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Keyhole

keyhole

Authors: (1) Gopal Yadav, Department of Physics, Indian Institute of Technology & Chennai Mathematical Institute. Table of Links Abstract Acknowledgment PART I Chapter 1: Introduction Chapter 2: SU(3) LECs from Type IIA String Theory Chapter 3: Deconfinement Phase Transition in Thermal QCD-Like Theories at Intermediate Coupling in the Absence and Presence of Rotation Chapter 4: Conclusion and Future Outlook PART II Chapter 5: Introduction Chapter 6: Page Curves of Reissner-Nordström Black Hole in HD Gravity Chapter 7: Entanglement Entropy and Page Curve from the M-Theory Dual of Thermal QCD Above Tc at Intermediate Coupling Chapter 8: Black Hole Islands in Multi-Event Horizon Space-Times Chapter 9: Multiverse in Karch-Randall Braneworld Chapter 10: Conclusion and Future outlook APPENDIX A APPENDIX B APPENDIX C Bibliography CHAPTER 10 - CONCLUSION AND FUTURE OUTLOOK In this part of the thesis, we have studied the resolution of information paradox using various proposals, e.g., island proposal, doubly holographic setup, and wedge holography. In this process, we addressed the following issues: • How do the higher derivative terms in the gravitational actions affect the Page curve? • How to obtain the Page curve of black holes with multiple horizons, e.g., Schwarzschild de-Sitter black hole? • Can we describe the “Multiverse” using wedge holography? We started with a very simple example and considered the Reissner Nordström black hole in the presence of O(R2) terms as higher derivative terms, which is a non-holographic model. We considered the two kinds of HD terms: Gauss-Bonnet term and general O(R2) as considered in [141]. Following is the summary of key results obtained in chapter 6 which is based on [10]. • The Page curves of Reissner Nordström black hole are shifting towards later times or earlier times when Gauss-Bonnet coupling (α) increases or decreases. This implies that Page time is being affected due to the presence of HD terms. As soon as islands contribute to the entanglement entropy of Hawking radiation, we get the information from the black hole. Hence, “dominance of islands” in the entanglement entropy of Hawking radiation to compute the Page curve is affected by the higher derivative terms. • We found that scrambling time is affected when we have some other general O(R2) terms, including the Gauss-Bonnet term. In contrast, it is unaffected when we consider only the Gauss-Bonnet term as the higher derivative term. • We showed that our results are consistent with the literature by taking the α → 0 limit. We recover the results of [172] in this limit. We studied the black hole information problem in chapter 8 based on the paper [12] and proposed a method to resolve the information paradox of black holes with multiple horizons. We focused on the Schwarzschild de-Sitter (SdS) black hole, which has two horizons: black hole and de-Sitter horizons. To obtain the Page curve of the black hole, we inserted thermal opaque membranes on both sides so that an observer living on the black hole side can access only the radiation of the black hole patch. We used the island proposal to define the radiation regions in the black hole patch. In this case, gravity is not negligible enough, but one can use the island proposal in the approximation that the observer is very far away from the black hole. Hence, we can use the island proposal. We computed the entanglement entropy of Hawking radiation in the absence and presence of the island surface. After plotting these contributions together, we obtained the Page curve of the black hole patch. We also studied the effect of temperature on the Page curves of black holes. We found that lowtemperature black holes take too much time to deliver the information out of the black holes compared to high-temperature black holes. In the language of entanglement islands, this result is interpreted as follows. “Dominance of islands” and “information recovery” and hence Page time is higher for low-temperature black holes because when islands contribute to the entanglement entropy, we get information from the black hole. In this kind of black hole, it is not possible to obtain the Page curve of the Schwarzschild de-Sitter black hole as a whole due to asymmetrical regions on both sides of the SdS black hole. We constructed the doubly holographic setup from a top-down approach in chapter 7 based on our work [11]. In our setup, the bulk is the eleven-dimensional M-theory uplift inclusive of O(R4) corrections of type IIB string dual constructed in [1]. The external bath to collect the Hawking radiation is a non-conformal thermal QCD bath. We obtained the Page curve of the eternal neutral black hole by computing the entanglement entropies of Hartman-Maldacena and island surfaces in the absence and presence of O(R4) terms. When O(R4) terms are absent, then we obtained the entanglement entropies by computing the areas of extremal surfaces, whereas in the presence of higher derivative terms, we used Dong’s formula to calculate the entanglement entropies. Let us compare the doubly holographic setup constructed from the bottom-up approach and our setup. • Bottom-up double holography with CFT bath: Three descriptions of the doubly holographic setup is given as below. d-dimensional BCFT living at AdSd+1-boundary with (d − 1)-dimensional defect. – Boundary Description: Gravity on d-dimensional end-of-the-world brane coupled to d-dimensional BCFT via transparent boundary condition at the defect. – Intermediate Description: d-dimensional BCFT has its own holographic dual which is AdSd+1. – Bulk Description: Top-down model has three following descriptions similar to the bottom-up model. • M theory brane description of top-down double holography with QCD bath: QCD2+1 is living at the tip of the conifold i.e. at r = 0. – Boundary-like Description: Black M5-brane which contains black hole coupled to QCD2+1 bath living at M2 brane. – Intermediate Description: QCD2+1 has holographic dual which is eleven dimensional M theory. – Bulk Description: Following are the key results that we obtained in chapter 7. • In doubly holographic setups, it was found that one could get the Page curve with massive gravity on the end-of-the-world brane. In our setup, we explicitly showed that this is not the case in the top-down model. We computed the spectrum of graviton on the end-of-the-world brane and found that one could get the Page curve with massless graviton localized on the end-of-the-world brane. • We found that O(R4 ) terms do not affect the Page curve in this setup because contributions to the entanglement entropies are large-N exponentially suppressed. This exponential large-N suppression exists because of massless graviton on the brane. • We showed that no boundary terms arise on the end-of-the-world brane even in the presence of O(R4 ) terms in the bulk, and end-of-the-world brane turns out to be a “fluxed hypersurface” with non-zero tension. • Hartman-Maldacena surface entanglement entropy also exhibits “Swiss-Cheese” structure in large-N scenario. In chapter 9 (which is based on the work done in [13]), we used wedge holography to describe multiverse. The multiverse is constructed as follows. In wedge holography, we have two Karch-Randall branes, and these branes are joined at the defect. The setup is mathematically consistent only if the bulk metric satisfies the Neumann boundary condition (NBC) on the branes. The geometry of the branes can be anti de-Sitter, de-Sitter, or flat space, depending upon the bulk metric. We showed that one can construct a setup of 2n Karch-Randall branes in wedge holography, and the bulk metric still satisfies NBC on the 2n branes. These branes are located at r = ±nρ. We can localize the gravity on these branes using braneworld holography [142, 143]. Therefore, we have 2n branes embedded in the bulk. The geometry of these branes can be anti de-Sitter or de-Sitter or flat space but not the mixture of any two. Hence, we have a multiverse that is made up of 2n gravitating systems. Due to transparent boundary conditions at the defect, various universes existing in the multiverse can communicate with each other. If we consider two multiverses, then there will be the communication of the universes in a specific multiverse but not between the two multiverses. This model applies to the Page curve of black holes with multiple horizons. We explicitly did this for Schwarzschild de-Sitter black hole and argued that we could get the Page curve of the SdS black hole by taking two copies of wedge holography so that one copy describes the Schwarzschild patch with flat space branes and the other copy describes the de-Sitter patch with two de-Sitter branes. By doing so obtained the Page curve of Schwarzschild and de-Sitter patches separately, similar to [12] and concluded that we couldn’t get the Page curve of SdS black hole with two Karch-Randall branes in wedge holography. Since the multiverse consists of communicating universes and hence one could avoid the “grandfather paradox” by not traveling to the universe in which one’s grandfather is living, similar to “many world theory”. In future, we shall work on the following issues: Future Outlook: • Using the doubly holographic setup constructed in chapter 7 from a top-down approach. We will compute the reflected entropy from the bulk point of view [245]. This will shed light on the holographic QCD via gauge-gravity duality. We are interested to see the effect of the O(R4) terms on the reflected entropy and how the higher derivative terms affect the physics of thermal QCD. • We will study the complexity growth of black holes with multiple horizons using the complexity equal volume [246] and complexity equals action proposals [247]. • In chapter 9, we saw that wedge holography is capable of describing the multiverse. The most interesting thing about this setup is that all the universes existing in the multiverse are capable of transferring information with each other. Using this feature, we provided a qualitative resolution of the “grandfather paradox”. We shall work on the more concrete resolution of the “grandfather paradox by providing a quantitative description of the “grandfather paradox” and its resolution. Further, using this setup, we will obtain the Page curve of the Reissner-Nordström de-Sitter black hole. This paper is under CC 4.0 license. available on arxiv

Thermal QCD Phenomenology at Intermediate Gauge/'t Hooft Coupling: Conclusion and Future Outlook

ইন্টারমিডিয়েট গেজ/'টি হুফ্ট কাপলিং এ থার্মাল কিউসিডি ফেনোমেনোলজি: উপসংহার এবং ভবিষ্যত আউটলুক

Thermische QCD-Phänomenologie bei Intermediate Gauge/'t Hooft-Kopplung: Schlussfolgerung und Zukunftsaussichten

Fenomenología térmica de QCD en el acoplamiento de calibre intermedio/'t Hooft: conclusión y perspectivas futuras

Phénoménologie QCD thermique au couplage jauge intermédiaire/'t Hooft : conclusion et perspectives d'avenir

इंटरमीडिएट गेज/टी हूफ्ट कपलिंग पर थर्मल क्यूसीडी फेनोमेनोलॉजी: निष्कर्ष और भविष्य का दृष्टिकोण

中間ゲージ/'t Hooftカップリングにおける熱QCD現象学：結論と将来の展望

중간 게이지/후프트 커플링의 열적 QCD 현상: 결론 및 향후 전망

Fenomenologia Térmica QCD no Acoplamento Intermediário Gauge/'t Hooft: Conclusão e Perspectivas Futuras

Феноменология термической КХД на промежуточной калибровке и связи Хоофта: заключение и перспективы на будущее

Orta Derecede/'t Toynak Bağlantısında Termal QCD Fenomenolojisi: Sonuç ve Geleceğe Bakış

Hiện tượng QCD nhiệt ở khớp nối trung gian/'t Hooft: Kết luận và triển vọng trong tương lai

