"Mr. Blackwell?"
Blackwell looked in the direction of the voice to see a man with a tall figure, wearing a dark vest and a white shirt, standing at the staircase entrance.
"Mr. Richard Hsuet?" Blackwell was slightly taken aback, then put down the table knife, half surprised and half suspicious as he stood up: "What are you doing here?"
Richard Hsuet placed his right hand behind his waist, his left forearm draped with a white cloth, as he walked over half-jokingly: "These years working as a gendar in Russia have been too exhausting, and the pay isn’t much, so after much consideration, I thought I’d better resign and return to London."
"Resign?" Blackwell paused in astonishnt: "But... you... resignation isn’t sothing you just do like that! With your experience, having worked at the Moscow Company and been in the Russian gendar system, it shouldn’t be difficult for you to find a job at a trading company dealing with import and export, right? Why end up as a supervisor at a coffee shop?"
Hsuet smiled, skillfully pulled out the chair opposite Blackwell, and sat down: "That’s what I initially thought. But then I realized, the more respectable the position, the more trouble it brings. As an old gendar, having run lines in the Caucasus, dealt with the Poles, and held several lists, I’ve grown weary of that scheming life. Now I just want to live simply. Serving tea and coffee, picking up so tips, and adding in the weekly salary, the inco isn’t as low as I’d imagined. Most importantly, I’m very happy now."
Blackwell watched Hsuet for a few seconds, as if confirming whether he was serious.
He chuckled, "Hearing you say that, I almost suspect that the Third Hall sent you back as an undercover."
Hsuet didn’t deny it; he just pursed his lips and shook his head: "Perhaps Scotland Yard thought the sa, otherwise they wouldn’t have rejected my application to join them."
"You wanted to be a police officer?" Blackwell finally understood: "No wonder you insist on being a supervisor here. I just noticed that there seem to be quite a few officers dining here. Are you trying to build good relationships with them or hoping to chance upon so high-ranking officials from Scotland Yard, so they might approve your application?"
"What you say makes sense." Hsuet didn’t answer directly, just smiled: "In London, hoping for luck is indeed an art, but..."
Before he could finish his words, a rhythmic sound of boots landing was heard from the staircase, unlike the clutter of regular guests coming upstairs or the light steps of waiters serving dishes. It was the stride of soone used to walking at the front of a group, neither fast nor slow, always keeping their own pace.
Following that was a series of sounds of chairs being pulled and rising, accompanied by greetings echoing back and forth.
"Good afternoon, Sir."
"This way, please."
"I was just ntioning you to Chief Collins..."
The officers’ cordial greetings sounded relaxed, but their words and tones still conveyed a sense of reverence for the new arrival. So raised their hands to salute, others stood up hastily without even pushing their chairs back, and so proactively took the man’s coat and hat.
Without looking back, Hsuet already knew who had arrived; there was only one person in this café who enjoyed such treatnt.
Sensing sothing might be amiss, Blackwell gently placed his cup down, keeping his body still but slyly glancing toward the staircase.
A wine-red vest, white shirt, sleeked-back hair...
"Mr. Blackwell." The person turned towards the table, wearing a smile, and opened his arms warmly: "Welco back to London, to my place."
Arthur Hastings!
Sir!
Blackwell felt half of his face go numb, his fingers slipped subconsciously, nearly knocking the teacup to the ground.
He almost dared not look directly at Arthur, but he also knew avoiding it too obviously would draw more attention.
So he quickly adjusted his expression, making his facial muscles twitch just once, forcing a stiff smile.
"Sir... Sir Arthur... you, you’ve co at the right ti."
He forced himself to stand up, his chair letting out a creak on the floor, startling him enough to almost cry out.
Blackwell hurriedly bent down to straighten the chair. It was only when he looked down that he noticed his palms and the back of his hands were covered in sweat.
"Long ti no see, long ti no see." Blackwell straightened up, awkwardly smiling, his voice higher than usual: "I... I an, what a surprise, quite a surprise."
"Surprise?" Arthur raised an eyebrow slightly, smiling as he said: "Yes, quite the surprise. Henry, I’ve always thought we had similar tastes and could be friends. Look, today you happened to choose my favorite spot to have tea. How do you find this window seat? The light’s good, and there are no buildings blocking the view, the scenery’s superb."
The smile on Blackwell’s face instantly froze. He twitched the corner of his mouth and quickly vacated the seat: "I... I just wanted so peace, haha... no other reason."
Arthur waved his hand: "Why stand? Henry, have a seat, please."
Just as he stepped forward, Hsuet silently stood up and offered his chair: "Sir, you sit here."
Arthur didn’t decline; as he sat down, he noticed the partly-eaten pie in front of Blackwell and smiled slightly: "You still have your old habits. Look at this pie, though it’s indeed delicious, it’s not even cooled down yet, aren’t you afraid of burning yourself?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers