Once the plan was there, it was necessary to plan the details of the operation, and Valelia, who was sitting there, began to run out of the city in a hurry, forgetting that she had actually run out to escape for her life. Pen ~ fun ~ pavilion www.biquge.info

Night, London, Buckingham Palace.

In a beautiful bedroom, a whisper was heard.

"Lord...... Is it really not to blame Ruri? ……”

"My Lord Xingyue, you have done a good job, but there are some things that you can't control, and you can remedy it afterwards without going wrong, what to blame. Besides, am I not 'punishing' you? ”

“……”

"Don't be so unavoidable, it's like you have steel bars on your body, just like you, do you still want a little leader who is in the fog?"

"Want to ......"

"Then take the initiative!"

"Good ......"

"Well, that's right......"

“……”

"Liuli, your waist is flexible, so elastic."

“……”

I don't know how long it took, and both of them let out a heavy gasp.

"It's so cool......"

"My lord, have you decided to meet with the heads of the Jewish families at Count Nathan's hilltop villa?"

"You can really do it, and at times like this, you have to talk about work...... That's right, I'll be waiting for everyone to get there now. ”

"Can I cancel the meeting or change the location?"

"I'm afraid that's not good...... What, did you find anything? ”

"Evidence is still being collected, but judging from the available evidence, it is possible that the Russians are going to carry out a big conspiracy there......"

"Russians again? By the way, you said two days ago that behind those Irish people, there are Russians? ”

"Yes, that one is called Gal? O'Connor's killer, though Irish, was at the behest of the Russians, and we find maps and plans at his lodgings, written in English but with distinctly Russian penmanship. And according to nearby residents, his room was often visited by strange people, and at one time these people spoke Russian and were heard by the residents. ”

"Although the evidence is not sufficient, it can already be proven that the Russians are playing tricks. However, it is better not to change the place of the meeting, because it is not easy for many people from the Jewish family to come at one time, and if we can't handle this thing, it will make them look down on us, and it will not be conducive to the development of future operations. So I don't care what means you use, Lord Xingyue, you must find out the Russians behind the scenes for me and thwart their plot. ”

"Yes! Lord! ”

"Okay, let's do it again, this time it's a reward......"

“……”

"Why don't you add condolences twice? You've been working so hard for a while. ”

“…… Good ......"

Ivar felt like he was being targeted.

At first, the stranger caught Ivar's attention because he fell into Ivar's vision again and again. The thousands of others who had crowded in front of Ivar in the middle of the hour scattered as if they were being dragged by some invisible rope, and they only hurriedly showed their sides, their shadows, their silhouettes, and were carried away by the torrent forever.

It was a beautiful morning, and the humid but sunny air was beautiful. It's as delicious as a candy sandwich, sweet and cool, moist and bright, and in the heart of Edinburgh Street, people are surprised to breathe the fragrance rising from the fields and the sea. This enchanting miracle is caused by the usual showers of that capricious season. The façade of the house shone like polished brass, and the sky was as blue as the sea. The city took off its raincoat and stood up, revealing a sacred sight, like Aphrodite, the goddess of love, coming out of the waves with a naked* sheen. For a time, people poured into the streets from all over the place; They greeted each other with polite smiles and went their separate ways.

Countless wheels rolled again in the crowded streets, making a rumbling and clattering sound, mingling into one piece. The sun fills everything with life and joy. Even the faint trees of the boulevard, clinged tightly to the hard asphalt pavement, slowly bloomed their buds like little fingers into the new, blue sky after a heavy rain, trying to spew out a little fragrant fragrance. A miracle within a miracle: in the heart of London, in the heart of Edinburgh's boulevards, the scent of gardenias was palpable for a moment.

On this blessed day, Ivar sat nervously and happily in an armchair on the bank of the crowded river, in such a state of self-aggrandizement, waiting, but he did not know what was waiting for him. However, he instinctively knew that something would happen to him today, or someone he would definitely meet.

Although the street had offered him nothing, after half an hour his eyes were tired, too lazy to look at the passing crowd, and he had nothing to distinguish clearly. The crowds bustling on the boulevards no longer existed for him. They became a raging wave, yellow, coffee, black, gray top hats, hoods, and peaked caps all together, and the faces coated with grease and powder, they became a disgusting mass of sewage made of human flow, flowing forward, the color became more and more monotonous, more and more gray, and the more he looked at it, the more tired he became. He wanted to get up and keep walking. That's when ...... It was then that Ivar finally, at last, saw him.