中间规格/'t Hooft 耦合的热 QCD 现象学：结论和未来展望

MRS. HURTLE'S FATE

How it Works by Archibald Williams is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . THE LOCKS. here LOCKS. On these unfortunately necessary mechanisms a great deal of ingenuity has been expended. With the advance of luxury and the increased worship of wealth, it becomes more and more necessary to guard one's belongings against the less scrupulous members of society. The simplest form of lock, such as is found in desks and very cheap articles, works on the principle shown in Fig. 212. The bolt is split at the rear, and the upper part bent upwards to form a spring. The under edge has two notches cut in it, separated by a curved excrescence. The key merely presses the bolt upwards against the spring, until the notch, engaging with the frame, moves it backwards or forwards until the spring drives the tail down into the other notch. This primitive device affords, of course, very little security. An advance is seen in the TUMBLER LOCK. The bolt now can move only in a horizontal direction. It has an opening cut in it with two notches (Figs. 213, 214). Behind the bolt lies the t (indicated by the dotted line), pivoted at the angle on a pin. From the face of the tumbler a stud, s, projects through the hole in the bolt. This stud is forced into one or other of the notches by the spring, s1, which presses on the tail of the tumbler. tumbler In Fig. 213 the key is about to actuate the locking mechanism. The next diagram (Fig. 214) shows how the key, as it enters the notch on the lower side of the bolt to move it along, also raises the tumbler stud clear of the projection between the two notches. By the time that the bolt has been fully "shot," the key leaves the under notch and allows the tumbler stud to fall into the rear locking-notch. A lock of this type also can be picked very easily, as the picker has merely to lift the tumbler and move the bolt along. Barron's lock, patented in 1778, had two tumblers and two studs; and the opening in the bolt had notches at the top as well as at the bottom (Fig. 215). This made it necessary for both tumblers to be raised simultaneously to exactly the right height. If either was not lifted sufficiently, a stud could not clear its bottom notch; if either rose too far, it engaged an upper notch. The chances therefore were greatly against a wrong key turning the lock. THE CHUBB LOCK is an amplification of this principle. It usually has several tumblers of the shape shown in Fig. 216. The lock stud in these locks projects from the bolt itself, and the openings, or "gates," through which the stud must pass as the lock moves, are cut in the tumblers. It will be noticed that the forward notch of the tumbler has square serrations in the edges. These engage with similar serrations in the bolt stud and make it impossible to raise the tumbler if the bolt begins to move too soon when a wrong key is inserted. Fig. 217 is a Chubb key with eight steps. That nearest the head (8) operates a circular revolving curtain, which prevents the introduction of picking tools when a key is inserted and partly turned, as the key slot in the curtain is no longer opposite that in the lock. Step 1 moves the bolt. In order to shoot the bolt the height of the key steps must be so proportioned to the depth of their tumblers that all the gates in the tumblers are simultaneously raised to the right level for the stud to pass through them, as in Fig. 218. Here you will observe that the tumbler d on the extreme right (lifted by step 2 of the key) has a stud, d s, projecting from it over the other tumblers. This is called the . If a false key or picking tool is inserted it is certain to raise one of the tumblers too far. The detector is then over-lifted by the stud d s, and a spring catch falls into a notch at the rear. It is now impossible to pick the lock, as the detector can be released only by the right key shooting the bolt a little further in the locking direction, when a projection on the rear of the bolt lifts the catch and allows the tumbler to fall. The detector also shows that the lock has been tampered with, since even the right key cannot move the bolt until the overlocking has been performed. detector tumbler Each tumbler step of a large Chubb key can be given one of thirty different heights; the bolt step one of twenty. By merely transposing the order of the steps in a six-step key it is possible to get 720 different combinations. By diminishing or increasing the heights the possible combinations may be raised to the enormous total of 7,776,000! THE YALE LOCK, which comes from America, works on a quite different system. Its most noticeable feature is that it permits the use of a very small key, though the number of combinations possible is still enormous (several millions). In our illustrations (Figs. 219, 220, 221) we show the mechanism controlling the turning of the key. The keyhole is a narrow twisted slot in the face of a cylinder, g (Fig. 219), which revolves inside a larger fixed cylinder, f. As the key is pushed in, the notches in its upper edge raise up the pins a1, b1, c1, d1, e1, until their tops exactly reach the surface of g, which can now be revolved by the key in Fig. 220, and work the bolt through the medium of the arm h. (The bolt itself is not shown.) If a wrong key is inserted, either some of the lower pins will project upwards into the fixed cylinder f ( ), or some of the pins in f will sink into g. It is then impossible to turn the key. see Fig. 221 There are other well-known locks, such as those invented by Bramah and Hobbs. But as these do not lend themselves readily to illustration no detailed account can be given. We might, however, notice the lock, which is set to a certain hour, and can be opened by the right key or a number of keys in combination only when that hour is reached. Another very interesting device is the lock. This may have twenty or more keys, any one of which can lock it; but the same one must be used to lock it, as the key automatically sets the mechanism in favour of itself. With such a lock it would be possible to have a different key for every day in the month; and if any one key got into wrong hands it would be useless unless it happened to be the one which last locked the lock. time automatic combination un About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Archibald Williams (2009). How it Works. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/28553/pg28553-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

THE LOCKS.

IN BRUTON STREET.

Things To Make by Archibald Williams is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . A WATER MOTOR. here XXI. A WATER MOTOR. FIG. 105 is a perspective view of a simple water motor which costs little to make, and can be constructed by anybody able to use carpenter’s tools and a soldering iron. It will serve to drive a very small dynamo, or do other work for which power on a small scale is required. A water supply giving a pressure of 40 lbs. upwards per square inch must be available. We begin operations by fashioning the case, which consists of three main parts, the centre and two sides, held together by brass screws. For the centre, select a piece of oak 1 inch thick. Mark off a square, 7 inches on the side; find the centre of this, and describe a circle 5 inches in diameter. A bulge is given to the circle towards one corner of the square, at which the waste-pipe will be situated. Cut out along the line with a keyhole saw. Then saw out the square of wood. A 5/8-inch hole is now bored edgeways through the wood into the “bulge” for the escape, and in what will be the top edge is drilled a 1/4-inch hole to allow air to enter. [Illustration: FIG. l05.—Simple water turbine.] Cut out the sides, and screw them on to the centre at the four corners, taking care that the grain runs the same way in all three pieces, so that they may all expand or contract in the same direction. Plane off the edges of the sides flush with the centre. The parts should now be separated, after being marked so that they can be reassembled correctly, and laid for a quarter of an hour in a pan of melted paraffin wax, or, failing this, of vaseline, until the wood is thoroughly impregnated. Reassemble the parts, and put in the rest of the holding screws, which should have their heads countersunk flush with the wood. [Illustration: FIG. 106.—Water turbine, with pulley side of casing removed.] For the shaft select a piece of steel rod 5/32 inch in diameter, and 3 or 4 inches long; for the bearings use two pieces, 3/4 inch long each, of close-fitting brass tube. Now take a drill, very slightly smaller in diameter than the bearings, and run holes right through the centres of, and square to, the sides. Both holes should be drilled at one operation, so that they may be in line. With a wooden mallet drive the bearings, which should be tapered slightly at the entering end, through the sides. Push the shaft through them. If it refuses to pass, or, if passed, turns very unwillingly, the bearings must be out of line; in which case the following operation will put things right. Remove the bearing on the pulley side, and enlarge the hole slightly. Then bore a hole in the centre of a metal disc, 1 inch in diameter, to fit the bearing; and drill three holes for screws to hold the disc against the case. Rub disc and bearing bright all over. Replace the bearing in its hole, slip the disc over it, and push the shaft through both bearings. Move the disc about until the shaft turns easily, mark the screw holes, and insert the screws. Finally, solder the bearing to the disc while the shaft is still in place. The wheel is a flat brass disc 4 inches in diameter. Polish this, and scratch on one side twelve equally spaced radii. At the end of each radius a small cup, made by bending a piece of strip brass 1/4 inch wide and 1/2 inch long into an arc of a circle, is soldered with its extremities on the scratch. A little “Tinol” soldering lamp (price 1s. 6d.) comes in very handy here. To fix the wheel of the shaft requires the use of a third small piece of tubing, which should be turned off quite square at both ends. Slip this and the wheel on the shaft, and make a good, firm, soldered joint. Note.— Consult Fig. 107 for a general idea of the position of the wheel, which must be kept just clear of the case by the near bearing. [Illustration: FIG. 107.—Plan of water turbine, showing arrangement of nozzle.] The nozzle should be a straight, tapered tube of some kind—the nose of a large oil can will serve the purpose. The exit must be small enough to allow the water to leave it at high velocity; if too large, the efficiency of the wheel will be diminished. To the rear end of the nozzle should be soldered a piece of brass tubing, which will make a tight fit with the hose pipe leading from the water supply. A few small brass rings soldered round this piece will prevent the hose blowing off if well wired on the outside. Now comes the boring of the hole for the nozzle. Fig. 106 shows the line it should take horizontally, so that the water shall strike the uppermost bucket just below the centre; while Fig. 107 indicates the obliquity needed to make the stream miss the intervening bucket. A tapered broach should be used to enlarge the hole gradually till the nozzle projects sufficiently. If the line is not quite correct, the tip should be bent carefully in the direction required. One must avoid distorting the orifice, which should be perfectly circular; clean it out with a small twist drill of the proper size. A brass elbow, which may be purchased for a few pence, should be driven into the waste hole, and a small shield be nailed under the air hole. A couple of screwed-on cross pieces are required to steady the motor sideways and raise the elbow clear of the ground. The motor may be geared direct to a very small dynamo, if the latter is designed to run at high speeds. If a geared-down drive is needed, a small pulley—such as is used for blinds, and may be bought for a penny—should be attached to the shaft, and a bootlace be employed as belt. Avoid overloading the wheel, for if it is unable to run at a high speed it will prove inefficient. [Illustration: FIG. l08.-Water motor working a photographic dish-rocker.] Lubrication.—The water will keep the bearings cool, but the bearings should be well lubricated. The most convenient method of effecting this is to bore holes in the bearings, and from them run small pipes to an oil reservoir on the top of the case (as in Fig. 70), where they are fed on the siphon principle through strands of worsted. Alternative Construction.—If an all-metal case is preferred, the reader might utilize the description given of a steam turbine on pp. 170-178. The details there given will apply to water as well as steam, the one exception being that a nozzle of the kind described above must be substituted for the steam pipe and small ports. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Archibald Williams (2005). Things To Make. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/14664/pg14664-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

A WATER MOTOR.

HOME AT LAST.

LOVEDAY MAKES A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT

A Barouche and Four Arrives at Greshamsbury

Nurturing how your business is represented online is an essential aspect of the brand playbook. According to recent data, of consumers read online reviews while researching brands, and of consumers report they will not purchase from a company with a poor reputation. 76% 90% Brands that oversee online reviews are informed about customer conversations and can handle these with intuitive strategies to improve online and support digital reputation analytics. reputation management What Is Online Reputation Management? Put simply, online reputation management (ORM) involves the projection and protection of online presence and how consumers view brands. Company reputation management includes responding to reviews, creating and replying to social media posts, and generating online campaigns. Tracking brand mentions helps develop a proactive online reputation management strategy. Why Is It Important to Manage Online Reputation? For any scaling business, customer perception awareness is key, feeding into a brand image and the dynamics of online brand reputation management. Even a company with great customer service has to deal with negative reviews that may be costly. A few years ago, Wells Fargo employees set up fake accounts in a bid to meet quotas set by management. Additionally, the bank was charging insurance fees that customers didn’t request. Their illegal actions affected more than 16 million consumer accounts, costing the company and reputational damage billions of dollars in fines Many other companies have negative feedback. For example, consumers are now cautious of . They often express concerns in online reviews. If brands that persist in the Russian market ignore their customers, it could result in long-lasting damage to their reputation. companies operating in Russia US consumers named Trader Joe’s as their 2022 most reputable US corporation, with an . The company’s dedication to efficient communication strategies, positive customer-employee interaction, healthy work environment, and innovation have contributed to their success. In 2023, Patagonia was voted the US No. 1 brand due to its quality products and ethical policies. index score of 82.4 How to Finetune Your Online Reputation Online brand reputation management involves tracking and assessing brand mentions, brand conversations, and online reviews. It’s a challenge to maintain reputation analysis, but it can boost growth with in-depth customer satisfaction analytics. 1. Track search engine results Analyze your search engine ranking. Using keywords that include your brand name plus ‘online reviews’ or ‘negative reviews’ delivers trackable reputation insights. Brands should conduct a search engine audit every 3-6 months with a clear SEO checklist and keyword strategy to clarify online brand reputation performance. 2. Monitor online reviews Customer conversations provide diamond-grade information about the company’s reputation. Visit online review websites, such as PissedConsumer.com, and examine ratings on specialized platforms to discover what your customers are saying. Setting up alerts for mentions of your brand name or services helps to monitor your online reviews and reputation in a timely manner. Feed this data into your online brand reputation management strategy to create tactics that improve brand reputation. These might include: Offering rewards, discounts, and special offers to loyal clients not only encourages customer loyalty but also generates positive recommendations and online reviews. Customer incentives. Discover community needs or concerns that fit with your business values. Engage in or support neighborhood activities, support charities, or start your own area-focused initiatives. It shows how your company is dedicated to promoting social responsibility and community welfare. Community projects. Such initiatives establish your business as an influencer while bringing significant issues to public attention. Start creating educational products, social media campaigns, or activities to raise awareness of the problem that aligns with your brand values. Awareness campaigns. 3. Supercharge social media Create engaging content on your social media pages that will encourage your customers to add comments on your social media feeds. Some of them will try to communicate with you through the messaging feature if they have issues. You should also be highly responsive to meet their needs and achieve satisfaction with your brand. For the same benefit, engage with your followers and those leaving questions or comments. To gain maximum benefit, if your customer is happy with your service, showcase this across social media. 4. Engage with negative reviews Dealing with negative reviews is a must. Consumers want to interact with you. When they leave critical feedback, they aren’t trying to damage your reputation in the first place. Instead, they are hoping to get your attention and find a resolution to the issue. Customers expect businesses to react to positive and negative reviews during the week. However, to achieve the best reputation management and customer satisfaction, negative reviews should be addressed within one to three days. When responding, maintain a calm and controlled attitude, even if someone is rude and annoyed. Personalize your replies by using the customer’s name and avoid duplicating responses across several reviews. Don’t make them too long - 3 to 5 sentences will be enough to apologize, acknowledge the issue, and provide further steps. Other customers are likely to swerve your brand if you don’t appear helpful. 5. Tap into software suites Brand management software solutions and websites help companies listen to customer chatter and support strategies for customer engagement. Finding a comprehensive system is a good starting point for branding and reputation management. Offering real-time insights into brand performance and customer satisfaction, you can leverage products from Brandwatch to Keyhole. Optimize these solutions by combining them with online reputation tracking and customer feedback scrutiny. Is Online Reputation Management Worth It? Customers aren’t always aware of your brand’s positive aspects, so letting them know can help them make purchasing decisions in your favor. Additionally, promptly dealing with negative reviews shows a dedication to customer satisfaction and may turn a potentially negative experience into a positive one. Great online reputation management requires thought leadership and careful planning, but with these in place your brand can generate solid growth alongside a trusted digital presence.

