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Chapter 499: Doing Business with the British to Leave Them No Business

It was clear that the British had seen the sensational effect of the gas streetlights installed in Paris. In just four or five months, they quickly finalized an investment of over 7 million, preparing to replicate the system in London.

It also showed just how wealthy the British were. Given such a starting point, Joseph mused, they'd probably be trying to recreate the glory of the Eastern Roman Empire by now.

A question suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Dupont. "Have the British already mastered coal gas distillation technology?"

"Well..." Dupont lowered his head, recalling. "I haven't heard them mention any such technology."

Joseph frowned. "Then they intend to invest in gas streetlights anyway?"

Murdoch, standing nearby, shrugged. "Your Highness, the British are notoriously shameless when it comes to stealing technology."

He gestured behind him. "There are likely already industrial spies from them in the distillation plant. As long as they have sufficient funds, they could clone a coal gas distillation plant by next summer at the earliest."

Speaking fluent French, with "British chaps" rolling off his tongue, he had clearly become a true Frenchman. Indeed, his assets and career were now entirely in France, and he had recently been granted a title at Versailles, completely severing ties with Britain.

Joseph frowned once more.

He knew that both Britain and France had dispatched numerous industrial spies to each other's nations. No matter which side developed something new, the other would quickly reverse-engineer it. Historically, even with a vital national asset like the spinning jenny, France had "cloned" it in just three to five years. It was only due to domestic business environments and issues with raw materials that they had consistently failed to compete effectively with Britain.

Furthermore, Britain's research capabilities were already formidable; after all, they were the leading nation of this era. Murdoch himself had, in fact, been trained by them. So if they were determined, they would likely be able to develop the technology in just over a year, even without stealing it.

Joseph felt quite annoyed. He had invested so much effort and money into gas streetlights, yet Paris had barely attracted much talent or investment, and now London was about to jump in and snatch a piece of the pie!

And they were investing 7.5 million all at once.

So what if you British are rich?

Unacceptable! He clenched his fist inwardly. There was no way he would let the British proceed so smoothly with this gas streetlight project.

But how could he stop the British?

Catching industrial spies wouldn't be easy. Should he assassinate the British technicians responsible for reverse-engineering the coal gas distillation process...?

He immediately dismissed the thought. 'Resorting to foul play' was always the worst option. The British would easily guess France was behind it, potentially sparking a diplomatic dispute.

Soon, however, a mischievous smirk played on his lips. Couldn't he apply the shady tactics of those future American arms companies right here?

The standard procedure was something like this: first, submit a low bid to secure the military contract, effectively crushing competitors in one fell swoop. Then, leverage the resulting monopoly to gradually raise prices during production.

Of course, his goal wasn't to raise prices, but to crush the British competitors and then cut and run.

With that thought, Joseph drew Dupont aside, away from the others, and asked, "Since you were able to learn about Britain's plans to invest in gas streetlights, you must have some connections there, correct?"

Dupont immediately tensed, waving his hands. "Your Highness, I heard it from business partners! I assure you, I have absolutely no connection to the British government!"

Joseph smiled, patting his back. "I have complete trust in you. However, if I wish to undertake the business of installing gas lamps in London, could you find someone to help me make connections?"

Dupont's eyes widened in astonishment. It took him a moment before he managed, "Your Highness, you intend to sell the gas streetlight technology to the British?"

"Partially, yes," Joseph nodded. "However, given the unique diplomatic relations between Britain and France, you understand that they might be rather resistant to a French company."

"Therefore, I need you to help me establish a company in Britain, or acquire one directly, then inject capital into it. Afterwards, this company would front the bid to contract the London gas lamp project."

"That I can certainly help with, Your Highness. However, I can't guarantee whether we can secure the construction agreement with the London City Council."

Joseph chuckled. "Do you think 300,000 Francs would be enough to sway the Mayor of London and the project manager?"

Dupont was startled again. The Crown Prince was clearly very familiar with business tactics and acted with remarkable decisiveness.

He pondered for a moment, then hesitated. "Your Highness, this matter might also involve the British Parliament, given the enormous investment..."

"Then add another 300,000 Francs to curry favor with the relevant Members of Parliament," Joseph said without hesitation. "And another 100,000 Francs for your efforts."

Dupont finally stopped declining. A massive sum of 600,000 Francs for bribes should certainly give them a strong chance.

He immediately nodded. "Your Highness, I will do my best. As for the fee for my efforts, serving you is already a great honor, so it's truly unnecessary."

Joseph adopted a resolute demeanor. "There's no need to decline. I will have the 700,000 in funds delivered to you as soon as possible."

"Please, fetch Director Fouché for me," he instructed Eman, then turned back to Dupont. "We need to discuss the details of this business further."

...

The Indian Peninsula.

On the outskirts of Seringapatam, Mysore's administrative center.

Marquis Wellesley gazed grimly at the distant Mysore positions, then turned to his aide. "Where are my heavy cannons now?"

"General, due to continuous heavy rains in South Kanara, the ground is extremely muddy. The 12-Pounder Cannons can only advance a few thousand feet each day. It will likely take another month for them to arrive."

Since arriving in India, Wellesley had swept through almost unopposed, using overwhelming numbers to overcome the Mysore strongholds in South Kanara and pushing the front line all the way to Seringapatam.

He had thus been promoted to Brigadier General. Yet, his large army now faced trouble before this city. Tipu Sultan consistently avoided a direct confrontation, employing frequent harassment tactics to drag the conflict out until the monsoon season arrived.

"A month..." Wellesley scratched vigorously at his shoulder, where he'd been bitten by several pea-sized mosquitoes yesterday, leaving it intensely itchy. 'I wonder if Cornwallis's supplies can hold out for another two months.'

Indeed, only once the heavy cannons arrived could they suppress the artillery defending Seringapatam, and taking Seringapatam itself would still require at least another month.

Before then, his army would continue to be harassed by mosquitoes, malaria, dysentery, and Mysore raids. He truly doubted whether his troops' morale would collapse before their logistical supplies ran out.

Since the monsoon season began, his and Cornwallis's logistical supply lines had almost completely broken down. Numerous warships laden with supplies were anchored in North Kanara port, yet unable to deliver their cargo. The Mysore forces, however, seemed to have been well-prepared; the city was abundantly stocked with everything from ammunition to food, a stark contrast to their usual practices.