Swasthyais in the Services for Healthcare Providers Industry

Swasthya

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COVID19 Technology Trends Affecting the Spread of the Pandemic 

This paper is available on arxiv under CC 4.0 license. Authors: (1) Muzhaffar Hazman, University of Galway, Ireland; (2) Susan McKeever, Technological University Dublin, Ireland; (3) Josephine Griffith, University of Galway, Ireland. Table of Links Abstract and Introduction Related Works Methodology Results Limitations and Future Works Conclusion, Acknowledgments, and References A Hyperparameters and Settings B Metric: Weighted F1-Score C Architectural Details D Performance Benchmarking E Contingency Table: Baseline vs. Text-STILT 6 Conclusion In this work, we addressed the challenge of training multimodal meme sentiment classifiers on a limited number of labelled memes by incorporating unimodal sentiment analysis data. We did so by proposing the first instance of STILT that applies unimodal intermediate tasks to a multimodal target task. Specifically, we tested image-only and text-only sentiment classification as intermediate tasks in training a meme sentiment classifier. We showed that this approach worked – unimodal text improved meme classification performance to a statistically significant degree. This novel approach allowed us to train a meme classifier that outperforms meme-only finetuning with only 60% as many labelled meme samples. As possible explanations for our observations, we discuss apparent similarities and differences in the roles of image and text modalities between unimodal and multimodal sentiment analysis tasks. Acknowledgments This work was conducted with the financial support of the Science Foundation Ireland Centre for Research Training in Digitally-Enhanced Reality (d-real) under Grant No. 18/CRT/6224; and the provision of computational facilities and support from the Irish Centre for High-End Computing (ICHEC). References Christian Bauckhage. 2011. Insights into internet memes. Proceedings of the International AAAI Conference on Web and Social Media, 5(1):42–49. Efrat Blaier, Itzik Malkiel, and Lior Wolf. 2021. 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MOMENTA: A Multimodal Framework for Detecting Harmful Memes and Their Targets. In Findings of the Association for Computational Linguistics: EMNLP 2021, pages 4439–4455, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. Association for Computational Linguistics. Yada Pruksachatkun, Jason Phang, Haokun Liu, Phu Mon Htut, Xiaoyi Zhang, Richard Yuanzhe Pang, Clara Vania, Katharina Kann, and Samuel R. Bowman. 2020. Intermediate-task transfer learning with pretrained language models: When and why does it work? In Proceedings of the 58th Annual Meeting of the Association for Computational Linguistics, pages 5231–5247, Online. Association for Computational Linguistics. Alec Radford, Jong Wook Kim, Chris Hallacy, Aditya Ramesh, Gabriel Goh, Sandhini Agarwal, et al. 2021. Learning transferable visual models from natural language supervision. In International Conference on Machine Learning, pages 8748–8763. PMLR. Sathyanarayanan Ramamoorthy, Nethra Gunti, Shreyash Mishra1, S Suryavardan, Aishwarya Reganti, Parth Patwa, Amitava Das, Tanmoy Chakraborty, Amit Sheth, Asif Ekbal, and Chaitanya Ahuja. 2022. Memotion 2: Dataset on sentiment and emotion analysis of memes. In De-Factify @ AAAI 2022. First Workshop on Multimodal Fact-Checking and Hate Speech Detection, CEUR Workshop Proceedings. AAAI. Elad Segev, Asaf Nissenbaum, Nathan Stolero, and Limor Shifman. 2015. Families and Networks of Internet Memes: The Relationship Between Cohesiveness, Uniqueness, and Quiddity Concreteness. Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, 20(4):417–433. Lanyu Shang, Yang Zhang, Yuheng Zha, Yingxi Chen, Christina Youn, and Dong Wang. 2021. AOMD: An Analogy-Aware Approach to Offensive Meme Detection on Social Media. Inf. Process. Manage., 58(5). Chhavi Sharma, Deepesh Bhageria, William Scott, Srinivas PYKL, Amitava Das, Tanmoy Chakraborty, et al. 2020. SemEval-2020 task 8: Memotion analysisthe visuo-lingual metaphor! In Proceedings of the Fourteenth Workshop on Semantic Evaluation, pages 759–773, Barcelona (online). International Committee for Computational Linguistics. Shivam Sharma, Mohd Khizir Siddiqui, Md. Shad Akhtar, and Tanmoy Chakraborty. 2022. Domainaware self-supervised pre-training for label-efficient meme analysis. In Proceedings of the 2nd Conference of the Asia-Pacific Chapter of the Association for Computational Linguistics and the 12th International Joint Conference on Natural Language Processing (Volume 1: Long Papers), pages 792–805, Online only. Association for Computational Linguistics. Limor Shifman. 2014. The cultural logic of photo-based meme genres. Journal of Visual Culture, 13(3):340–358. Pranaydeep Singh, Aaron Maladry, and Els Lefever. 2022. Combining language models and linguistic information to label entities in memes. 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Innovative Strategies in Meme Sentiment Analysis: The Impact of Unimodal Training