5 Ways to Improve Online Reputation Management

Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . The Widow's Persecution here The Widow's Persecution Early on the following morning Mr. Slope was summoned to the bishop's dressing-room, and went there fully expecting that he should find his lordship very indignant and spirited up by his wife to repeat the rebuke which she had administered on the previous day. Mr. Slope had resolved that at any rate from him he would not stand it, and entered the dressing-room in rather a combative disposition; but he found the bishop in the most placid and gentlest of humours. His lordship complained of being rather unwell, had a slight headache, and was not quite the thing in his stomach; but there was nothing the matter with his temper. "Oh, Slope," said he, taking the chaplain's proffered hand, "Archdeacon Grantly is to call on me this morning, and I really am not fit to see him. I fear I must trouble you to see him for me;" and then Dr. Proudie proceeded to explain what it was that must be said to Dr. Grantly. He was to be told in fact, in the civilest words in which the tidings could be conveyed, that Mr. Harding having refused the wardenship, the appointment had been offered to Mr. Quiverful and accepted by him. Mr. Slope again pointed out to his patron that he thought he was perhaps not quite wise in his decision, and this he did . But even with this precaution it was not safe to say much, and during the little that he did say, the bishop made a very slight, but still a very ominous gesture with his thumb towards the door which opened from his dressing-room to some inner sanctuary. Mr. Slope at once took the hint and said no more, but he perceived that there was to be confidence between him and his patron, that the league desired by him was to be made, and that this appointment of Mr. Quiverful was to be the last sacrifice offered on the altar of conjugal obedience. All this Mr. Slope read in the slight motion of the bishop's thumb, and he read it correctly. There was no need of parchments and seals, of attestations, explanations, and professions. The bargain was understood between them, and Mr. Slope gave the bishop his hand upon it. The bishop understood the little extra squeeze, and an intelligible gleam of assent twinkled in his eye. sotto voce "Pray be civil to the archdeacon, Mr. Slope," said he out loud, "but make him quite understand that in this matter Mr. Harding has put it out of my power to oblige him." It would be a calumny on Mrs. Proudie to suggest that she was sitting in her bedroom with her ear at the keyhole during this interview. She had within her a spirit of decorum which prevented her from descending to such baseness. To put her ear to a keyhole, or to listen at a chink, was a trick for a housemaid. Mrs. Proudie knew this, and therefore did not do it; but she stationed herself as near to the door as she well could, that she might, if possible, get the advantage which the housemaid would have had, without descending to the housemaid's artifice. It was little, however, that she heard, and that little was only sufficient to deceive her. She saw nothing of that friendly pressure, perceived nothing of that concluded bargain; she did not even dream of the treacherous resolves which those two false men had made together to upset her in the pride of her station, to dash the cup from her lip before she had drunk of it, to sweep away all her power before she had tasted its sweets! Traitors that they were, the husband of her bosom and the outcast whom she had fostered and brought to the warmth of the world's brightest fireside! But neither of them had the magnanimity of this woman. Though two men have thus leagued themselves together against her, even yet the battle is not lost. Mr. Slope felt pretty sure that Dr. Grantly would decline the honour of seeing him, and such turned out to be the case. The archdeacon, when the palace door was opened to him, was greeted by a note. Mr. Slope presented his compliments, &c. &c. The bishop was ill in his room and very greatly regretted, &c. &c. Mr. Slope had been charged with the bishop's views, and if agreeable to the archdeacon, would do himself the honour, &c. &c. The archdeacon, however, was not agreeable, and having read his note in the hall, crumpled it up in his hand, and muttering something about sorrow for his lordship's illness, took his leave, without sending as much as a verbal message in answer to Mr. Slope's note. "Ill!" said the archdeacon to himself as he flung himself into his brougham. "The man is absolutely a coward. He is afraid to see me. Ill, indeed!" The archdeacon was never ill himself, and did not therefore understand that anyone else could in truth be prevented by illness from keeping an appointment. He regarded all such excuses as subterfuges, and in the present instance he was not far wrong. Dr. Grantly desired to be driven to his father-in-law's lodgings in the High Street, and hearing from the servant that Mr. Harding was at his daughter's, followed him to Mrs. Bold's house, and there found him. The archdeacon was fuming with rage when he got into the drawing-room, and had by this time nearly forgotten the pusillanimity of the bishop in the villainy of the chaplain. "Look at that," said he, throwing Mr. Slope's crumpled note to Mr. Harding. "I am to be told that if I choose I may have the honour of seeing Mr. Slope, and that too after a positive engagement with the bishop." "But he says the bishop is ill," said Mr. Harding. "Pshaw! You don't mean to say that you are deceived by such an excuse as that. He was well enough yesterday. Now I tell you what, I will see the bishop, and I will tell him also very plainly what I think of his conduct. I will see him, or else Barchester will soon be too hot to hold him." Eleanor was sitting in the room, but Dr. Grantly had hardly noticed her in his anger. Eleanor now said to him with the greatest innocence, "I wish you had seen Mr. Slope, Dr. Grantly, because I think perhaps it might have done good." The archdeacon turned on her with almost brutal wrath. Had she at once owned that she had accepted Mr. Slope for her second husband, he could hardly have felt more convinced of her belonging body and soul to the Slope and Proudie party than he now did on hearing her express such a wish as this. Poor Eleanor! "See him!" said the archdeacon glaring at her. "And why am I to be called on to lower myself in the world's esteem and my own by coming in contact with such a man as that? I have hitherto lived among gentlemen, and do not mean to be dragged into other company by anybody." Poor Mr. Harding well knew what the archdeacon meant, but Eleanor was as innocent as her own baby. She could not understand how the archdeacon could consider himself to be dragged into bad company by condescending to speak to Mr. Slope for a few minutes when the interests of her father might be served by his doing so. "I was talking for a full hour yesterday to Mr. Slope," said she with some little assumption of dignity, "and I did not find myself lowered by it." "Perhaps not," said he. "But if you'll be good enough to allow me, I shall judge for myself in such matters. And I tell you what, Eleanor; it will be much better for you if you will allow yourself to be guided also by the advice of those who are your friends. If you do not, you will be apt to find that you have no friends left who can advise you." Eleanor blushed up to the roots of her hair. But even now she had not the slightest idea of what was passing in the archdeacon's mind. No thought of love-making or love-receiving had yet found its way to her heart since the death of poor John Bold, and if it were possible that such a thought should spring there, the man must be far different from Mr. Slope that could give it birth. Nevertheless Eleanor blushed deeply, for she felt she was charged with improper conduct, and she did so with the more inward pain because her father did not instantly rally to her side—that father for whose sake and love she had submitted to be the receptacle of Mr. Slope's confidence. She had given a detailed account of all that had passed to her father, and though he had not absolutely agreed with her about Mr. Slope's views touching the hospital, yet he had said nothing to make her think that she had been wrong in talking to him. She was far too angry to humble herself before her brother-in-law. Indeed, she had never accustomed herself to be very abject before him, and they had never been confidential allies. "I do not the least understand what you mean, Dr. Grantly," said she. "I do not know that I can accuse myself of doing anything that my friends should disapprove. Mr. Slope called here expressly to ask what Papa's wishes were about the hospital, and as I believe he called with friendly intentions, I told him." "Friendly intentions!" sneered the archdeacon. "I believe you greatly wrong Mr. Slope," continued Eleanor, "but I have explained this to Papa already; and as you do not seem to approve of what I say, Dr. Grantly, I will with your permission leave you and Papa together;" so saying, she walked slowly out of the room. All this made Mr. Harding very unhappy. It was quite clear that the archdeacon and his wife had made up their minds that Eleanor was going to marry Mr. Slope. Mr. Harding could not really bring himself to think that she would do so, but yet he could not deny that circumstances made it appear that the man's company was not disagreeable to her. She was now constantly seeing him, and yet she received visits from no other unmarried gentleman. She always took his part when his conduct was canvassed, although she was aware how personally objectionable he was to her friends. Then, again, Mr. Harding felt that if she should choose to become Mrs. Slope, he had nothing that he could justly urge against her doing so. She had full right to please herself, and he, as a father, could not say that she would disgrace herself by marrying a clergyman who stood so well before the world as Mr. Slope did. As for quarrelling with his daughter on account of such a marriage, and separating himself from her as the archdeacon had threatened to do, that, with Mr. Harding, would be out of the question. If she should determine to marry this man, he must get over his aversion as best he could. His Eleanor, his own old companion in their old happy home, must still be the friend of his bosom, the child of his heart. Let who would cast her off, he would not. If it were fated that he should have to sit in his old age at the same table with that man whom of all men he disliked the most, he would meet his fate as best he might. Anything to him would be preferable to the loss of his daughter. Such being his feelings, he hardly knew how to take part with Eleanor against the archdeacon, or with the archdeacon against Eleanor. It will be said that he should never have suspected her.—Alas! he never should have done so. But Mr. Harding was by no means a perfect character. In his indecision, his weakness, his proneness to be led by others, his want of self-confidence, he was very far from being perfect. And then it must be remembered that such a marriage as that which the archdeacon contemplated with disgust, which we who know Mr. Slope so well would regard with equal disgust, did not appear so monstrous to Mr. Harding because in his charity he did not hate the chaplain as the archdeacon did, and as we do. He was, however, very unhappy when his daughter left the room, and he had recourse to an old trick of his that was customary to him in his times of sadness. He began playing some slow tune upon an imaginary violoncello, drawing one hand slowly backwards and forwards as though he held a bow in it, and modulating the unreal chords with the other. "She'll marry that man as sure as two and two make four," said the practical archdeacon. "I hope not, I hope not," said the father. "But if she does, what can I say to her? I have no right to object to him." "No right!" exclaimed Dr. Grantly. "No right as her father. He is in my own profession and, for aught we know, a good man." To this the archdeacon would by no means assent. It was not well, however, to argue the case against Eleanor in her own drawing-room, and so they both walked forth and discussed the matter in all its bearings under the elm-trees of the close. Mr. Harding also explained to his son-in-law what had been the purport, at any rate the alleged purport, of Mr. Slope's last visit to the widow. He, however, stated that he could not bring himself to believe that Mr. Slope had any real anxiety such as that he had pretended. "I cannot forget his demeanour to myself," said Mr. Harding, "and it is not possible that his ideas should have changed so soon." "I see it all," said the archdeacon. "The sly ! He thinks to buy the daughter by providing for the father. He means to show how powerful he is, how good he is, and how much he is willing to do for her ; yes, I see it all now. But we'll be too many for him yet, Mr. Harding;" he said, turning to his companion with some gravity and pressing his hand upon the other's arm. "It would, perhaps, be better for you to lose the hospital than get it on such terms." tartuffe beaux yeux "Lose it!" said Mr. Harding; "why I've lost it already. I don't want it. I've made up my mind to do without it. I'll withdraw altogether. I'll just go and write a line to the bishop and tell him that I withdraw my claim altogether." Nothing would have pleased him better than to be allowed to escape from the trouble and difficulty in such a manner. But he was now going too fast for the archdeacon. "No—no—no! We'll do no such thing," said Dr. Grantly. "We'll still have the hospital. I hardly doubt but that we'll have it. But not by Mr. Slope's assistance. If that be necessary, we'll lose it; but we'll have it, spite of his teeth, if we can. Arabin will be at Plumstead to-morrow; you must come over and talk to him." The two now turned into the cathedral library, which was used by the clergymen of the close as a sort of ecclesiastical club-room, for writing sermons and sometimes letters; also for reading theological works and sometimes magazines and newspapers. The theological works were not disturbed, perhaps, quite as often as from the appearance of the building the outside public might have been led to expect. Here the two allies settled on their course of action. The archdeacon wrote a letter to the bishop, strongly worded, but still respectful, in which he put forward his father-in-law's claim to the appointment and expressed his own regret that he had not been able to see his lordship when he called. Of Mr. Slope he made no mention whatsoever. It was then settled that Mr. Harding should go out to Plumstead on the following day, and after considerable discussion on the matter the archdeacon proposed to ask Eleanor there also, so as to withdraw her, if possible, from Mr. Slope's attentions. "A week or two," said he, "may teach her what he is, and while she is there she will be out of harm's way. Mr. Slope won't come there after her." Eleanor was not a little surprised when her brother-in-law came back and very civilly pressed her to go out to Plumstead with her father. She instantly perceived that her father had been fighting her battles for her behind her back. She felt thankful to him, and for his sake she would not show her resentment to the archdeacon by refusing his invitation. But she could not, she said, go on the morrow; she had an invitation to drink tea at the Stanhopes, which she had promised to accept. She would, she added, go with her father on the next day, if he would wait; or she would follow him. "The Stanhopes!" said Dr. Grantly. "I did not know you were so intimate with them." "I did not know it myself," said she, "till Miss Stanhope called yesterday. However, I like her very much, and I have promised to go and play chess with some of them." "Have they a party there?" said the archdeacon, still fearful of Mr. Slope. "Oh, no," said Eleanor; "Miss Stanhope said there was to be nobody at all. But she had heard that Mary had left me for a few weeks, and she had learnt from someone that I play chess, and so she came over on purpose to ask me to go in." "Well, that's very friendly," said the ex-warden. "They certainly do look more like foreigners than English people, but I dare say they are none the worse for that." The archdeacon was inclined to look upon the Stanhopes with favourable eyes, and had nothing to object on the matter. It was therefore arranged that Mr. Harding should postpone his visit to Plumstead for one day and then take with him Eleanor, the baby, and the nurse. Mr. Slope is certainly becoming of some importance in Barchester. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2002). Barchester Towers. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3409/pg3409-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The Widow's Persecution

