The madam hoped the police would side with her. She shouted and made a fuss, chattering non-stop, but her shrill voice was unbearably annoying.
The tavern owner didn’t seem like an easy character to deal with either. Though he wasn’t as verbose as the madam, the dagger falling from his waist indicated he wasn’t a friendly sort either.
But don’t forget where this is—in the police station, if you’re a dragon, you must crouch; if you’re a tiger, you must lie low.
"When a dog is overfed, it just howls!" the officer taking notes scoffed. "You bastards, instead of sitting quietly at ho, as soon as we let our guard down, you cause trouble. You, old hag, look, this is no big deal! And you disturb the officers with every argunt, how does that work? And what are you anyway? This isn’t the first ti. What do you want to say? You co running to the police station for nothing, and you don’t even take a look at what kind of business you’re running."
The tavern owner shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, indicating satisfaction.
But to his surprise, the officer turned to him instantly: "And you, this dog, jumping out from behind the counter to make a fuss? Want to go to Siberia? Speaking so vulgarly and wanting to hit people, seems like you’re itching for a whipping?"
When the policeman got angry, the tavern owner, who was all swagger earlier, imdiately cowered like a chick, unable to utter a word.
But the madam wasn’t having any of it. Won in her line of work developed sharp tongues and had the skill to create a scene and argue nonsensically, so she’d try to disrupt the police station as well.
The madam and the officer argued until the police chief entered the room.
As soon as the chief entered the room, seeing what was happening, he didn’t bother to figure out who was right or wrong; he imdiately yelled, "Get out, all of you, get lost! Do you think this is a bathhouse?"
Once they finally sent away the troublemakers disturbing the peace of the police station, the chief imdiately called the officer handling the case and scolded him fiercely: "Letting these guys make a racket here, what’s the matter with you? How many tis have I told you, rember you are a police officer! The emperor provided you this uniform and baton, do you use it to shovel cow dung? Letting these ruffians ss around and turn a proper police station into chaos?"
The police chief was reprimanding the subordinate when, from the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw a gentleman wearing a top hat and a well-fitted tailcoat enter the station.
He noticed the gold watch chain in Arthur’s coat pocket and gradually suppressed his anger, turning to ask this unfamiliar face, "Are you here to report a case?"
Arthur took out his pocket watch to check the ti, then stepped out to look at the police station’s sign, asking, "This is Colonel Miller’s jurisdiction, right?"
"Are you looking for the chief?" The police chief smiled, quickly pulling out an office chair for Arthur: "Please sit here for a while. The chief had a eting at nine this morning and might take a while to arrive at the station."
Arthur thanked him, sat down and took out a pipe, stuffing it with tobacco, and muttered, "I once heard people say that Russians are much simpler than Britons, thinking the work here would surely be easier than in London. But with such a racket early in the morning, it seems Moscow’s police work isn’t any easier than London’s."
"You ca from London?" The chief called for his subordinates to make so punch for the guest to warm him up: "Here for a trip?"
"Kind of. I work at the British Embassy in St. Petersburg. I’m on vacation recently and thought there wasn’t really anywhere else to go, so I ca to Moscow for a visit."
Arthur took out a nose snuff bottle from his pocket, tossing it over to the chief, indicating him to take so: "Speaking of, we are kind of in the sa trade. When I was in London, I worked in the police, too."
"You’re a policeman too?" The chief pulled up a chair to sit beside Arthur: "What were your main responsibilities when you were in London?"
Arthur puffed on his pipe, counting on his fingers: "I was responsible for quite a range of work—advanced training for elite officers, criminal case investigations, internal regulation andnts... Oh, right, and most importantly, supervising the activities of anti-governnt elents."
"So many duties?" The chief listened, bewildered: "What exactly was your position there?"
Arthur blew a smoke ring: "Assistant Police Director of the Greater London Police Departnt."
"Assistant... Assistant Police Director!" The chief was dumbfounded: "You... which chair did you usually sit in during etings?"
"The third chair." Arthur removed his gloves and waved his hand: "But that’s all in the past. A hero doesn’t talk about past valor. Now I’m just a minor figure running errands at the embassy, probably less important than you in the Moscow Police Departnt."
The chief wouldn’t dare take Arthur’s words at face value, instinctively standing up to salute: "General, you..."
Arthur pressed his palm down to signal him to sit: "What general? There’s no general in Britain doing police work like in Russia."
The chief was slightly reassured hearing this: "What is your na?"
"Arthur Hastings."
"Ah!" Upon hearing the na, the chief’s behind, which had just touched the chair, imdiately lifted again: "So it’s you!"
Nowadays, anyone with so standing in Moscow knows the na of Arthur Hastings.
Dukes and earls alike say he is a highly knowledgeable British electromagnetic scientist and diplomat.
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