If you don’t know, I write a newsletter called Above Average, where I talk about the second-order insights behind everything that is happening in the big tech. If you are into tech and want to be above average, . subscribe to it I have always admired Scott Galloway's newsletter, No Mercy, No Malice. One unique thing Scott does with his newsletter is that he hired his friend George Hahn to convert the newsletter into a podcast, which is published every week in his podcast feed . here I don’t have a friend like George Hahn, but I know AI voices have become very life-like with recent advances. So I thought, why not convert my newsletter into a podcast? So, I played around and wrote a script to use Open AI’s text-to-speech API to convert my newsletter post into its audio version. To follow along and use this script, you need Open AI credits and an Open AI Secret Key. Here is the code I used. from openai import OpenAI


client = OpenAI()
client.api_key = 'YOUR SECRET KEY'
txt = """1/ Google is the dark horse in AI

Only Google can mess up a good thing multiple times. Google has struggled to play the perception game that has turned against it after the launch of ChatGPT and with Sathya’s offense on all things AI.

Google released an impressive Gemini AI preview series and the success lasted for two days. Before media started to observe that the demo is not so much as a demo but series of well constructed prompts. Or a series of good demos complied to one great demo.

This is obviously putting Google back again in the perception wars of AI. The keyword here is perception.

If everything is perception & marketing than nothing in the world will be a surprise. In case of Google in AI, don’t let the perception confuse you. Google is still the dark horse in AI. Google was talking about AI in every Pixel device launch since last 5 years while the tech industry and VCs were saying that Crypto is the next big thing.

The day to day news cycle exists to take your attention and make you click & confuse you. AI is a continuous innovation not a discontinuous one. Google has strong fundamentals in AI and the AI cycle is much longer than 12 months of ChatGPT. Google has shipped more AI products via Gmail, Google Search, Ads and most importantly Google Pixel than any other company. So just because Google has failed to market itself doesn’t mean its a loser in AI.

Google is still a dark horse in AI."""

response = client.audio.speech.create(
    model="tts-1",
    voice="onyx",
    input=txt,
)

response.stream_to_file("output.mp3") The newsletter post I took in this example is from . Here is the output . this edition result it generated The result was not as good as George Hahn’s voice, but it’s much better than most of the audio book out there. This idea can be expanded further to create a product that takes a new newsletter when published, converts it automatically to a podcast, and publishes it in the podcast feed. George Hahn as a Service. AI PRODUCT ALERT: That’s it for day 1 of AI. Follow me on for the latest updates on 100 days of AI or . Twitter bookmark this page Also published . here

100 Days of AI Day 1: From Newsletter to Podcast, Leveraging AI for Audio Transformation

We had now reached Switzerland

CYRUS SACRIFICES HIMSELF FOR THE SAKE OF THE “ALIENS”

Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Oxford—The Master and Tutor of Lazarus here Oxford—The Master and Tutor of Lazarus Mr. Arabin, as we have said, had but a sad walk of it under the trees of Plumstead churchyard. He did not appear to any of the family till dinner-time, and then he seemed, as far as their judgement went, to be quite himself. He had, as was his wont, asked himself a great many questions and given himself a great many answers; and the upshot of this was that he had sent himself down for an ass. He had determined that he was much too old and much too rusty to commence the manoeuvres of love-making; that he had let the time slip through his hands which should have been used for such purposes; and that now he must lie on his bed as he had made it. Then he asked himself whether in truth he did love this woman; and he answered himself, not without a long struggle, but at last honestly, that he certainly did love her. He then asked himself whether he did not also love her money, and he again answered himself that he did so. But here he did not answer honestly. It was and ever had been his weakness to look for impure motives for his own conduct. No doubt, circumstanced as he was, with a small living and a fellowship, accustomed as he had been to collegiate luxuries and expensive comforts, he might have hesitated to marry a penniless woman had he felt ever so strong a predilection for the woman herself; no doubt Eleanor's fortune put all such difficulties out of the question; but it was equally without doubt that his love for her had crept upon him without the slightest idea on his part that he could ever benefit his own condition by sharing her wealth. When he had stood on the hearth-rug, counting the pattern and counting also the future chances of his own life, the remembrances of Mrs. Bold's comfortable income had certainly not damped his first assured feeling of love for her. And why should it have done so? Need it have done so with the purest of men? Be that as it may, Mr. Arabin decided against himself; he decided that it had done so in his case, and that he was not the purest of men. He also decided, which was more to his purpose, that Eleanor did not care a straw for him, and that very probably she did care a straw for his rival. Then he made up his mind not to think of her any more, and went on thinking of her till he was almost in a state to drown himself in the little brook which ran at the bottom of the archdeacon's grounds. And ever and again his mind would revert to the Signora Neroni, and he would make comparisons between her and Eleanor Bold, not always in favour of the latter. The signora had listened to him, and flattered him, and believed in him; at least she had told him so. Mrs. Bold had also listened to him, but had never flattered him; had not always believed in him; and now had broken from him in violent rage. The signora, too, was the more lovely woman of the two, and had also the additional attraction of her affliction—for to him it was an attraction. But he never could have loved the Signora Neroni as he felt that he now loved Eleanor; and so he flung stones into the brook, instead of flinging in himself, and sat down on its margin as sad a gentleman as you shall meet in a summer's day. He heard the dinner-bell ring from the churchyard, and he knew that it was time to recover his self-possession. He felt that he was disgracing himself in his own eyes, that he had been idling his time and neglecting the high duties which he had taken upon himself to perform. He should have spent this afternoon among the poor at St. Ewold's, instead of wandering about at Plumstead, an ancient, love-lorn swain, dejected and sighing, full of imaginary sorrows and Wertherian grief. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself, and determined to lose no time in retrieving his character, so damaged in his own eyes. Thus when he appeared at dinner he was as animated as ever and was the author of most of the conversation which graced the archdeacon's board on that evening. Mr. Harding was ill at ease and sick at heart, and did not care to appear more comfortable than he really was; what little he did say was said to his daughter. He thought that the archdeacon and Mr. Arabin had leagued together against Eleanor's comfort, and his wish now was to break away from the pair and undergo in his Barchester lodgings whatever Fate had in store for him. He hated the name of the hospital; his attempt to regain his lost inheritance there had brought upon him so much suffering. As far as he was concerned, Mr. Quiverful was now welcome to the place. And the archdeacon was not very lively. The poor dean's illness was of course discussed in the first place. Dr. Grantly did not mention Mr. Slope's name in connexion with the expected event of Dr. Trefoil's death; he did not wish to say anything about Mr. Slope just at present, nor did he wish to make known his sad surmises; but the idea that his enemy might possibly become Dean of Barchester made him very gloomy. Should such an event take place, such a dire catastrophe come about, there would be an end to his life as far as his life was connected with the city of Barchester. He must give up all his old haunts, all his old habits, and live quietly as a retired rector at Plumstead. It had been a severe trial for him to have Dr. Proudie in the palace, but with Mr. Slope also in the deanery he felt that he should be unable to draw his breath in Barchester close. Thus it came to pass that in spite of the sorrow at his heart, Mr. Arabin was apparently the gayest of the party. Both Mr. Harding and Mrs. Grantly were in a slight degree angry with him on account of his want of gloom. To the one it appeared as though he were triumphing at Eleanor's banishment, and to the other that he was not affected as he should have been by all the sad circumstances of the day—Eleanor's obstinacy, Mr. Slope's success, and the poor dean's apoplexy. And so they were all at cross-purposes. Mr. Harding left the room almost together with the ladies, and then the archdeacon opened his heart to Mr. Arabin. He still harped upon the hospital. "What did that fellow mean," said he, "by saying in his letter to Mrs. Bold that if Mr. Harding would call