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE here CHAPTER XXXV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible. After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile. He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were left of the large sum he had carried with him. There only remained of his fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his tour that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who rather laid wagers for honour’s sake than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him. Mr. Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained for him to do. A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector’s misfortune. From the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious project. Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing. First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had been doomed to bear. The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at his master’s door. Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’s breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moment’s conversation with the young lady. Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix’s projects to him, his master would certainly not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then— Passepartout could hold in no longer. “My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me? It was my fault that—” “I blame no one,” returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. “Go!” Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he delivered his master’s message. “Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing! I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—” “What influence could I have?” replied Aouda. “Mr. Fogg is influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me this evening?” “Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England.” “We shall see,” replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive. Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven. Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit. Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his affairs in order. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at his master’s door, and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do, and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger. Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . . This thought haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly. Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda’s door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive. About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her. Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same impassibility. He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on Aouda, “Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for bringing you to England?” “I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart. “Please let me finish,” returned Mr. Fogg. “When I decided to bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then your existence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined.” “I know it, Mr. Fogg,” replied Aouda; “and I ask you in my turn, will you forgive me for having followed you, and—who knows?—for having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?” “Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could not take you.” “So, Mr. Fogg,” resumed Aouda, “not content with rescuing me from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a foreign land?” “Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service.” “But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?” “As for me, madam,” replied the gentleman, coldly, “I have need of nothing.” “But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?” “As I am in the habit of doing.” “At least,” said Aouda, “want should not overtake a man like you. Your friends—” “I have no friends, madam.” “Your relatives—” “I have no longer any relatives.” “I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience.” “They say so, madam.” “Mr. Fogg,” said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, “do you wish at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?” Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, “I love you!” he said, simply. “Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!” “Ah!” cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart. Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still held Aouda’s hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith. Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening. Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, “Never too late.” It was five minutes past eight. “Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?” “For to-morrow, Monday,” said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda. “Yes; for to-morrow, Monday,” she replied. Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE

A Comprehensive Guide to UAV Digital Forensics With DJI Drones

The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Chapter  XIX CHAPTER XIX It reminded me forcibly of Episode III in “The Perils of Pamela.” How often had I not sat in the sixpenny seats, eating a twopenny bar of milk chocolate, and yearning for similar things to happen to me. Well, they had happened with a vengeance. And somehow it was not nearly so amusing as I had imagined. It’s all very well on the screen—you have the comfortable knowledge that there’s bound to be an Episode IV. But in real life there was absolutely no guarantee that Anna the Adventuress might not terminate abruptly at the end of any Episode. Yes, I was in a tight place. All the things that Rayburn had said that morning came back to me with unpleasant distinctness. Tell the truth, he had said. Well, I could always do that, but was it going to help me? To begin with, would my story be believed? Would they consider it likely or possible that I had started off on this mad escapade simply on the strength of a scrap of paper smelling of moth balls? It sounded to me a wildly incredible tale. In that moment of cold sanity I cursed myself for a melodramatic idiot, and yearned for the peaceful boredom of Little Hampsly. All this passed through my mind in less time than it takes to tell. My first instinctive movement was to step backwards and feel for the handle of the door. My captor merely grinned. “Here you are and here you stay,” he remarked facetiously. I did my best to put a bold face upon the matter. “I was invited to come here by the curator of the Cape Town Museum. If I have made a mistake——” “A mistake? Oh, yes, a big mistake!” He laughed coarsely. “What right have you to detain me? I shall inform the police——” “Yap, yap, yap—like a little toy dog.” He laughed. I sat down on a chair. “I can only conclude that you are a dangerous lunatic,” I said coldly. “Indeed?” “I should like to point out to you that my friends are perfectly well aware where I have gone, and that if I have not returned by this evening, they will come in search of me. You understand?” “So your friends know where you are, do they? Which of them?” Thus challenged, I did a lightning calculation of chances. Should I mention Sir Eustace? He was a well-known man, and his name might carry weight. But if they were in touch with Pagett, they might know I was lying. Better not risk Sir Eustace. “Mrs. Blair, for one,” I said lightly. “A friend of mine with whom I am staying.” “I think not,” said my captor, slyly shaking his orange head. “You have not seen her since eleven this morning. And you received our note, bidding you come here, at lunch-time.” His words showed me how closely my movements had been followed, but I was not going to give in without a fight. “You are very clever,” I said. “Perhaps you have heard of that useful invention, the telephone? Mrs. Blair called me up on it when I was resting in my room after lunch. I told her then where I was going this afternoon.” To my great satisfaction, I saw a shade of uneasiness pass over his face. Clearly he had overlooked the possibility that Suzanne might have telephoned to me. I wished she really had done so! “Enough of this,” he said harshly, rising. “What are you going to do with me?” I asked, still endeavouring to appear composed. “Put you where you can do no harm in case your friends come after you.” For a moment my blood ran cold, but his next words reassured me. “To-morrow you’ll have some questions to answer, and after you’ve answered them we shall know what to do with you. And I can tell you, young lady, we’ve more ways than one of making obstinate little fools talk.” It was not cheering, but it was at least a respite. I had until to-morrow. This man was clearly an underling obeying the orders of a superior. Could that superior by any chance be Pagett? He called and two Kafirs appeared. I was taken upstairs. Despite my struggles, I was gagged and then bound hand and foot. The room into which they had taken me was a kind of attic right under the roof. It was dusty and showed little signs of having been occupied. The Dutchman made a mock bow and withdrew, closing the door behind him. I was quite helpless. Turn and twist as I would, I could not loosen my hands in the slightest degree, and the gag prevented me from crying out. If, by any possible chance, any one did come to the house, I could do nothing to attract their attention. Down below I heard the sound of a door shutting. Evidently the Dutchman was going out. It was maddening not to be able to do anything. I strained again at my bonds, but the knots held. I desisted at last, and either fainted or fell asleep. When I awoke I was in pain all over. It was quite dark now, and I judged that the night must be well advanced, for the moon was high in the heavens and shining down through the dusty skylight. The gag was half choking me and the stiffness and pain were unendurable. It was then that my eyes fell on a bit of broken glass lying in the corner. A moonbeam slanted right down on it, and its glistening had caught my attention. As I looked at it, an idea came into my head. My arms and legs were helpless, but surely I could still roll. Slowly and awkwardly, I set myself in motion. It was not easy. Besides being extremely painful, since I could not guard my face with my arms, it was also exceedingly difficult to keep any particular direction. I tended to roll in every direction except the one I wanted to go. In the end, however, I came right up against my objective. It almost touched my bound hands. Even then it was not easy. It took an infinity of time before I could wriggle the glass into such a position, wedged against the wall, that it would rub up and down on my bonds. It was a long heart-rending process, and I almost despaired, but in the end I succeeded in sawing through the cords that bound my wrists. The rest was a matter of time. Once I had restored the circulation to my hands by rubbing the wrists vigorously, I was able to undo the gag. One or two full breaths did a lot for me. Very soon I had undone the last knot, though even then it was some time before I could stand on my feet, but at last I stood erect, swinging my arms to and fro to restore the circulation, and wishing above all things that I could get hold of something to eat. I waited about a quarter of an hour, to be quite sure of my recovered strength. Then I tiptoed noiselessly to the door. As I had hoped, it was not locked, only latched. I unlatched it and peeped cautiously out. Everything was still. The moonlight came in through a window and showed me the dusty uncarpeted staircase. Cautiously I crept down it. Still no sound—but as I stood on the landing below, a faint murmur of voices reached me. I stopped dead and stood there for some time. A clock on the wall registered the fact that it was after midnight. I was fully aware of the risks I might run if I descended lower, but my curiosity was too much for me. With infinite precautions I prepared to explore. I crept softly down the last flight of stairs and stood in the square hall. I looked round me—and then caught my breath with a gasp. A Kafir boy was sitting by the hall door. He had not seen me, indeed I soon realized by his breathing that he was fast asleep. Should I retreat, or should I go on? The voices came from the room I had been shown into on arrival. One of them was that of my Dutch friend, the other I could not for the moment recognize, though it seemed vaguely familiar. In the end I decided that it was clearly my duty to hear all I could. I must risk the Kafir boy waking up. I crossed the hall noiselessly and knelt by the study door. For a moment or two I could hear no better. The voices were louder, but I could not distinguish what they said. I applied my eye to the keyhole instead of my ear. As I had guessed, one of the speakers was the big Dutchman. The other man was sitting outside my circumscribed range of vision. Suddenly he rose to get himself a drink. His back, black clad and decorous, came into view. Even before he turned round I knew who he was. Mr. Chichester! Now I began to make out the words. “All the same, it is dangerous. Suppose her friends come after her?” It was the big man speaking. Chichester answered him. He had dropped his clerical voice entirely. No wonder I had not recognized it. “All bluff. They haven’t an idea where she is.” “She spoke very positively.” “I dare say. I’ve looked into the matter, and we’ve nothing to fear. Anyway, it’s the ‘Colonel’s’ orders. You don’t want to go against them, I suppose?” The Dutchman ejaculated something in his own language. I judged it to be a hasty disclaimer. “But why not knock her on the head?” he growled. “It would be simple. The boat is all ready. She could be taken out to sea?” “Yes,” said Chichester meditatively. “That is what I should do. She knows too much, that is certain. But the ‘Colonel’ is a man who likes to play a lone hand—though no one else must do so.” Something in his own words seemed to awaken a memory that annoyed him. “He wants information of some kind from this girl.” He had paused before the information, and the Dutchman was quick to catch him up. “Information?” “Something of the kind.” “Diamonds,” I said to myself. “And now,” continued Chichester, “give me the lists.” For a long time their conversation was quite incomprehensible to me. It seemed to deal with large quantities of vegetables. Dates were mentioned, prices, and various names of places which I did not know. It was quite half an hour before they had finished their checking and counting. “Good,” said Chichester, and there was a sound as though he pushed back his chair. “I will take these with me for the ‘Colonel’ to see.” “When do you leave?” “Ten o’clock to-morrow morning will do.” “Do you want to see the girl before you go?” “No. There are strict orders that no one is to see her until the ‘Colonel’ comes. Is she all right?” “I looked in on her when I came in for dinner. She was asleep, I think. What about food?” “A little starvation will do no harm. The ‘Colonel’ will be here some time to-morrow. She will answer questions better if she is hungry. No one had better go near her till then. Is she securely tied up?” The Dutchman laughed. “What do you think?” They both laughed. So did I, under my breath. Then, as the sounds seemed to betoken that they were about to come out of the room, I beat a hasty retreat. I was just in time. As I reached the head of the stairs, I heard the door of the room open, and at the same time the Kafir stirred and moved. My retreat by the way of the hall door was not to be thought of. I retired prudently to the attic, gathered my bonds round me and lay down again on the floor, in case they should take it into their heads to come and look at me. They did not do so, however. After about an hour, I crept down the stairs, but the Kafir by the door was awake and humming softly to himself. I was anxious to get out of the house, but I did not quite see how to manage it. In the end I was forced to retreat to the attic again. The Kafir was clearly on guard for the night. I remained there patiently all through the sounds of early morning preparation. The men breakfasted in the hall, I could hear their voices distinctly floating up the stairs. I was getting thoroughly unnerved. How on earth was I to get out of the house? I counselled myself to be patient. A rash move might spoil everything. After breakfast came the sounds of Chichester departing. To my intense relief, the Dutchman accompanied him. I waited breathlessly. Breakfast was being cleared away, the work of the house was being done. At last, the various activities seemed to die down. I slipped out from my lair once more. Very carefully I crept down the stairs. The hall was empty. Like a flash I was across it, had unlatched the door, and was outside in the sunshine. I ran down the drive like one possessed. Once outside, I resumed a normal walk. People stared at me curiously, and I do not wonder. My face and clothes must have been covered in dust from rolling about in the attic. At last I came to a garage. I went in. “I have met with an accident,” I explained. “I want a car to take me to Cape Town at once. I must catch the boat to Durban.” I had not long to wait. Ten minutes later I was speeding along in the direction of Cape Town. I must know if Chichester was on the boat. Whether to sail on her myself or not, I could not determine, but in the end I decided to do so. Chichester would not know that I had seen him in the Villa at Muizenberg. He would doubtless lay further traps for me, but I was forewarned. And he was the man I was after, the man who was seeking the diamonds on behalf of the mysterious “Colonel.” Alas, for my plans! As I arrived at the docks, the Kilmorden Castle was steaming out to sea. And I had no means of knowing whether Chichester had sailed on her or not! About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2020). The Man in the Brown Suit. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/61168/pg61168-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