This was the only one who kept appearing in one place over and over again, and Ivar spotted him. It is as if the waves of the shore sometimes washed the same filthy aquatic plants ashore with an indescribable tenacity, and then immediately threw them up and dragged them back, so is the man: he always emerges in the whirlpool of people, almost always at regular intervals, almost for almost the same time, and always in one place; His gaze was always the same downcast, surprisingly dark. Other than that, there was nothing of any note in him. hungry and thin body, wearing a bright gold summer coat; This tunic obviously belonged to someone else, because the sleeves were so long that even the hands could not be exposed; He wore it too broadly, too long to fit his figure, and the style was long outdated; The pointed mouse face had two pale lips that seemed to fade, and the beard on the lips was like a small yellow brush. The poor creature was of an unorthodox and oddly shaped shape: one shoulder was taller than the other, two circus clown-like legs, and a panicked expression on his face.

He suddenly emerged from the left and then from the right in the whirlpool of people. From time to time it seemed to stop quietly, like a little rabbit stealing oats, snooping timidly, and then burrowing into the waves and disappearing. In addition, he caught the attention of Ivar, a ragged man who somehow reminded Ivar of the officials in Gogol's works, who were very short-sighted, or surprisingly stupid. Ivar saw not once, but several times, the hurried pedestrians pushing and bumping the confused fellow, almost squeezing him off the pavement. But he didn't care about it; He obediently ducked aside, slipped into the crowd, and then reappeared. Here he was again, and Ivar saw him again and again, ten or twelve times in about half an hour.

This intrigued Ivar, more precisely, annoyed Ivar at the beginning. Ivar hated himself because Ivar, as curious as he was today, he couldn't immediately tell what this man wanted to do here. The more fruitless Ivar's efforts became, the stronger Ivar's curiosity became. Hell, you guy, what the hell are you going to do? What are you waiting for? Or who are you waiting for? No, you're not a beggar. Beggars are not fools, they don't stand in the most crowded places, where no one has the time to put their hands in their pockets and give you money. You're not a worker, and a worker doesn't wander the streets at eleven o'clock in the morning. You wouldn't be waiting for a girl, I said this dear friend, even an old woman, a woman without a face, would not fall in love with a poor lady like you. So, tell me, what the hell are you doing here? Maybe you're a despicable tourist guide, who specializes in the kind of thing that touches a tourist's arm, pulls out a few pictures of men and women from under his shirt, and after receiving a certain amount of honorarium, you let him enjoy the joy of Sodom and Gomorrah? No, not like it, because you don't talk to anyone, on the contrary, you timidly make way for people, with a pair of strange eyes lowered. What the hell are you doing, you sneaky guy? What are you doing in my realm? Now, Ivar had his eyes on him; Five minutes later, Ivar was passionate, a frenzy. Ivar had to figure out why this guy in a bright gold coat was huddled up and down the boulevard.

Suddenly, Ivar guessed that he was a detective.

It's a detective, a police officer in a different costume. Ivar recognized this completely instinctively. It was recognizable from the utterly subtle features, from the squinting glance with which he looked at each passer-by, and from the gaze of his watchman. It is impossible not to recognize it, and the policeman must train his eyes in the first year of learning the trade of his profession. It is not so simple: first, he must quickly slip his gaze from a man to his face, like a small slit with a razor, and remember all his features in this moment, while on the other hand, mentally compare them with those of the criminal whom the police station is trying to capture. Second, it's even more difficult -- this scrutiny doesn't make people see at all that the person you're looking for can't see that you're an agent. The man Ivar was eyeing was skilled in his trade. He was groggy and careless like a sleepwalker, weaving through the crowd and pushing and shoving, and he didn't care; But suddenly, with lightning speed, he opened his lazy eyelids, and his extremely sharp gaze stabbed straight at people. Apparently, no one but Ivar noticed the agent who was doing his duty, and Ivar would not have discovered anything if he had not been lucky; If it weren't for the explosion of Ivar's curiosity on this blessed day, if Ivar hadn't waited so long and annoyed, how could Ivar have such good luck?

