduled, it might cause some unnecessary troubles. I hope you understand the Parliament’s prohibition of that play.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Victor slightly bowed, compliantly replying: “I am a policeman, I naturally understand these matters. For the sake of public interest, that play indeed isn’t suitable for staging.”

Louis Philippe was quite satisfied with Victor’s response. He turned his head to ask Jusco: “Has Mr. Victor’s retirement package been determined? How much is his pension?”

Jusco replied: “Six hundred francs a month.”

“For such a meritorious person, six hundred francs seems somewhat meager.” Louis Philippe remarked, “For thirty years of service, I think it’s worthy of eight hundred francs a month. The extra two hundred francs will be an additional reward.”

Hearing this, Victor quickly replied: “Your Majesty… six hundred francs is already your blessing. I dare not wish for an additional two hundred francs, as long as the Great Paris Police Hall can ensure that my pension is issued on time each month, it would already be God’s blessing.”

Victor’s sarcastic tone did not escape Louis Philippe’s ears, and this King of France immediately understood the situation.

He merely glanced at Jusco beside him, and the Police Chief of Paris had no choice but to explain reluctantly: “Victor, recently the office has been reorganizing, and the budget wasn’t submitted to the City Hall, so the finances halted your pension. At most, in another month, your missing pension will be compensated.”

Getting Jusco’s assurance, Victor immediately smiled and nodded graciously: “Chief, I wasn’t demanding money from you, I just wanted to know the reason. Now that you’ve personally explained, I am finally relieved.”

With the King present, Jusco couldn’t erupt, so he had to shift the topic to Arthur: “Your Majesty, this is the ‘Ironheart’ Sir Arthur Hastings of Scotland Yard you mentioned before.”

Arthur was about to remove his gloves to pay his respects when he nearly stumbled onto the lawn at the sound of Jusco calling him by his nickname right to his face.

“Uh… pleased to meet you, Your Majesty.”

Louis Philippe wasn’t miffed by Arthur’s faux pas; instead, he found his reaction rather amusing: “Sir, is this an old injury?”

Arthur removed his hat and jested: “Perhaps the wound in my chest has relocated.”

Louise Philippe laughed heartily, perhaps because Arthur had previously helped to connect with Louis Bonaparte, this currently most noble person in France found this British lad increasingly pleasing to the eye.

“Talleyrand mentioned you as an interesting young man, well-suited to the Parisian party atmosphere. Indeed, it appears he was right. Not every Briton possesses humor like yours. After the Great Revolution, I lived in Britain for over ten years, yet only met a handful as interesting as you.”

Hearing Louis Philippe praise him so, Arthur was about to exchange pleasantries when a chill suddenly crept up his spine.

The cold night wind blew in, the chaotic sound of hooves resounded, and Arthur seemed to catch a strong whiff of black gunpowder.

He swiftly turned to look outside the mansion gate, a carriage taller than the garden wall sped past, with two young men cloaked, masked in black cloth, wielding six-barreled flintlock handguns, standing on the roof.

“Louis Philippe, you bastard! God sent us to fetch you!”