The peaceful boredom of Little Hampsly

Mary Stuart by Alexandre Dumas, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Chapter X MARY STUART - CHAPTER X Two hours after the execution, the body and the head were taken into the same hall in which Mary Stuart had appeared before the commissioners, set down on a table round which the judges had sat, and covered over with a black serge cloth; and there remained till three o’clock in the afternoon, when Waters the doctor from Stamford and the surgeon from Fotheringay village came to open and embalm them—an operation which they carried out under the eyes of Amyas Paulet and his soldiers, without any respect for the rank and sex of the poor corpse, which was thus exposed to the view of anyone who wanted to see it: it is true that this indignity did not fulfil its proposed aim; for a rumour spread about that the queen had swollen limbs and was dropsical, while, on the contrary, there was not one of the spectators but was obliged to confess that he had never seen the body of a young girl in the bloom of health purer and lovelier than that of Mary Stuart, dead of a violent death after nineteen years of suffering and captivity. When the body was opened, the spleen was in its normal state, with the veins a little livid only, the lungs yellowish in places, and the brain one-sixth larger than is usual in persons of the same age and sex; thus everything promised a long life to her whose end had just been so cruelly hastened. A report having been made of the above, the body was embalmed after a fashion, put in a leaden coffin and that in another of wood, which was left on the table till the first day of August—that is, for nearly five months—before anyone was allowed to come near it; and not only that, but the English having noticed that Mary Stuart’s unhappy servants, who were still detained as prisoners, went to look at it through the keyhole, stopped that up in such a way that they could not even gaze at the coffin enclosing the body of her whom they had so greatly loved. However, one hour after Mary Stuart’s death, Henry Talbot, who had been present at it, set out at full speed for London, carrying to Elizabeth the account of her rival’s death; but at the very first lines she read, Elizabeth, true to her character, cried out in grief and indignation, saying that her orders had been misunderstood, that there had been too great haste, and that all this was the fault of Davison the Secretary of State, to whom she had given the warrant to keep till she had made up her mind, but not to send to Fotheringay. Accordingly, Davison was sent to the Tower and condemned to pay a fine of ten thousand pounds sterling, for having deceived the queen. Meanwhile, amid all this grief, an embargo was laid on all vessels in all the ports of the realm, so that the news of the death should not reach abroad, especially France, except through skilful emissaries who could place the execution in the least unfavourable light for Elizabeth. At the same time the scandalous popular festivities which had marked the announcement of the sentence again celebrated the tidings of the execution. London was illuminated, bonfires lit, and the enthusiasm was such that the French Embassy was broken into and wood taken to revive the fires when they began to die down. Crestfallen at this event, M. de Chateauneuf was still shut up at the Embassy, when, a fortnight later, he received an invitation from Elizabeth to visit her at the country house of the Archbishop of Canterbury. M. de Chateauneuf went thither with the firm resolve to say no word to her on what had happened; but as soon as she saw him, Elizabeth, dressed in black, rose, went to him, and, overwhelming him with kind attentions, told him that she was ready to place all the strength of her kingdom at Henry III’s disposal to help him put down the League. Chateauneuf received all these offers with a cold and severe expression, without saying, as he had promised himself, a single word about the event which had put both the queen and himself into mourning. But, taking him by the hand, she drew him aside, and there, with deep sighs, said— “Ah! sir, since I saw you the greatest misfortune which could befall me has happened: I mean the death of my good sister, the Queen of Scotland, of which I swear by God Himself, my soul and my salvation, that I am perfectly innocent. I had signed the order, it is true; but my counsellors have played me a trick for which I cannot calm myself; and I swear to God that if it were not for their long service I would have them beheaded. I have a woman’s frame, sir, but in this woman’s frame beats a man’s heart.” Chateauneuf bowed without a response; but his letter to Henry III and Henry’s answer prove that neither the one nor the other was the dupe of this female Tiberius. Meanwhile, as we have said, the unfortunate servants were prisoners, and the poor body was in that great hall waiting for a royal interment. Things remained thus, Elizabeth said, to give her time to order a splendid funeral for her good sister Mary, but in reality because the queen dared not place in juxtaposition the secret and infamous death and the public and royal burial; then, was not time needed for the first reports which it pleased Elizabeth to spread to be credited before the truth should be known by the mouths of the servants? For the queen hoped that once this careless world had made up its mind about the death of the Queen of Scots, it would not take any further trouble to change it. Finally, it was only when the warders were as tired as the prisoners, that Elizabeth, having received a report stating that the ill-embalmed body could no longer be kept, at last ordered the funeral to take place. Accordingly, after the 1st of August, tailors and dressmakers arrived at Fotheringay Castle, sent by Elizabeth, with cloth and black silk stuffs, to clothe in mourning all Mary’s servants. But they refused, not having waited for the Queen of England’s bounty, but having made their funeral garments at their own expense, immediately after their mistress’s death. The tailors and dressmakers, however, none the less set so actively to work that on the 7th everything was finished. Next day, at eight o’clock in the evening, a large chariot, drawn by four horses in mourning trappings, and covered with black velvet like the chariot, which was, besides, adorned with little streamers on which were embroidered the arms of Scotland, those of the queen, and the arms of Aragon, those of Darnley, stopped at the gate of Fotheringay Castle. It was followed by the herald king, accompanied by twenty gentlemen on horseback, with their servants and lackeys, all dressed in mourning, who, having alighted, mounted with his whole train into the room where the body lay, and had it brought down and put into the chariot with all possible respect, each of the spectators standing with bared head and in profound silence. This visit caused a great stir among the prisoners, who debated a while whether they ought not to implore the favour of being allowed to follow their mistress’s body, which they could not and should not let go alone thus; but just as they were about to ask permission to speak to the herald king, he entered the room where they were assembled, and told them that he was charged by his mistress, the august Queen of England, to give the Queen of Scotland the most honourable funeral he could; that, not wishing to fail in such a high undertaking, he had already made most of the preparations for the ceremony, which was to take place on the 10th of August, that is to say, two days later,—but that the leaden shell in which the body was enclosed being very heavy, it was better to move it beforehand, and that night, to where the grave was dug, than to await the day of the interment itself; that thus they might be easy, this burial of the shell being only a preparatory ceremony; but that if some of them would like to accompany the corpse, to see what was done with it, they were at liberty, and that those who stayed behind could follow the funeral pageant, Elizabeth’s positive desire being that all, from first to last, should be present in the funeral procession. This assurance calmed the unfortunate prisoners, who deputed Bourgoin, Gervais, and six others to follow their mistress’s body: these were Andrew Melville, Stewart, Gorjon, Howard, Lauder, and Nicholas Delamarre. At ten o’clock at night they set out, walking behind the chariot, preceded by the herald, accompanied by men on foot, who carried torches to light the way, and followed by twenty gentlemen and their servants. In this manner, at two o’clock in the morning, they reached Peterborough, where there is a splendid cathedral built by an ancient Saxon king, and in which, on the left of the choir, was already interred good Queen Catharine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII, and where was her tomb, still decked with a canopy bearing her arms. On arriving, they found the cathedral all hung with black, with a dome erected in the middle of the choir, much in the way in which ‘chapelles ardentes’ are set up in France, except that there were no lighted candles round it. This dome was covered with black velvet, and overlaid with the arms of Scotland and Aragon, with streamers like those on the chariot yet again repeated. The state coffin was already set up under this dome: it was a bier, covered like the rest in black velvet fringed with silver, on which was a pillow of the same supporting a royal crown. To the right of this dome, and in front of the burial-place of Queen Catharine of Aragon, Mary of Scotland’s sepulchre had been dug: it was a grave of brick, arranged to be covered later with a slab or a marble tomb, and in which was to be deposited the coffin, which the Bishop of Peterborough, in his episcopal robes, but without his mitre, cross, or cope, was awaiting at the door, accompanied by his dean and several other clergy. The body was brought into the cathedral, without chant or prayer, and was let down into the tomb amid a profound silence. Directly it was placed there, the masons, who had stayed their hands, set to work again, closing the grave level with the floor, and only leaving an opening of about a foot and a half, through which could be seen what was within, and through which could be thrown on the coffin, as is customary at the obsequies of kings, the broken staves of the officers and the ensigns and banners with their arms. This nocturnal ceremony ended, Melville, Bourgoin, and the other deputies were taken to the bishop’s palace, where the persons appointed to take part in the funeral procession were to assemble, in number more than three hundred and fifty, all chosen, with the exception of the servants, from among the authorities, the nobility, and Protestant clergy. The day following, Thursday, August the 9th, they began to hang the banqueting halls with rich and sumptuous stuffs, and that in the sight of Melville, Bourgoin, and the others, whom they had brought thither, less to be present at the interment of Queen Mary than to bear witness to the magnificence of Queen Elizabeth. But, as one may suppose, the unhappy prisoners were indifferent to this splendour, great and extraordinary as it was. On Friday, August 10th, all the chosen persons assembled at the bishop’s palace: they ranged themselves in the appointed order, and turned their steps to the cathedral, which was close by. When they arrived there, they took the places assigned them in the choir, and the choristers immediately began to chant a funeral service in English and according to Protestant rites. At the first words of this service, when he saw it was not conducted by Catholic priests, Bourgoin left the cathedral, declaring that he would not be present at such sacrilege, and he was followed by all Mary’s servants, men and women, except Melville and Barbe Mowbray, who thought that whatever the tongue in which one prayed, that tongue was heard by the Lord. This exit created great scandal; but the bishop preached none the less. The sermon ended, the herald king went to seek Bourgoin and his companions, who were walking in the cloisters, and told them that the almsgiving was about to begin, inviting them to take part in this ceremony; but they replied that being Catholics they could not make offerings at an altar of which they disapproved. So the herald king returned, much put out at the harmony of the assembly being disturbed by this dissent; but the alms-offering took place no less than the sermon. Then, as a last attempt, he sent to them again, to tell them that the service was quite over, and that accordingly they might return for the royal ceremonies, which belonged only to the religion of the dead; and this time they consented; but when they arrived, the staves were broken, and the banners thrown into the grave through the opening that the workmen had already closed. Then, in the same order in which it had come, the procession returned to the palace, where a splendid funeral repast had been prepared. By a strange contradiction, Elizabeth, who, having punished the living woman as a criminal, had just treated the dead woman as a queen, had also wished that the honours of the funeral banquet should be for the servants, so long forgotten by her. But, as one can imagine, these ill accommodated themselves to that intention, did not seem astonished at this luxury nor rejoiced at this good cheer, but, on the contrary, drowned their bread and wine in tears, without otherwise responding to the questions put to them or the honours granted them. And as soon as the repast was ended, the poor servants left Peterborough and took the road back to Fotheringay, where they heard that they were free at last to withdraw whither they would. They did not need to be told twice; for they lived in perpetual fear, not considering their lives safe so long as they remained in England. They therefore immediately collected all their belongings, each taking his own, and thus went out of Fotheringay Castle on foot, Monday, 13th August, 1587. Bourgoin went last: having reached the farther side of the drawbridge, he turned, and, Christian as he was, unable to forgive Elizabeth, not for his own sufferings, but for his mistress’s, he faced about to those regicide walls, and, with hands outstretched to them, said in a loud and threatening voice, those words of David: “Let vengeance for the blood of Thy servants, which has been shed, O Lord God, be acceptable in Thy sight”. The old man’s curse was heard, and inflexible history is burdened with Elizabeth’s punishment. We said that the executioner’s axe, in striking Mary Stuart’s head, had caused the crucifix and the book of Hours which she was holding to fly from her hands. We also said that the two relics had been picked up by people in her following. We are not aware of what became of the crucifix, but the book of Hours is in the royal library, where those curious about these kinds of historical souvenirs can see it: two certificates inscribed on one of the blank leaves of the volume demonstrate its authenticity. These are they: FIRST CERTIFICATE “We the undersigned Vicar Superior of the strict observance of the Order of Cluny, certify that this book has been entrusted to us by order of the defunct Dom Michel Nardin, a professed religious priest of our said observance, deceased in our college of Saint-Martial of Avignon, March 28th, 1723, aged about eighty years, of which he has spent about thirty among us, having lived very religiously: he was a German by birth, and had served as an officer in the army a long time. “He entered Cluny, and made his profession there, much detached from all this world’s goods and honours; he only kept, with his superior’s permission, this book, which he knew had been in use with Mary Stuart, Queen of England and Scotland, to the end of her life. “Before dying and being parted from his brethren, he requested that, to be safely remitted to us, it should be sent us by mail, sealed. Just as we have received it, we have begged M. L’abbe Bignon, councillor of state and king’s librarian, to accept this precious relic of the piety of a Queen of England, and of a German officer of her religion as well as of ours. “(Signed)BROTHER GERARD PONCET, “Vicar-General Superior.” SECOND CERTIFICATE “We, Jean-Paul Bignon, king’s librarian, are very happy to have an opportunity of exhibiting our zeal, in placing the said manuscript in His Majesty’s library. “8th July, 1724.” “(Signed) JEAN-PAUL BIGNAN.” This manuscript, on which was fixed the last gaze of the Queen of Scotland, is a duodecimo, written in the Gothic character and containing Latin prayers; it is adorned with miniatures set off with gold, representing devotional subjects, stories from sacred history, or from the lives of saints and martyrs. Every page is encircled with arabesques mingled with garlands of fruit and flowers, amid which spring up grotesque figures of men and animals. As to the binding, worn now, or perhaps even then, to the woof, it is in black velvet, of which the flat covers are adorned in the centre with an enamelled pansy, in a silver setting surrounded by a wreath, to which are diagonally attached from one corner of the cover to the other, two twisted silver-gilt knotted cords, finished by a tuft at the two ends. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Alexandre Dumas (2004). Mary Stuart. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/2744/pg2744-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