on the bishop, it would be all right? Of course I would not be guided by anything he might say, but still it may be well that Mr. Harding should see the bishop. It would be foolish to let the thing slip through our fingers because Mrs. Bold is determined to make a fool of herself." Mr. Arabin hinted that he was not quite so sure that Mrs. Bold would make a fool of herself. He said that he was not convinced that she did regard Mr. Slope so warmly as she was supposed to do. The archdeacon questioned and cross-questioned him about this, but elicited nothing, and at last remained firm in his own conviction that he was destined, , to be the brother-in-law of Mr. Slope. Mr. Arabin strongly advised that Mr. Harding should take no step regarding the hospital in connexion with, or in consequence of, Mr. Slope's letter. "If the bishop really means to confer the appointment on Mr. Harding," argued Mr. Arabin, "he will take care to let him have some other intimation than a message conveyed through a letter to a lady. Were Mr. Harding to present himself at the palace, he might merely be playing Mr. Slope's game;" and thus it was settled that nothing should be done till the great Dr. Gwynne's arrival, or at any rate without that potentate's sanction. malgré lui It was droll to observe how these men talked of Mr. Harding as though he were a puppet, and planned their intrigues and small ecclesiastical manoeuvres in reference to Mr. Harding's future position without dreaming of taking him into their confidence. There was a comfortable house and income in question, and it was very desirable, and certainly very just, that Mr. Harding should have them; but that at present was not the main point; it was expedient to beat the bishop and, if possible, to smash Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope had set up, or was supposed to have set up, a rival candidate. Of all things the most desirable would have been to have had Mr. Quiverful's appointment published to the public and then annulled by the clamour of an indignant world, loud in the defence of Mr. Harding's rights. But of such an event the chance was small; a slight fraction only of the world would be indignant, and that fraction would be one not accustomed to loud speaking. And then the preferment had, in a sort of way, been offered to Mr. Harding and had, in a sort of way, been refused by him. Mr. Slope's wicked, cunning hand had been peculiarly conspicuous in the way in which this had been brought to pass, and it was the success of Mr. Slope's cunning which was so painfully grating to the feelings of the archdeacon. That which of all things he most dreaded was that he should be outgeneralled by Mr. Slope; and just at present it appeared probable that Mr. Slope would turn his flank, steal a march on him, cut off his provisions, carry his strong town by a , and at last beat him thoroughly in a regular pitched battle. The archdeacon felt that his flank had been turned when desired to wait on Mr. Slope instead of the bishop, that a march had been stolen when Mr. Harding was induced to refuse the bishop's offer, that his provisions would be cut off when Mr. Quiverful got the hospital, that Eleanor was the strong town doomed to be taken, and that Mr. Slope, as Dean of Barchester, would be regarded by all the world as conqueror in the final conflict. coup de main Dr. Gwynne was the who was to come down upon the Barchester stage and bring about deliverance from these terrible evils. But how can melodramatic be properly brought about, how can vice and Mr. Slope be punished, and virtue and the archdeacon be rewarded, while the avenging god is laid up with the gout? In the mean time evil may be triumphant, and poor innocence, transfixed to the earth by an arrow from Dr. Proudie's quiver, may lie dead upon the ground, not to be resuscitated even by Dr. Gwynne. Deus ex machina dénouements Two or three days after Eleanor's departure, Mr. Arabin went to Oxford and soon found himself closeted with the august head of his college. It was quite clear that Dr. Gwynne was not very sanguine as to the effects of his journey to Barchester, and not over-anxious to interfere with the bishop. He had had the gout, but was very nearly convalescent, and Mr. Arabin at once saw that had the mission been one of which the master thoroughly approved, he would before this have been at Plumstead. As it was, Dr. Gwynne was resolved on visiting his friend, and willingly promised to return to Barchester with Mr. Arabin. He could not bring himself to believe that there was any probability that Mr. Slope would be made Dean of Barchester. Rumour, he said, had reached even his ears, not at all favourable to that gentleman's character, and he expressed himself strongly of opinion that any such appointment was quite out of the question. At this stage of the proceedings, the master's right-hand man, Tom Staple, was called in to assist at the conference. Tom Staple was the Tutor of Lazarus and, moreover, a great man at Oxford. Though universally known by a species of nomenclature so very undignified, Tom Staple was one who maintained a high dignity in the university. He was, as it were, the leader of the Oxford tutors, a body of men who consider themselves collectively as being by very little, if at all, second in importance to the heads themselves. It is not always the case that the master, or warden, or provost, or principal can hit it off exactly with his tutor. A tutor is by no means indisposed to have a will of his own. But at Lazarus they were great friends and firm allies at the time of which we are writing. Tom Staple was a hale, strong man of about forty-five, short in stature, swarthy in face, with strong, sturdy black hair and crisp black beard of which very little was allowed to show itself in shape of whiskers. He always wore a white neckcloth, clean indeed, but not tied with that scrupulous care which now distinguishes some of our younger clergy. He was, of course, always clothed in a seemly suit of solemn black. Mr. Staple was a decent cleanly liver, not over-addicted to any sensuality; but nevertheless a somewhat warmish hue was beginning to adorn his nose, the peculiar effect, as his friends averred, of a certain pipe of port introduced into the cellars of