The secret police must have been well versed in all aspects of his trade: he had carefully studied the art of deception, and when he came out to capture his prey, he disguised himself as an authentic street ronin, imitating the mannerisms and gaits of a vagabond, and wearing the clothes of such a man, or rather, some rags. It is common to recognize the policeman who has changed his clothes at a distance of 100 paces, for these gentlemen, no matter how many times they change their clothes, cannot conceal the dignity of their profession, nor can they learn this trick home, because they cannot understand the timid and humble manners that are completely natural to people who have been hungry and cold since childhood. And when he dressed up as a poor man, he was so surprisingly realistic that he was really admirable, he studied the faces of the homeless and mastered every detail. Let's just say that the bright gold coat and the slightly crooked top hat are a last effort to maintain a certain elegance, how delicately considered from a psychological point of view; And the brims on his trousers and the shabby shirt showed him to be a poor man. The hungry face matched his pitiful attire: a sloppy mustache (most likely pasted), poorly shaved cheeks, cleverly messed hair. Any inexperienced person would probably swear by the swear that the poor creature had spent the night on a garden bench, or on a bench in the police station. Moreover, he covered his mouth with his hands, coughed sickly, and shakily in his summer coat with the cold, as if his limbs were filled with lead. God can tell: this is a vivid masterpiece of a ghost with advanced tuberculosis created by a makeup artist.

Ivar was elated to have such a splendid opportunity to observe an official police detective here; At the same time, although somewhere in Ivar's heart there was a feeling that on such a blessed and sunny day, under the gentle sunshine, a dressed state official, who was counting on his old age to receive his pension, was watching a poor man in order to catch him and drag him out of the bright spring light to his cell. Regardless, this surveillance drew Ivar, who watched his every move more and more nervously, and his energy flew at the discovery of each new trait. But, suddenly, Ivar's thirst for discovery vanished, like a piece of sorbet melting in the sun. Ivar's reasoning was a little wrong, a little bit less like that. Ivar was uncertain again. Is he a detective? The more Ivar looked at the eccentric idler, the more he doubted himself. The shabby appearance of his face is a bit too real and too solemn for a policeman who is just used to pretend. The first thing that caught Ivar's suspicions was the collar of his shirt. No, it is impossible to pull such a tattered strip of dirty cloth out of the garbage bin and willingly wrap it around the neck, only a person who has been reduced to the point of having no way out will wear such rags.

Secondly, the second thing that is not proportionate is the shoes, if such an unseemly, wide-mouthed leather toy can be called shoes. The one on the right foot was not tied with a shoelace, but with a rough rope; The sole of the one on his left foot was almost off, and he grinned like a frog with every step. No, you can't find such shoes, and they don't make them like this for makeup. It was clear that there could be no doubt that this ragged, tiptoeing fellow was not a policeman, and that Ivar had been wrong in his reasoning. But who is it? Why is he huddling here, and why is he looking around with a slippery, prying eye? Annoyed that Ivar couldn't guess this man, Ivar really wanted to grab him by the shoulder and ask, "You guy, what are you going to do?" What are you hanging around here?

Suddenly, Ivar trembled as if he was on fire, and it struck Ivar right into the heart along the nerves. Now Ivar knows everything, completely figured it out, absolutely true, irrefutable. No, it's not a detective - how could I be so stupid? If I may say that, this man is an opponent of the police: a thief out of his pocket, a professional thief who is authentic and truly proficient in his skills, a real pickpocket. He hunted for wallets, watches, women's purses, and other things on the road. When Ivar noticed that he was always crowding around the most crowded places, Ivar affirmed exactly what he was doing. Now Ivar understands that he deliberately pretends to stumble and rub against people he doesn't know.

The situation is getting clearer and clearer. He chose to be in front of the café, not far from the intersection, and there was a reason for him. A clever shopkeeper came up with an ingenious trick for his window. The goods in his store don't sell well enough to attract customers: coconuts, Turkish sweets and rock candy wrapped in confetti. But the boss came up with a beautiful idea: he decorated the windows with artificial palm palms and tropical scenery in an oriental way, and the clever businessman had a good idea. The shop windows were crowded with curious people, and whenever curious pedestrians gathered in front of the shop windows, Ivar's friends soon followed. He politely, with a hypocritical humility, squeezed into the densest part of the crowd.

The art of pickpockets has so far been seldom studied and not well depicted, but as far as Ivar knew, crowding was as essential for a street burglar to succeed as a herring was for a herring to spawn. (To be continued.) )