Mary Stuart had appeared before the commissioners

The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . A Midnight Adventure XVII. A Midnight Adventure The inquest took place on the following morning. It was extraordinarily unlike the inquests as pictured in sensational fiction. It satisfied even George Lomax in its rigid suppression of all interesting details. Superintendent Battle and the Coroner, working together with the support of the Chief Constable, had reduced the proceedings to the lowest level of boredom. Immediately after the inquest, Anthony took an unostentatious departure. His departure was the one bright spot in the day for Bill Eversleigh. George Lomax, obsessed with the fear that something damaging to his Department might leak out, had been exceedingly trying. Miss Oscar and Bill had been in constant attendance. Everything useful and interesting had been done by Miss Oscar. Bill’s part had been to run to and fro with countless messages, to decode telegrams, and to listen by the hour to George repeating himself. It was a completely exhausted young man who retired to bed on Saturday night. He had had practically no chance to talk to Virginia all day, owing to George’s exactions, and he felt injured and ill-used. Thank goodness, that Colonial fellow had taken himself off. He had monopolized far too much of Virginia’s society anyway. And of course if George Lomax went on making an ass of himself like this—— His mind seething with resentment, Bill fell asleep. And, in dreams, came consolation. For he dreamt of Virginia. It was an heroic dream, a dream of burning timbers in which he played the part of the gallant rescuer. He brought down Virginia from the topmost story in his arms. She was unconscious. He laid her on the grass. Then he went off to find a packet of sandwiches. It was most important that he should find that packet of sandwiches. George had it, but instead of giving it up to Bill, he began to dictate telegrams. They were now in the vestry of a church, and any minute Virginia might arrive to be married to him. Horror! He was wearing pyjamas. He must get home at once and find his proper clothes. He rushed out to the car. The car would not start. No petrol in the tank! He was getting desperate. And then a big General ’bus drew up and Virginia got out of it on the arm of the bald headed Baron. She was deliciously cool, and exquisitely dressed in grey. She came over to him and shook him by the shoulders playfully. “Bill,” she said. “Oh, Bill.” She shook him harder. “Bill,” she said. “Wake up. Oh, do wake up!” Very dazed, Bill woke up. He was in his bedroom at Chimneys. But part of the dream was with him still. Virginia was leaning over him, and was repeating the same words with variations. “Wake up, Bill. Oh, do wake up. Bill.” “Hullo!” said Bill, sitting up in bed. “What’s the matter?” Virginia gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought you’d never wake up. I’ve been shaking you and shaking you. Are you properly awake now?” “I think so,” said Bill doubtfully. “You great lump,” said Virginia. “The trouble I’ve had! My arms are aching.” “These insults are uncalled for,” said Bill, with dignity. “Let me say, Virginia, that I consider your conduct most unbecoming. Not at all that of a pure young widow.” “Don’t be an idiot, Bill. Things are happening.” “What kind of things?” “Queer things. In the Council Chamber. I thought I heard a door bang somewhere, and I came down to see. And then saw a light in the Council Chamber. I crept along the passage, and peeped through the crack of the door. I couldn’t see much, but what I could see was so extraordinary that I felt I must see more. And then, all of a sudden, I felt that I should like a nice, big, strong man with me. And you were the nicest and biggest and strongest man I could think of, so I came in and tried to wake you up quietly. But I’ve been ages doing it.” “I see,” said Bill. “And what do you want me to do now? Get up and tackle the burglars?” Virginia wrinkled her brows. “I’m not sure that they are burglars. Bill, it’s very queer—— But don’t let’s waste time talking. Get up.” Bill slipped obediently out of bed. “Wait while I don a pair of boots—the big ones with nails in them. However big and strong I am, I’m not going to tackle hardened criminals with bare feet.” “I like your pyjamas, Bill,” said Virginia dreamily. “Brightness without vulgarity.” “While we’re on the subject,” remarked Bill, reaching for his second boot, “I like that thingummybob of yours. It’s a pretty shade of green. What do you call it? It’s not just a dressing-gown, is it?” “It’s a négligé” said Virginia. “I’m glad you’ve led such a pure life, Bill.” “I haven’t,” said Bill indignantly. “You’ve just betrayed the fact. You’re very nice, Bill, and I like you. I dare say that to-morrow morning—say about ten o’clock, a good safe hour for not unduly exciting the emotions—I might even kiss you.” “I always think these things are best carried out on the spur of the moment,” suggested Bill. “We’ve other fish to fry,” said Virginia. “If you don’t want to put on a gas mask and a shirt of chain mail, shall we start?” “I’m ready,” said Bill. He wriggled into a lurid silk dressing-gown, and picked up a poker. “The orthodox weapon,” he observed. “Come on,” said Virginia, “and don’t make a noise.” They crept out of the room and along the corridor, and then down the wide double staircase. Virginia frowned as they reached the bottom of it. “Those boots of yours aren’t exactly domes of silence, are they, Bill?” “Nails will be nails,” said Bill. “I’m doing my best.” “You’ll have to take them off,” said Virginia firmly. Bill groaned. “You can carry them in your hand. I want to see if you can make out what’s going on in the Council Chamber. Bill, it’s awfully mysterious. Why should burglars take a man in armour to pieces?” “Well, I suppose they can’t take him away whole very well. They disarticulate him, and pack him neatly.” Virginia shook her head, dissatisfied. “What should they want to steal a mouldy old suit of armour for? Why, Chimneys is full of treasures that are much easier to take away.” Bill shook his head. “How many of them are there?” he asked, taking a firmer grip of his poker. “I couldn’t see properly. You know what a keyhole is. And they only had a flashlight.” “I expect they’ve gone by now,” said Bill hopefully. He sat down on the bottom stair and drew off his boots. Then, holding them in his hand, he crept along the passage that led to the Council Chamber, Virginia close behind him. They halted outside the massive oak door. All was silent within, but suddenly Virginia pressed his arm, and he nodded. A bright light had shown for a minute through the keyhole. Bill went down on his knees, and applied his eye to the orifice. What he saw was confusing in the extreme. The scene of the drama that was being enacted inside was evidently just to the left, out of his line of vision. A subdued chink every now and then seemed to point to the fact that the invaders were still dealing with the figure in armour. There were two of these, Bill remembered. They stood together by the wall just under the Holbein portrait. The light of the electric torch was evidently being directed upon the operations in progress. It left the rest of the room nearly in darkness. Once a figure flitted across Bill’s line of vision, but there was not sufficient light to distinguish anything about it. It might have been that of a man or a woman. In a minute or two it flitted back again and then the subdued chinking sounded again. Presently there came a new sound, a faint tap-tap as of knuckles on wood. Bill sat back on his heels suddenly. “What is it?” whispered Virginia. “Nothing. It’s no good going on like this. We can’t see anything, and we can’t guess what they’re up to. I must go in and tackle them.” He drew on his boots and stood up. “Now, Virginia, listen to me. We’ll open the door as softly as possible. You know where the switch of the electric light is?” “Yes, just by the door.” “I don’t think there are more than two of them. There may be only one. I want to get well into the room. Then, when I say ‘Go’ I want you to switch on the lights. Do you understand?” “Perfectly.” “And don’t scream or faint or anything. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” “My hero!” murmured Virginia. Bill peered at her suspiciously through the darkness. He heard a faint sound which might have been either a sob or a laugh. Then he grasped the poker firmly and rose to his feet. He felt that he was fully alive to the situation. Very softly he turned the handle of the door. It yielded and swung gently inwards. Bill felt Virginia close beside him. Together they moved noiselessly into the room. At the farther end of the room, the torch was playing upon the Holbein picture. Silhouetted against it was the figure of a man, standing on a chair and gently tapping on the panelling! His back, of course, was to them, and he merely loomed up as a monstrous shadow. What more they might have seen cannot be told, for at that moment Bill’s nails squeaked upon the parquet floor. The man swung round, directing the powerful torch full upon them and almost dazzling them with the sudden glare. Bill did not hesitate. “Go,” he roared to Virginia, and sprang for his man, as she obediently pressed down the switch of the electric lights. The big chandelier should have been flooded with light; but, instead, all that happened was the click of the switch. The room remained in darkness. Virginia heard Bill curse freely. The next minute the air was filled with panting, scuffling sounds. The torch had fallen to the ground and extinguished itself in the fall. There was the sound of a desperate struggle going on in the darkness, but as to who was getting the better of it, and indeed as to who was taking part in it, Virginia had no idea. Had there been anyone else in the room besides the man who was tapping the panelling? There might have been. Their glimpse had been only a momentary one. Virginia felt paralysed. She hardly knew what to do. She dared not try and join in the struggle. To do so might hamper and not aid Bill. Her one idea was to stay in the doorway, so that anyone trying to escape should not leave the room that way. At the same time, she disobeyed Bill’s express instructions and screamed loudly and repeatedly for help. She heard doors opening upstairs, and a sudden gleam of light from the hall and the big staircase. If only Bill could hold his man until help came. But at that minute there was a final terrific upheaval. They must have crashed into one of the figures in armour, for it fell to the ground with a deafening noise. Virginia saw dimly a figure springing for the window, and at the same time heard Bill cursing and disengaging himself from fragments of armour. For the first time, she left her post, and rushed wildly for the figure at the window. But the window was already unlatched. The intruder had no need to stop and fumble for it. He sprang out and raced away down the terrace and round the corner of the house. Virginia raced after him. She was young and athletic, and she turned the corner of the terrace not many seconds after her quarry. But there she ran headlong into the arms of a man who was emerging from a small side door. It was Mr. Hiram P. Fish. “Gee! It’s a lady,” he exclaimed. “Why, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Revel. I took you for one of the thugs fleeing from justice.” “He’s just passed this way,” cried Virginia breathlessly. “Can’t we catch him?” But, even as she spoke, she knew it was too late. The man must have gained the park by now, and it was a dark night with no moon. She retraced her steps to the Council Chamber, Mr. Fish by her side, discoursing in a soothing monotone upon the habits of burglars in general, of which he seemed to have a wide experience. Lord Caterham, Bundle, and various frightened servants were standing in the doorway of the Council Chamber. “What the devil’s the matter?” asked Bundle. “Is it burglars? What are you and Mr. Fish doing, Virginia? Taking a midnight stroll?” Virginia explained the events of the evening. “How frightfully exciting,” commented Bundle. “You don’t usually get a murder and a burglary crowded into one week-end. What’s the matter with the lights in here? They’re all right everywhere else.” That mystery was soon explained. The bulbs had simply been removed and laid in a row against the wall. Mounted on a pair of steps, the dignified Tredwell, dignified even in undress, restored illumination to the stricken apartment. “If I am not mistaken,” said Lord Caterham in his sad voice as he looked around him, “this room has recently been the centre of somewhat violent activity.” There was some justice in the remark. Everything that could have been knocked over had been knocked over. The floor was littered with splintered chairs, broken china, and fragments of armour. “How many of them were there?” asked Bundle. “It seems to have been a desperate fight.” “Only one, I think,” said Virginia. But, even as she spoke, she hesitated a little. Certainly only one person—a man—had passed out through the window. But as she had rushed after him, she had had a vague impression of a rustle somewhere close at hand. If so, the second occupant of the room could have escaped through the door. Perhaps, though, the rustle had been an effect of her own imagination. Bill appeared suddenly at the window. He was out of breath and panting hard. “Damn the fellow!” he exclaimed wrathfully. “He’s escaped. I’ve been hunting all over the place. Not a sign of him.” “Cheer up, Bill,” said Virginia, “better luck next time.” “Well,” said Lord Caterham, “what do you think we’d better do now? Go back to bed? I can’t get hold of Badgworthy at this time of night. Tredwell, you know the sort of thing that’s necessary. Just see to it, will you?” “Very good, my lord.” With a sigh of relief, Lord Caterham prepared to retreat. “That beggar, Isaacstein, sleeps soundly,” he remarked, with a touch of envy. “You’d have thought all this row would have brought him down.” He looked across at Mr. Fish. “You found time to dress, I see,” he added. “I flung on a few articles of clothing, yes,” admitted the American. “Very sensible of you,” said Lord Caterham. “Damned chilly things, pyjamas.” He yawned. In a rather depressed mood, the house party retired to bed. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (1998). The Secret of Chimneys. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65238/pg65238-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

