CHAPTER 1049: CHAPTER 77: SORDID DEALINGS_3

As for the ballet, I once truly believed it was a great art form. Ballet isn’t as popular in London as it is in Paris because Parisian audiences have a higher level of artistic appreciation. But now, I’ve found I’m mistaken; ballet is more popular in Paris because the theaters there know how to pull tricks."

"Tricks? What kind of tricks?" Schneider immediately caught the keyword: "Can you elaborate?"

Arthur poured himself some more wine: "Actually, nothing too novel — cheeky tunes, actresses without underwear, and old dance shoes thrown at the audience during the curtain call. August, you simply wouldn’t believe what a hellish experience it was; I nearly got trampled to death by the crowd scrambling for the shoes. Those people fought tooth and nail until the dance shoes were ripped to shreds. What surprised me the most was that the newspaper coverage of this scramble for shoes exceeded that of the July Revolution and last year’s Republican uprising."

Listening to this, Schneider’s mouth felt dry, and he downed a whole glass of absinthe: "I suppose that edition of the newspaper must have sold quite well."

"Not just the newspaper." Arthur pulled a ticket from his pocket: "That ballet performance also skyrocketed. I heard their tickets have already sold out until next month, but I’ve got an extra one they gave me."

"Oh!"

The ticket seemed to have a magical allure; wherever Arthur’s fingers, holding the ticket, drifted, Schneider’s eyes followed.

"Who gave you this ticket?" Schneider was too embarrassed to ask directly, so he hinted: "Arthur, you certainly have some good friends."

"You know it." Arthur slipped the ticket back into his coat pocket: "I have friends in the literary circles; I mentioned before, they indeed showed me another side of Paris, though passively. But, August, thank you for your suggestion, I’ll proactively integrate in the future, maybe visit the theater backstage or something."

"Backstage at the theater?!"

Schneider’s eyes rolled upward as he clutched his head; under the combined effect of alcohol and conversation, this diplomat seemed nearly crazed.

He raised his finger pointing to himself: "Arthur, that, I...I..."

"Oh, certainly." Arthur put his arm around Schneider’s shoulders: "You should definitely come with me. As far as I know, there are quite a few dance shoes backstage, and the theater shouldn’t mind you taking a couple pairs as a souvenir."

"Oh, Arthur!" Schneider patted his chest: "Having a friend like you is the greatest fortune of my life. Thank goodness you didn’t call for help and get killed at the Tower of London. You’re honestly the most distinguished high-society person I’ve ever met. And please believe, I’m not flattering you because you’re taking me backstage; I purely think you’re an outstanding character."

"I believe you, August, you never lie."

Arthur nodded: "These are just insignificant personal quirks, it doesn’t mean you’re a lecher. Like that quote from Frederick William I of Prussia who liked building armies: ’The world’s most beautiful girls or women mean nothing to me; but tall soldiers — these lads are my weakness.’ You’re just like Frederick, a person with pure interests, only your hobbies happen to be the opposite."

"Yes, exactly, Arthur, you really understand me."

"Lads?" Schneider and Arthur were having such a delightful conversation, they didn’t notice Miss Emily Delacette walking up beside them.

But the two British were speaking so fast that Emily, not quite fluent in English, could only catch fragments.

Emily’s mind was a bit dazed; she almost suspected she heard wrong.

But she couldn’t linger in her thoughts, for her uncle, pulled in as an ally, had already laughed and ushered her away.

"Sir, oh, Schneider is actually here too. I almost forgot, you’re now Foreign Office colleagues. But no matter, let’s get the business done first, and then I’ll properly entertain you both."

Her uncle gestured the group to sit while discussing the remittance from royalties: "The royalties are ready. Only...the bank you mentioned for the transfer that day, our company hasn’t yet established relations with that bank. It seems this bank is a newly opened one?"

Arthur hadn’t spoken yet, but Schneider empathetically took on the task of explaining.

"Mr. DelaSalle, I understand you might be questioning this new bank’s reliability. But rest assured, this bank is our dedicated bank for foreign remittances."

"Ours?" DelaSalle widened his eyes: "You mean...the Foreign Office? If I recall correctly, government funds typically go through the Bank of England, right?"

"There are always special cases."

Schneider, now completely caught up in the dance shoe frenzy, didn’t even realize he stepped into a big trap: "Moreover, the Bank of England’s scope isn’t as wide; perhaps for the Home Office, the Bank of England suffices. But for the Foreign Office, relying solely on the Bank of England is far from enough. We occasionally have to use Rothschild Bank accounts or other trustworthy channels."

"Hmm..."

DelaSalle, though not mixed in politics, knew enough about finance to grasp Schneider’s implications.

This obscure bank was likely used by the British Foreign Office for dirty work.

Using small banks to evade Treasury scrutiny and evade foreign governments was their usual tactic.

This would explain why this small bank had incomplete operating procedures.

Most people hearing this would be scared pale and bewildered, but for seasoned characters like DelaSalle, this was an opportunity to cozy up to the British Foreign Office.

Helping government institutions launder money — that was a business guaranteed to profit.

Thinking a fortune was near, her uncle felt his heart racing like his grand-niece’s: "Although this might sound impolite, I insist that even if you both want a secure secretive channel, it shouldn’t be this rudimentary new bank. If you need, we can assist in this too."