Lazarus the very same year in which the tutor entered it as a freshman. There was also, perhaps, a little redolence of port wine, as it were the slightest possible twang, in Mr. Staple's voice. In these latter days Tom Staple was not a happy man; university reform had long been his bugbear, and now was his bane. It was not with him, as with most others, an affair of politics, respecting which, when the need existed, he could, for parties' sake or on behalf of principle, maintain a certain amount of necessary zeal; it was not with him a subject for dilettante warfare and courteous, commonplace opposition. To him it was life and death. The of the university was his only idea of life, and any reformation was as bad to him as death. He would willingly have been a martyr in the cause, had the cause admitted of martyrdom. status quo At the present day, unfortunately, public affairs will allow of no martyrs, and therefore it is that there is such a deficiency of zeal. Could gentlemen of £10,000 a year have died on their own door-steps in defence of protection, no doubt some half-dozen glorious old baronets would have so fallen, and the school of protection would at this day have been crowded with scholars. Who can fight strenuously in any combat in which there is no danger? Tom Staple would have willingly been impaled before a Committee of the House, could he by such self-sacrifice have infused his own spirit into the component members of the hebdomadal board. Tom Staple was one of those who in his heart approved of the credit system which had of old been in vogue between the students and tradesmen of the university. He knew and acknowledged to himself that it was useless in these degenerate days publicly to contend with "The Jupiter" on such a subject. "The Jupiter" had undertaken to rule the university, and Tom Staple was well aware that "The Jupiter" was too powerful for him. But in secret, and among his safe companions, he would argue that the system of credit was an ordeal good for young men to undergo. The bad men, said he, the weak and worthless, blunder into danger and burn their feet; but the good men, they who have any character, they who have that within them which can reflect credit on their alma mater, they come through scatheless. What merit will there be to a young man to get through safely, if he be guarded and protected and restrained like a schoolboy? By so doing, the period of the ordeal is only postponed, and the manhood of the man will be deferred from the age of twenty to that of twenty-four. If you bind him with leading-strings at college, he will break loose while eating for the bar in London; bind him there, and he will break loose afterwards, when he is a married man. The wild oats must be sown somewhere. 'Twas thus that Tom Staple would argue of young men, not, indeed, with much consistency, but still with some practical knowledge of the subject gathered from long experience. And now Tom Staple proffered such wisdom as he had for the assistance of Dr. Gwynne and Mr. Arabin. "Quite out of the question," said he, arguing that Mr. Slope could not possibly be made the new Dean of Barchester. "So I think," said the master. "He has no standing, and, if all I hear be true, very little character." "As to character," said Tom Staple, "I don't think much of that. They rather like loose parsons for deans; a little fast living, or a dash of infidelity, is no bad recommendation to a cathedral close. But they couldn't make Mr. Slope; the last two deans have been Cambridge men; you'll not show me an instance of their making three men running from the same university. We don't get our share and never shall, I suppose, but we must at least have one out of three." "Those sort of rules are all gone by now," said Mr. Arabin. "Everything has gone by, I believe," said Tom Staple. "The cigar has been smoked out, and we are the ashes." "Speak for yourself, Staple," said the master. "I speak for all," said the tutor stoutly. "It is coming to that, that there will be no life left anywhere in the country. No one is any longer fit to rule himself, or those belonging to him. The Government is to find us all in everything, and the press is to find the Government. Nevertheless, Mr. Slope won't be Dean of Barchester." "And who will be warden of the hospital?" said Mr. Arabin. "I hear that Mr. Quiverful is already appointed," said Tom Staple. "I think not," said the master. "And I think, moreover, that Dr. Proudie will not be so short-sighted as to run against such a rock: Mr. Slope should himself have sense enough to prevent it." "But perhaps Mr. Slope may have no objection to see his patron on a rock," said the suspicious tutor. "What could he get by that?" asked Mr. Arabin. "It is impossible to see the doubles of such a man," said Mr. Staple. "It seems quite clear that Bishop Proudie is altogether in his hands, and it is equally clear that he has been moving heaven and earth to get this Mr. Quiverful into the hospital, although he must know that such an appointment would be most damaging to the bishop. It is impossible to understand such a man, and dreadful to think," added Tom Staple, sighing deeply, "that the welfare and fortunes of good men may depend on his intrigues." Dr. Gwynne or Mr. Staple were not in the least aware, nor even was Mr. Arabin, that this Mr. Slope, of whom they were talking, had been using his utmost efforts to put their own candidate into the hospital, and that in lieu of being permanent in the palace, his own expulsion therefrom had been already decided on by the high powers of the diocese. "I'll tell you what," said the tutor, "if this Quiverful is thrust into the hospital and Dr. Trefoil does die, I should not wonder if the Government were to make Mr. Harding Dean of Barchester. They would feel bound to do something for him after all that was said when he resigned." Dr. Gwynne at the moment made no reply to this suggestion, but it did not the less impress itself on his mind. If Mr. Harding could not be warden of the hospital, why should he not be Dean of Barchester? And so the conference ended without any very fixed resolution, and Dr. Gwynne and Mr. Arabin prepared for their journey to Plumstead on the morrow. 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