A Midnight Adventure

The Big Four by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . WE INVESTIGATE AT CROFTLANDS X. WE INVESTIGATE AT CROFTLANDS The Scotland Yard Inspector was, indeed, waiting on the platform, and greeted us warmly. "Well, Moosior Poirot, this is good. Thought you'd like to be let in on this. Tip-top mystery, isn't it?" I read this aright as showing Japp to be completely puzzled and hoping to pick up a pointer from Poirot. Japp had a car waiting, and we drove up in it to Croftlands. It was a square, white house, quite unpretentious, and covered with creepers, including the starry yellow jasmine. Japp looked up at it as we did. "Must have been balmy to go writing that, poor old cove," he remarked. "Hallucinations, perhaps, and thought he was outside." Poirot was smiling at him. "Which was it, my good Japp?" he asked; "accident or murder?" The Inspector seemed a little embarrassed by the question. "Well, if it weren't for that curry business, I'd be for accident every time. There's no sense in holding a live man's head in the fire—why, he'd scream the house down." "Ah!" said Poirot in a low voice. "Fool that I have been. Triple imbecile! You are a cleverer man than I am, Japp." Japp was rather taken aback by the compliment—Poirot being usually given to exclusive self praise. He reddened and muttered something about there being a lot of doubt about that. He led the way through the house to the room where the tragedy had occurred—Mr. Paynter's study. It was a wide, low room, with book-lined walls and big leather arm-chairs. Poirot looked across at once to the window which gave upon a gravelled terrace. "The window, it was unlatched?" he asked. "That's the whole point, of course. When the doctor left this room, he merely closed the door behind him. The next morning it was found locked. Who locked it? Mr. Paynter? Ah Ling declares that the window was closed and bolted. Dr. Quentin, on the other hand, has an impression that it was closed, but not fastened, but he won't swear either way. If he could, it would make a great difference. If the man was murdered, some one entered the room either through the door or the window—if through the door, it was an inside job; if through the window, it might have been any one. First thing when they had broken the door down, they flung the window open, and the housemaid who did it thinks that it wasn't fastened, but she's a precious bad witness—will remember anything you ask her to!" "What about the key?" "There you are again. It was on the floor among the wreckage of the door. Might have fallen from the keyhole, might have been dropped there by one of the people who entered, might have been slipped underneath the door from the outside." "In fact everything is 'might have been'?" "You've hit it, Moosior Poirot. That's just what it is." Poirot was looking round him, frowning unhappily. "I cannot see light," he murmured. "Just now—-yes, I got a gleam, but now all is darkness once more. I have not the clue—the motive." "Young Gerald Paynter had a pretty good motive," remarked Japp grimly. "He's been wild enough in his time, I can tell you. And extravagant. You know what artists are, too—no morals at all." Poirot did not pay much attention to Japp's sweeping strictures on the artistic temperament. Instead he smiled knowingly. "My good Japp, is it possible that you throw the mud in my eyes? I know well enough that it is the Chinaman you suspect. But you are so artful. You want me to help you—and yet you drag the red kipper across the trail." Japp burst out laughing. "That's you all over, Mr. Poirot. Yes, I'd bet on the Chink, I'll admit it now. It stands to reason that it was he who doctored the curry, and if he'd try once in an evening to get his master out of the way, he'd try twice." "I wonder if he would," said Poirot softly. "But it's the motive that beats me. Some heathen revenge or other, I suppose." "I wonder," said Poirot again. "There has been no robbery? Nothing has disappeared? No jewellery, or money, or papers?" "No—that is, not exactly." I pricked up my ears; so did Poirot. "There's been no robbery, I mean," explained Japp. "But the old boy was writing a book of some sort. We only knew about it this morning when there was a letter from the publishers asking about the manuscript. It was just completed, it seems. Young Paynter and I have searched high and low, but can't find a trace of it—he must have hidden it away somewhere." Poirot's eyes were shining with the green light I knew so well. "How was it called, this book?" he asked. "The Hidden Hand in China, I think it was called." "Aha!" said Poirot, with almost a gasp. Then he said quickly, "Let me see the Chinaman, Ah Ling." The Chinaman was sent for and appeared, shuffling along, with his eyes cast down, and his pigtail swinging. His impassive face showed no trace of any kind of emotion. "Ah Ling," said Poirot, "are you sorry your master is dead?" "I welly sorry. He good master." "You know who kill him?" "I not know. I tell pleeceman if I know." The questions and answers went on. With the same impassive face, Ah Ling described how he had made the curry. The cook had had nothing to do with it, he declared, no hand had touched it but his own. I wondered if he saw where his admission was leading him. He stuck to it too, that the window to the garden was bolted that evening. If it was open in the morning, his master must have opened it himself. At last Poirot dismissed him. "That will do, Ah Ling." Just as the Chinaman had got to the door, Poirot recalled him. "And you know nothing, you say, of the Yellow Jasmine?" "No, what should I know?" "Nor yet of the sign that was written underneath it?" Poirot leant forward as he spoke, and quickly traced something on the dust of a little table. I was near enough to see it before he rubbed it out. A down stroke, a line at right angles, and then a second line down which completed a big 4. The effect on the Chinaman was electrical. For one moment his face was a mask of terror. Then, as suddenly, it was impassive again, and repeating his grave disclaimer, he withdrew. Japp departed in search of young Paynter, and Poirot and I were left alone together. "The Big Four, Hastings," cried Poirot. "Once again, the Big Four. Paynter was a great traveller. In his book there was doubtless some vital information concerning the doings of Number One, Li Chang Yen, the head and brains of the Big Four." "But who—how—" "Hush, here they come." Gerald Paynter was an amiable, rather weak-looking young man. He had a soft brown beard, and a peculiar flowing tie. He answered Poirot's questions readily enough. "I dined out with some neighbours of ours, the Wycherlys," he explained. "What time did I get home? Oh, about eleven. I had a latch-key, you know. All the servants had gone to bed, and I naturally thought my uncle had done the same. As a matter of fact, I did think I caught sight of that soft-footed Chinese beggar Ah Ling just whisking round the corner of the hall, but I fancy I was mistaken." "When did you last see your uncle, Mr. Paynter? I mean before you came to live with him." "Oh! not since I was a kid of ten. He and his brother (my father) quarrelled, you know." "But he found you again with very little trouble, did he not? In spite of all the years that had passed?" "Yes, it was quite a bit of luck my seeing the lawyer's advertisement." Poirot asked no more questions. Our next move was to visit Dr. Quentin. His story was substantially the same as he had told at the inquest, and he had little to add to it. He received us in his surgery, having just come to the end of his consulting patients. He seemed an intelligent man. A certain primness of manner went well with his pince-nez, but I fancied that he would be thoroughly modern in his methods. "I wish I could remember about the window," he said frankly. "But it's dangerous to think back, one becomes quite positive about something that never existed. That's psychology, isn't it, M. Poirot? You see, I've read all about your methods, and I may say I'm an enormous admirer of yours. No, I suppose it's pretty certain that the Chinaman put the powdered opium in the curry, but he'll never admit it, and we shall never know why. But holding a man down in a fire—that's not in keeping with our Chinese friend's character, it seems to me." I commented on this last point to Poirot as we walked down the main street of Market Handford. "Do you think he let a confederate in?" I asked. "By the way, I suppose Japp can be trusted to keep an eye on him?" (The Inspector had passed into the police station on some business or other.) "The emissaries of the Big Four are pretty spry." "Japp is keeping an eye on both of them," said Poirot grimly. "They have been closely shadowed ever since the body was discovered." "Well, at any rate we know that Gerald Paynter had nothing to do with it." "You always know so much more than I do, Hastings, that it becomes quite fatiguing." "You old fox," I laughed. "You never will commit yourself." "To be honest, Hastings, the case is now quite clear to me—all but the words, Yellow Jasmine—and I am coming to agree with you that they have no bearing on the crime. In a case of this kind, you have got to make up your mind who is lying. I have done that. And yet—" He suddenly darted from my side and entered an adjacent bookshop. He emerged a few minutes later, hugging a parcel. Then Japp rejoined us, and we all sought quarters at the inn. I slept late the next morning. When I descended to the sitting-room reserved for us, I found Poirot already there, pacing up and down, his face contorted with agony. "Do not converse with me," he cried, waving an agitated hand. "Not until I know that all is well—that the arrest is made. Ah! but my psychology has been weak. Hastings, if a man writes a dying message, it is because it is important. Every one has said—'Yellow Jasmine? There is yellow jasmine growing up the house—it means nothing.'" "Well, what does it mean? Just what it says. Listen." He held up a little book he was holding. "My friend, it struck me that it would be well to inquire into the subject. What exactly is yellow jasmine? This little book has told me. Listen." He read. "'Gelsemini Radix. Yellow Jasmine. Composition: Alkaloids gelseminine C22H26N2O3, a potent poison acting like coniine; gelsemine C12H14NO2, acting like strychnine; gelsemic acid, etc. Gelsemium is a powerful depressant to the central nervous system. At a late stage in its action it paralyses the motor nerve endings, and in large doses causes giddiness and loss of muscular power. Death is due to paralysis of the respiratory centre.' "You see, Hastings? At the beginning I had an inkling of the truth when Japp made his remark about a live man being forced into the fire. I realised then that it was a dead man who was burned." "But why? What was the point?" "My friend, if you were to shoot a man, or stab a man after he were dead, or even knock him on the head, it would be apparent that the injuries were inflicted after death. But with his head charred to a cinder, no one is going to hunt about for obscure causes of death, and a man who has apparently just escaped being poisoned at dinner, is not likely to be poisoned just afterwards. Who is lying, that is always the question? I decided to believe Ah Ling—" "What!" I exclaimed. "You are surprised, Hastings? Ah Ling knew of the existence of the Big Four, that was evident—so evident that it was clear he knew nothing of their association with the crime until that moment. Had he been the murderer, he would have been able to retain his impassive face perfectly. So I decided then, to believe Ah Ling, and I fixed my suspicions on Gerald Paynter. It seemed to me that Number Four would have found an impersonation of a long lost nephew very easy." "What!" I cried. "Number Four?" "No, Hastings, not Number Four. As soon as I had read up the subject of yellow jasmine, I saw the truth. In fact, it leapt to the eye." "As always," I said coldly, "it doesn't leap to mine." "Because you will not use your little gray cells. Who had a chance to tamper with the curry?" "Ah Ling. No one else." "No one else? What about the doctor?" "But that was afterwards." "Of course it was afterwards. There was no trace of powdered opium in the curry served to Mr. Paynter, but acting in obedience to the suspicions Dr. Quentin had aroused, the old man eats none of it, and preserves it to give to his medical attendant, whom he summons according to plan. Dr. Quentin arrives, takes charge of the curry, and gives Mr. Paynter an injection—of strychnine, he says, but really of yellow jasmine—a poisonous dose. When the drug begins to take effect, he departs, after unlatching the window. Then, in the night, he returns by the window, finds the manuscript, and shoves Mr. Paynter into the fire. He does not heed the newspaper that drops to the floor and is covered by the old man's body. Paynter knew what drug he had been given, and strove to accuse the Big Four of his murder. It is easy for Quentin to mix powdered opium with the curry before handing it over to be analysed. He gives his version of the conversation with the old man, and mentions the strychnine injection casually, in case the mark of the hypodermic needle is noticed. Suspicion at once is divided between accident and the guilt of Ah Ling owing to the poison in the curry." "But Dr. Quentin cannot be Number Four?" "I fancy he can. There is undoubtedly a real Dr. Quentin who is probably abroad somewhere. Number Four has simply masqueraded as him for a short time. The arrangements with Dr. Bolitho were all carried out by correspondence, the man who was to do locum originally having been taken ill at the last minute." At that minute, Japp burst in, very red in the face. "You have got him?" cried Poirot anxiously. Japp shook his head, very out of breath. "Bolitho came back from his holiday this morning—recalled by telegram. No one knows who sent it. The other man left last night. We'll catch him yet, though." Poirot shook his head quietly. "I think not," he said, and absent-mindedly he drew a big 4 on the table with a fork. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2023). The Big Four. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/70114/pg70114-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

