The grandchildren of the last Tsar Nicholas II, the Belarusian nobles in exile?!

Geng Chaozhong's lips under the black veil couldn't help but tremble - what the hell is going on?

Swallow and Bledsoe, who were high-ranking agents of the Cheka Northern District, got together with the most staunch opponents of Soviet power, the White Russian nobles in exile after the October Revolution, and the grandchildren of Tsar Nicholas II!

Could it be that I have the wrong head?

Or, is this originally a Rashomon?

In an instant, Geng Chaozhong was in a trance, and next to him, Edmundo still maintained that kind of noble and conceited demeanor, which made Geng Chaozhong a little embarrassed for a while.

"What's wrong? My friend? Edmundo sensed Geng Chaozhong's strangeness.

"Uh, it's nothing," Geng Chaozhong reacted quickly, a plan quickly took shape in his mind, he paused, and finally spoke:

"Dear Excellency Edmundo, it is my great surprise that you are a descendant of His Majesty the Tsar, Nicholas II, but at the same time, allow me to pay the highest respect. Because, in person, it is from the descendants of His Majesty's Far Eastern Cossack Regiment. ”

After speaking, Geng Chaozhong ripped off his veil and revealed his Oriental face.

The Cossacks themselves were of Turkic ancestry, and although they had acquired some Caucasian characteristics over the years, a small number of descendants, especially the Cossack regiments stationed in the Far East, still had a particularly pronounced East Asian appearance.

Edmundo looked at Geng Chaozhong's face, and after a long time, he sighed and said in a deep voice: "Well, brave Cossack descendant, I'm glad you came to me, now, I'll take you to a place, where you will see many of our fellow believers, and if you're lucky enough, Bledsoe may be there." ”

"Thank you, Venerable Edmundo......." Geng Chaozhong's voice paused.

"Viscount." Edmundo prompted.

"Yes, noble Viscount Edmundo, I am willing to follow your command and fight for the restoration of the great Russian Empire." Geng Chaozhong bowed slightly.

"Come with me!"

Edmundo nodded reservedly and walked slowly into the distance.

..........

"YD bitches, shameless thieves, crazy SS villains, what do they think of Paris?! The ass of those shitty babes in Queens?! ”

In the corridor of the secret police hall of the Ministry of Defense in Paris, Inspector Locke's frantic roar echoed, and in a cramped office, several scarred agents wrapped in various gauze were looking at Inspector Locke in embarrassment.

"Your Excellency, please do not be angry, we can choose to report to the authorities and protest against the rampant actions of the Germans." One of the agents suggested in a low voice.

"Fart, Saarland is all lost, what's the use of protesting?! Do you want to show the incompetence of our Internal Police to everyone?! Idiot, rubbish! "Inspector Locke's madness still doesn't stop there.

"Your Excellency, your Excellency, please be angry, perhaps, we can do some investigation into the German Jewish immigrant groups in Paris, you know, they are all exiles who oppose the tyranny of Adolf, and perhaps they can offer us something useful." Another agent suggested.

"Go, hold on, I can no longer tolerate the arrogance of the Germans, this is the Paris of the French, not the Germans, not the Russians!" Inspector Locke said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Your Excellency!" Several of his men retreated.

Inspector Locke looked at his men's embarrassed backs, picked up the brandy on the table, and poured it hard, his heaving chest finally calming down before flushing welled up on his face.

Just two hours ago, the internal affairs police in charge of arresting Bledsoe were attacked by a group of Germans who spoke strange French, and Bledsoe was also kidnapped by the Germans, as for why he knew that the gang was Germans - very simply, the rigid actions and behavioral norms, and the resolute ruthlessness that did not say a word before death, were by no means possible for these "romantic" subordinates under his own hands.

Yes, damn "romantic!" ”

Inspector Locke cursed fiercely, he had a deep despair for this nation, Napoleon's glory had not long faded, and these people, who should have been shrouded in glory, had become a bunch of fools who only knew how to eat, drink and be merry, and they only knew to wipe the rusty revolver with a white handkerchief once in a while, except for the various theaters and luxurious salons of Paris.

"Inspector Locke," one of his men pushed open the door and timidly walked in, "Mr. Fillow's car is parked outside, and he wants to see you." ”

"Okay, okay, he's the only one who can bring me some comfort." Inspector Locke was still sarcastic, but there was something called "hope" in his tone.

A Chevrolet sedan was parked outside the dilapidated two-story building of the Secret Police Department, and Inspector Locke, dressed in a wide trench coat, quickly appeared at the door and got into the back seat of the sedan.

"Inspector Locke, I heard you've not been in a good mood lately." From the side came the voice of Mr. Fillo.

"It's okay, strictly speaking, I've never been in a good mood." At this time, Inspector Locke's voice was very indifferent.

"Your anger is the reason why I respect you, and of course, I'm here to help you this time." The crown of Mr. Fillo's Mediterranean-like head glowed in the moonlight, like a pure saint.

"Thank you, what's the news for you again?" Detective Locke seemed to be a little interested.

"As for this afternoon," said Mr. Fillo, "according to my information, the courtesan named Marion whom you have captured is in fact connected with a radical group called the 'Supreme Royalists.'" ”

"Supreme royalists?" Inspector Locke was stunned for a moment, "You mean, they are supporters of the Tsar?" That's impossible! ”

"Why can't it be?" Mr. Fillow asked rhetorically.

"According to our investigation, they were undoubtedly members of the Soviet Russian Suppression Committee, and I have observed them in close contact with certain personnel of the Soviet Embassy." Inspector Locke hesitated, but still said what he knew.

"Huh?" Mr. Fillow was stunned, and he also had conclusive evidence that this "Marion" was closely related to the anti-Soviet organization "Supreme Royalist".

"This ........"

Both of them were stunned, they looked at each other, and suddenly thought of a possibility at the same time.

"Fishing?" The two uttered a French word almost simultaneously.