Oxford—The Master and Tutor of Lazarus

The Widow's Suitors

The Stanhope Family

Everyone’s favorite punching bag, Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act of 1996, made its way to the Supreme Court this week in . Gonzalez v. Google The case confronts the scope of Section 230, and in particular examines whether platforms are liable for algorithms that target users and recommend content. Gonzalez The stakes are high: Recommendation algorithms underpin much of our experience online (search! social media! online commerce!)—so the case spawned dozens of , hundreds of webinars and tweet threads, and new wrinkles for people who love the internet. So basically, it’s my idea of a good time. friend-of-the-court briefs Marie Kondo: "I'm so excited because I love mess" On that note: Hi! I’m Nabiha Syed, CEO of The Markup and a media lawyer by training. I like unanswered questions and moments where we confront the messiness of our lives as mediated by technology. The sprawling two hour and 41 minute oral argument in pulled a lot of threads, some of which were clarifying and others that were, well, about thumbnails and rice pilaf. ( .) My takeaway is that the court is unlikely to gut Section 230, but it might nibble at its scope in chaotic ways. Gonzalez Seriously To help make sense of it all, I turned to two of my favorite legal scholars and old colleagues of mine from the Yale Information Society Project: James Grimmelmann, professor at Cornell Law School and Cornell Tech, and Kate Klonick, law professor at St. John’s University and fellow at the Berkman Klein Center at Harvard. Here’s what they had to share, edited for brevity and clarity. Nabiha: Let’s take a minute to revisit the history and legislative intent of Section 230: What was it meant to incentivize? : It seems paradoxical, but Section 230 was intended to internet platforms to moderate the content they carry. Several court decisions in the years before Section 230 was enacted had created a perverse legal regime in which the more effort a platform put into moderating harmful content, the stricter a standard it would be held to. James encourage By creating a blanket immunity, Section 230 ensured that platforms can remove the harmful content that they find without worrying that they will be held liable for the harmful content that they miss. In the years since then, the consensus about Section 230’s purpose has shifted a bit. The leading theory now is that Section 230 prevents “ .” Without some kind of immunity for user-posted content, platforms will overmoderate. Anytime content has even the slightest whiff of harmfulness or illegality, platforms will take it down to avoid legal risk. collateral censorship Lots of socially valuable content will be taken down along with the actually harmful stuff, throwing the baby out with the bathwater. On this theory, Section 230 reflects a belief that there is more good content out there than bad content, and that platforms will settle on moderation policies that keep their users happy even without the threat of liability. It is a constant surprise to me that Section 230 has become this black hole for big tech agita, and I think it’s most constructive to focus on its . Kate: history and legislative intent In the mid-1990s, there was a bit of a moral panic over the amount of pornography that was available on the internet, fueled by a (since debunked) article in the Georgetown Law Journal and things like this classic Time magazine cover: That caused Congress to start what would be called in modern-terms a “Make the Internet Decent Again” campaign. The result was the Communications Decency Act (CDA)—which was a very broad piece of legislation that tried to bring “decency” to the internet. At the same time, courts heard different types of tort claims against internet companies for speech posted on their sites—and the rulings are all over the place. essentially told online intermediaries that they were liable, and said that they weren’t. The result was a lot of confusion. One decision another one If platform providers were liable for people said on their platforms, they should just take down everything but the sweetest of cat photos. And if they liable for anything people said on their platforms, then why even bother spending resources taking down swastikas or other offensive content? anything weren’t Fast-forward a bit: The CDA is passed (including Section 230, which essentially makes online intermediaries immune from tort liability), and it is almost immediately challenged on First Amendment grounds. That case, , was heard by the Supreme Court in 1997, and it struck down all of the CDA for First Amendment reasons for Section 230, which survived. Reno v. ACLU except Shortly thereafter, in , the 4th Circuit broadly construed the immunity for platforms—which became precedent for courts all over the United States for the last 25 years. So that’s the story of how we got Section 230, kept Section 230, and then strengthened Section 230. Zeran v. AOL Nabiha: The argument revealed some confusion over what counts as publishing—namely, whether it includes recommending, endorsing, organizing, prioritizing, or presenting information. Why is it so important to get this scope right? And what does this mean