WE INVESTIGATE AT CROFTLANDS

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE TUNISIAN DAGGER CHAPTER VI. THE TUNISIAN DAGGER I met the inspector just coming from the door which led into the kitchen quarters. “How’s the young lady, doctor?” “Coming round nicely. Her mother’s with her.” “That’s good. I’ve been questioning the servants. They all declare that no one has been to the back door to-night. Your description of that stranger was rather vague. Can’t you give us something more definite to go upon?” “I’m afraid not,” I said regretfully. “It was a dark night, you see, and the fellow had his coat collar well pulled up and his hat squashed down over his eyes.” “H’m,” said the inspector. “Looked as though he wanted to conceal his face. Sure it was no one you know?” I replied in the negative, but not as decidedly as I might have done. I remembered my impression that the stranger’s voice was not unfamiliar to me. I explained this rather haltingly to the inspector. “It was a rough, uneducated voice, you say?” I agreed, but it occurred to me that the roughness had been of an almost exaggerated quality. If, as the inspector thought, the man had wished to hide his face, he might equally well have tried to disguise his voice. “Do you mind coming into the study with me again, doctor? There are one or two things I want to ask you.” I acquiesced. Inspector Davis unlocked the door of the lobby, we passed through, and he locked the door again behind him. “We don’t want to be disturbed,” he said grimly. “And we don’t want any eavesdropping either. What’s all this about blackmail?” “Blackmail!” I exclaimed, very much startled. “Is it an effort of Parker’s imagination? Or is there something in it?” “If Parker heard anything about blackmail,” I said slowly, “he must have been listening outside this door with his ear glued against the keyhole.” Davis nodded. “Nothing more likely. You see, I’ve been instituting a few inquiries as to what Parker has been doing with himself this evening. To tell the truth, I didn’t like his manner. The man knows something. When I began to question him, he got the wind up, and plumped out some garbled story of blackmail.” I took an instant decision. “I’m rather glad you’ve brought the matter up,” I said. “I’ve been trying to decide whether to make a clean breast of things or not. I’d already practically decided to tell you everything, but I was going to wait for a favorable opportunity. You might as well have it now.” And then and there I narrated the whole events of the evening as I have set them down here. The inspector listened keenly, occasionally interjecting a question. “Most extraordinary story I ever heard,” he said, when I had finished. “And you say that letter has completely disappeared? It looks bad—it looks very bad indeed. It gives us what we’ve been looking for—a motive for the murder.” I nodded. “I realize that.” “You say that Mr. Ackroyd hinted at a suspicion he had that some member of his household was involved? Household’s rather an elastic term.” “You don’t think that Parker himself might be the man we’re after?” I suggested. “It looks very like it. He was obviously listening at the door when you came out. Then Miss Ackroyd came across him later bent on entering the study. Say he tried again when she was safely out of the way. He stabbed Ackroyd, locked the door on the inside, opened the window, and got out that way, and went round to a side door which he had previously left open. How’s that?” “There’s only one thing against it,” I said slowly. “If Ackroyd went on reading that letter as soon as I left, as he intended to do, I don’t see him continuing to sit on here and turn things over in his mind for another hour. He’d have had Parker in at once, accused him then and there, and there would have been a fine old uproar. Remember, Ackroyd was a man of choleric temper.” “Mightn’t have had time to go on with the letter just then,” suggested the inspector. “We know some one was with him at half-past nine. If that visitor turned up as soon as you left, and after he went, Miss Ackroyd came in to say good-night—well, he wouldn’t be able to go on with the letter until close upon ten o’clock.” “And the telephone call?” “Parker sent that all right—perhaps before he thought of the locked door and open window. Then he changed his mind—or got in a panic—and decided to deny all knowledge of it. That was it, depend upon it.” “Ye-es,” I said rather doubtfully. “Anyway, we can find out the truth about the telephone call from the exchange. If it was put through from here, I don’t see how any one else but Parker could have sent it. Depend upon it, he’s our man. But keep it dark—we don’t want to alarm him just yet, till we’ve got all the evidence. I’ll see to it he doesn’t give us the slip. To all appearances we’ll be concentrating on your mysterious stranger.” He rose from where he had been sitting astride the chair belonging to the desk, and crossed over to the still form in the arm-chair. “The weapon ought to give us a clew,” he remarked, looking up. “It’s something quite unique—a curio, I should think, by the look of it.” He bent down, surveying the handle attentively, and I heard him give a grunt of satisfaction. Then, very gingerly, he pressed his hands down below the hilt and drew the blade out from the wound. Still carrying it so as not to touch the handle, he placed it in a wide china mug which adorned the mantelpiece. “Yes,” he said, nodding at it. “Quite a work of art. There can’t be many of them about.” It was indeed a beautiful object. A narrow, tapering blade, and a hilt of elaborately intertwined metals of curious and careful workmanship. He touched the blade gingerly with his finger, testing its sharpness, and made an appreciative grimace. “Lord, what an edge,” he exclaimed. “A child could drive that into a man—as easy as cutting butter. A dangerous sort of toy to have about.” “May I examine the body properly now?” I asked. He nodded. “Go ahead.” I made a thorough examination. “Well?” said the inspector, when I had finished. “I’ll spare you the technical language,” I said. “We’ll keep that for the inquest. The blow was delivered by a right-handed man standing behind him, and death must have been instantaneous. By the expression on the dead man’s face, I should say that the blow was quite unexpected. He probably died without knowing who his assailant was.” “Butlers can creep about as soft-footed as cats,” said Inspector Davis. “There’s not going to be much mystery about this crime. Take a look at the hilt of that dagger.” I took the look. “I dare say they’re not apparent to you, but I can see them clearly enough.” He lowered his voice. “ ” Fingerprints! He stood off a few steps to judge of his effect. “Yes,” I said mildly. “I guessed that.” I do not see why I should be supposed to be totally devoid of intelligence. After all, I read detective stories, and the newspapers, and am a man of quite average ability. If there had been toe marks on the dagger handle, now, that would have been quite a different thing. I would then have registered any amount of surprise and awe. I think the inspector was annoyed with me for declining to get thrilled. He picked up the china mug and invited me to accompany him to the billiard room. “I want to see if Mr. Raymond can tell us anything about this dagger,” he explained. Locking the outer door behind us again, we made our way to the billiard room, where we found Geoffrey Raymond. The inspector held up his exhibit. “Ever seen this before, Mr. Raymond?” “Why—I believe—I’m almost sure that is a curio given to Mr. Ackroyd by Major Blunt. It comes from Morocco—no, Tunis. So the crime was committed with that? What an extraordinary thing. It seems almost impossible, and yet there could hardly be two daggers the same. May I fetch Major Blunt?” Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off. “Nice young fellow that,” said the inspector. “Something honest and ingenuous about him.” I agreed. In the two years that Geoffrey Raymond has been secretary to Ackroyd, I have never seen him ruffled or out of temper. And he has been, I know, a most efficient secretary. In a minute or two Raymond returned, accompanied by Blunt. “I was right,” said Raymond excitedly. “It the Tunisian dagger.” is “Major Blunt hasn’t looked at it yet,” objected the inspector. “Saw it the moment I came into the study,” said the quiet man. “You recognized it then?” Blunt nodded. “You said nothing about it,” said the inspector suspiciously. “Wrong moment,” said Blunt. “Lot of harm done by blurting out things at the wrong time.” He returned the inspector’s stare placidly enough. The latter grunted at last and turned away. He brought the dagger over to Blunt. “You’re quite sure about it, sir. You identify it positively?” “Absolutely. No doubt whatever.” “Where was this—er—curio usually kept? Can you tell me that, sir?” It was the secretary who answered. “In the silver table in the drawing-room.” “What?” I exclaimed. The others looked at me. “Yes, doctor?” said the inspector encouragingly. “It’s nothing.” “Yes, doctor?” said the inspector again, still more encouragingly. “It’s so trivial,” I explained apologetically. “Only that when I arrived last night for dinner I heard the lid of the silver table being shut down in the drawing-room.” I saw profound skepticism and a trace of suspicion on the inspector’s countenance. “How did you know it was the silver table lid?” I was forced to explain in detail—a long, tedious explanation which I would infinitely rather not have had to make. The inspector heard me to the end. “Was the dagger in its place when you were looking over the contents?” he asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t say I remember noticing it—but, of course, it may have been there all the time.” “We’d better get hold of the housekeeper,” remarked the inspector, and pulled the bell. A few minutes later Miss Russell, summoned by Parker, entered the room. “I don’t think I went near the silver table,” she said, when the inspector had posed his question. “I was looking to see that all the flowers were fresh. Oh! yes, I remember now. The silver table was open—which it had no business to be, and I shut the lid down as I passed.” She looked at him aggressively. “I see,” said the inspector. “Can you tell me if this dagger was in its place then?” Miss Russell looked at the weapon composedly. “I can’t say, I’m sure,” she replied. “I didn’t stop to look. I knew the family would be down any minute, and I wanted to get away.” “Thank you,” said the inspector. There was just a trace of hesitation in his manner, as though he would have liked to question her further, but Miss Russell clearly accepted the words as a dismissal, and glided from the room. “Rather a Tartar, I should fancy, eh?” said the inspector, looking after her. “Let me see. This silver table is in front of one of the windows, I think you said, doctor?” Raymond answered for me. “Yes, the left-hand window.” “And the window was open?” “They were both ajar.” “Well, I don’t think we need go into the question much further. Somebody—I’ll just say somebody—could get that dagger any time he liked, and exactly when he got it doesn’t matter in the least. I’ll be coming up in the morning with the chief constable, Mr. Raymond. Until then, I’ll keep the key of that door. I want Colonel Melrose to see everything exactly as it is. I happen to know that he’s dining out the other side of the county, and, I believe, staying the night....” We watched the inspector take up the jar. “I shall have to pack this carefully,” he observed. “It’s going to be an important piece of evidence in more ways than one.” A few minutes later as I came out of the billiard room with Raymond, the latter gave a low chuckle of amusement. I felt the pressure of his hand on my arm, and followed the direction of his eyes. Inspector Davis seemed to be inviting Parker’s opinion of a small pocket diary. “A little obvious,” murmured my companion. “So Parker is the suspect, is he? Shall we oblige Inspector Davis with a set of our fingerprints also?” He took two cards from the card tray, wiped them with his silk handkerchief, then handed one to me and took the other himself. Then, with a grin, he handed them to the police inspector. “Souvenirs,” he said. “No. 1, Dr. Sheppard; No. 2, my humble self. One from Major Blunt will be forthcoming in the morning.” Youth is very buoyant. Even the brutal murder of his friend and employer could not dim Geoffrey Raymond’s spirits for long. Perhaps that is as it should be. I do not know. I have lost the quality of resilience long since myself. It was very late when I got back, and I hoped that Caroline would have gone to bed. I might have known better. She had hot cocoa waiting for me, and whilst I drank it, she extracted the whole history of the evening from me. I said nothing of the blackmailing business, but contented myself with giving her the facts of the murder. “The police suspect Parker,” I said, as I rose to my feet and prepared to ascend to bed. “There seems a fairly clear case against him.” “Parker!” said my sister. “Fiddlesticks! That inspector must be a perfect fool. Parker indeed! Don’t tell me.” With which obscure pronouncement we went up to bed. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2006). The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/69087/pg69087-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

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