The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 597 - 301 Shooting Incident_2

With such people as his backing, Owen’s fame in Britain and indeed in all of Europe had soared as rapidly as the stocks in Arthur’s hands.

What was even more amusing was that when those Americans, who had once harshly criticized Owen, discovered that he had gained such great fame in old Europe, they immediately began to switch sides and transformed into staunch supporters of Owen.

Owen’s identity had thus shifted from a traitorous defector who maliciously slandered the American Revolution, a British spy with ill-intentions altering facts, and a corrupt official who took bribes from the Indians, to the pride of the American people, the representative of the new American image in Europe, a significant figure in North American literature, a deafening proclaimer of independence for American literature, and Herodotus from New York.

And whenever other American writers tried to remind the American public that only four of the works in this so-called father of American literature’s collection actually depicted America, they were immediately drowned in the furious spit of the American people and questioned whether their criticism stemmed from jealousy of Owen’s achievements or resentment toward American literature’s recognition in Europe.

Upon seeing Owen’s tremendous achievements, the American Government also hurried to ride the wave of his popularity by quickly bridging the gap with this anti-government figure.

They first stuffed Owen into the American Embassy in Spain, and within a few years, they hastily promoted him to serve as the secretary of the embassy in Britain.

Owen’s job at the embassy was actually quite simple; he could continue writing his books without adhering to a nine-to-five job. The only request the American ambassador had was that Owen agree to accompany him on banquets and some important occasions.

After all, for the ambassador, America didn’t have much to show off to foreigners, and Owen just happened to be one of those things.

Setting aside Owen’s penchant for criticizing America, standing at the banquet hall, he was, after all, bringing glory to America, wasn’t he?

If Owen were ever to fall ill, then the ambassador would truly feel disheartened, feeling shorter than everyone else wherever he went in London.

Arthur looked at the face of the American people in front of him, and at first glance, his impression wasn’t bad, seeing a fair-skinned middle-aged handsome man.

Although the keyboard activism aspect was a bit annoying, since he already had three anti-government figures from Germany and France around him, the head of the secret police didn’t mind extending his jurisdiction across the Atlantic.

Owen was also sizing up Arthur, but what Arthur didn’t expect was that Owen addressed him in a special way: "Arthur Hastings, and at the same time, the author of the ’Hastings Case Files’—Mr. Arthur Sigma."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and asked with a smile, "How did you come to know about this?"

Owen took off his hat and placed it on the table, "The ’British’ has been quite popular in London lately, so I thought about whether to give you the British publishing rights to my new book ’Alhambra’. For this, I specifically went to your office on Fleet Street a few days ago and had a brief chat with your editor Mr. Tennyson.

He told me that the ’British’ would definitely want to publish the work, but he couldn’t make the decision alone and had to wait for a few shareholders to return from abroad to officially confirm it. Thus, I learned from him about your whereabouts and true identity. But to be honest, the fact that Sigma was Hastings didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

How could anyone write detective novels so realistically if they had not personally investigated the cases? I must confess, I recently received a letter from a young boy who must have found a second-hand ’British’ somewhere, so he began his feeble attempt to imitate you. But frankly, his writing was dreadful."

The Red Devil, just having woken up and wearing a nightcap, stretched lazily and said with satisfaction, "Arthur, not bad, eh! Which short-sighted fellow has started to imitate our writing style?"

Arthur merely smiled and asked, "Is that so? I originally thought your bringing me a work today was surprise enough. You still kept the letter from that young boy?"

Owen shook his head slightly, "I do keep it, but it’s in London. And you probably wouldn’t want to see that stuff; it’s just a fling by a regular American young man. Although he lived in London for a few years and studied there as a child, he moved back to Virginia afterward. When he was in London, Scotland Yard hadn’t even been established, and he only knew what the police uniforms looked like from your works, let alone writing about detective investigations."

Arthur, intrigued, couldn’t help but ask, "Sounds like you know him quite well. Did you meet him long ago?"

Owen, feeling a bit thirsty, was about to drink something to quench his thirst, but looking down at the table, he saw coffee instead. He frowned, pushed the coffee aside, took an empty cup from the tea tray, and poured himself some tea.

"Kind of, I’ve known him for some years. He first moved to Scotland in 1815, and I reached Liverpool that same year. Later, I bumped into the lad in London. He used to love writing poetry and tried to emulate Byron’s love poems after reading a few lines. I told him he didn’t have the talent, but he wouldn’t believe it, stubborn as a mule."