for search? Gonzalez If I post a video to YouTube, where other people view it, it is obvious that is the kind of activity that Section 230 protects. But on Tuesday the justices went around in circles for two and a half hours trying to figure out what else fits in that category. James: They seemed to agree that a straightforward search engine, like Google or Bing, should also be covered: It provides a filtered list of websites that are relevant to the user’s query. They had a harder time with when a site makes recommendations, which also provide a filtered list of relevant content. The problem in both cases is that without giving some kind of immunity, it is not clear that the feature could exist. It might be possible to imagine a YouTube without recommendations; it is not possible to imagine a Google Search without search results. Even worse, there’s not a sharp dividing line between search and recommendation; Google and Bing use lots of signals besides the user’s query (e.g., geographic location and search history). I think the goal of legal policy in this area should be to , but the arguments on Tuesday focused more on what platforms do than on what users want. help users find what they want Without giving some kind of immunity, it is not clear that [filtering features] could exist. It might be possible to imagine a YouTube without recommendations; it is not possible to imagine a Google Search without search results. James Grimmelmann The plain meaning of Section 230’s publishing definition is already given in the statute, specifically, 47 USC § 230(f)(4)—and full disclosure, I was on an centered on this point. It literally includes the words “pick, choose, analyze, or digest content.” Did they know in 1996 that we’d be contemplating the scale of targeting that modern algorithms allow? Kate: amicus brief No, of course not. But they explicitly considered that would exist to play that curation role of picking, choosing, analyzing, or digesting content. And this isn’t a constitutional issue. If that meaning has changed, it’s not the court’s job to change it. That’s Congress’s job. something Nabiha: At various points, the justices danced with the idea of “neutral” algorithms and “neutrality” as a way to approach the question presented. I find the idea of a neutral algorithm slightly absurd, but you do see an analysis of “neutral tools” pop up in Section 230 jurisprudence. What’s going on here? There are definitely contexts in which strict neutrality is coherent and defensible. Offline, public accommodation laws require neutral, even-handed treatment: Madison Square Garden can’t kick you out of a Mariah Carey concert because of your race or because you . James: work for a law firm the owner doesn’t like Online, network neutrality laws (where they exist) require ISPs to treat traffic from different sites identically. These work because there’s a clear definition of what neutrality means: Anyone can buy a ticket and be seated. At the content layer, strict neutrality is often either incoherent or unimaginably awful. I happen to like a chronological feed, but if you follow thousands of people on Twitter, a strictly chronological feed is impossible to keep up with. A would have to rank every website the same, which is impossible, or use some kind of completely arbitrary criterion, like page size or alphabetical order. . truly neutral search engine That doesn’t work When people—including Supreme Court justices and tech billionaires who genuinely should know better—float this idea of “neutrality,” I think one of two things is going on. Sometimes they’re reasoning by analogy from offline contexts, without realizing how pervasive indispensable algorithmic ranking is online. And sometimes they have in mind a weaker notion of neutrality, one in which the platform doing the ranking is -neutral: It doesn’t try to press any particular agenda on its users. viewpoint Unfortunately, while viewpoint neutrality can be an appealing goal when it comes to First Amendment law and speech regulation by governments, it doesn’t work in the content-moderation space because there are viewpoints embedded in almost every widely used content moderation practice. “Death threats are bad” is a viewpoint. And even viewpoint-neutral moderation policies, like “don’t send unsolicited fundraising emails that users didn’t sign up for and don’t want” can look discriminatory in application if it turns out that one of the two major political parties disproportionately sends . spammy fundraising emails Your instinct is right, and I’m going to cheat and borrow from what , summarizing the oral arguments: “ and always discriminate.” Eric is exactly right here, and I hope these questions start to deconstruct some of the technology myths that we’ve been suffering under for the last 20 years: Kate: professor Eric Goldman wrote Gonzalez Algorithms are never neutral . “AI is biased”—no, humans who build it contain bias and the human data it trains on contains bias. The AI just reflects that back to us. Describing technology as the origin of intent “Neutral tools” is exactly this idea. Technology is objective or neutral. This reminds me a lot about the brief hope in the early 2000s as fMRIs came into regular use that we could “solve” questions of