"What's wrong?" Clara stuck her head out of the carriage window: "A collision?"
Arthur glanced outside and signaled to Clara: "You stay here, gentlemen can resolve these issues themselves."
"Remember to take your gun."
"Why?"
"No one listens to you in London; do you really expect to be heeded in Paris?"
Clara pushed Arthur out of the carriage, threw his gun holster at him, and then slammed the door shut with a bang.
Seeing this, Arthur could only shrug: "What's the big deal? At worst, I'll just go back and lie in my coffin."
"No, that's not an option." Lying on the carriage roof, Agares casually picked up a small stone and threw it at Arthur's head: "While it's not hard to summon back Dickens and Great Dumas, and there are plenty of prostitutes in Paris, I doubt the French would welcome Wellington visiting here."
Arthur pinched that tiny stone, just as he aimed at the Red Devil, the guy instantly turned into a puff of red smoke and vanished without a trace.