intent or culpability in the law by being able to see how a brain “worked”—of course we can’t, even seeing how a brain works or that a tumor “made” someone do something doesn’t mean we don’t have to ask the hard philosophical questions about what to about it. We can fix algorithms with transparency. do Nabiha: The magic (and the mayhem) of Section 230 is that it redirects liability to an individual speaker, rather than a third party who is amplifying that speech. In the absence of 230, do you foresee courts limiting third-party liability on First Amendment grounds? In the absence of Section 230, two things would happen. James: First, courts would have to ask whether the First Amendment does some of the same work that Section 230 does. While the full breadth of Section 230 probably isn’t constitutionally required, some degree of protection probably is. For the same reason that requires actual malice in defamation claims brought by public figures, it’s hard to see how strict liability against platforms could be constitutional. Unless they have some fair reason to know that particular content is illegal, it strains basic notions of justice to hold them liable for it. New York Times v. Sullivan Second, courts would also have to work through the details of specific crimes and torts. Defamation, invasion of privacy, wire fraud, promotion of unregistered securities, the practice of medicine without a license … you name it, the courts would have to figure out how it applies to platforms. The existence of Section 230 has prevented the development of substantive law of platform liability. If Section 230 goes away, the courts would have to invent it, in a hurry. In a lot of cases, they might well end up with rules that protect platforms much of the time. The same policy reasons that support Section 230 currently would still be good policy reasons not to hold platforms liable for every harmful piece of content users post. You can interpret that as meaning that Section 230 isn’t indispensable; it could be repealed without breaking the internet. But I think it would be more accurate to say that Section 230 is a load-bearing wall. If it’s demolished, something else will need to hold up that weight. Nabiha: It’s 2023, so of course AI has entered the chat. What are the implications of this case for generative AI? If the Supreme Court holds that algorithmic recommendations aren’t protected by Section 230, then generative AI is likely to be categorically ineligible for Section 230. That has to be a scary prospect for the companies currently giving users access to chatbots that meet the DSM-5 criteria for multiple serious mental disorders. James: If the Supreme Court rules for Google, matters will be more complicated. In some ways these AIs simply replicate patterns in their training data; in other ways, they synthesize outputs that can’t be traced back to specific third-party training data. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if the courts had to work this out, one case at a time, over the course of several years. Generative AI is really complicated, and we barely understand how it works and how it will be used. Taking time to work out the legal rules gives us more of a chance of getting them right. Nabiha: Predictions are a fool’s game, but what’s your gut say about the future of Section 230—in one emoji? Kate: 💬 James: 🤞 The fun doesn’t stop here. The Supreme Court will rule on the case by this summer. Gonzalez And if there’s one thing we can bet on, the coming months will see more twists and turns in the laws that affect the internet. If getting into the nerdy, legal bits of technology is something you’re interested in, and you have additional questions you’d like answered, send them to me at . newsletter@themarkup.org If we get enough questions, we’ll answer them in a future issue. And you can always reach out to me at . nabiha@themarkup.org Finally, if you’re interested in diving deeper into what Kate and James have worked on, Kate writes a newsletter called , which you can subscribe to if you like reading about free speech, law, and technology. And James literally wrote textbook on internet law, which . The Klonickles the you can get here Thanks for reading! Always, Nabiha Syed Chief Executive Officer The Markup By Nabiha Syed Also published here Photo by on Henry & Co. Unsplash

Section 230: What Is It and Does It Need to Change?

LADY CARBURY AT HOME

SWITZERLAND, THE CRADLE OF LIBERTY

Dick Sands the Boy Captain by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . MARKET-DAY here MARKET-DAY. So sudden was Dick's action that it had been impossible to parry his blow. Several of the natives rushed on him, and in all likelihood would have struck him down upon the spot had not Negoro arrived at that very moment. At a sign from him the natives drew back, and proceeded to raise and carry away Harris's corpse. Alvez and CoÃ¯mbra were urgent in their demand that Dick should forthwith be punished by death, but Negoro whispered to them that they would assuredly be the gainers by delay, and they accordingly contented themselves with ordering the youth to be placed under strict supervision. This was the first time that Dick had set eyes upon Negoro since he had left the coast; nevertheless, so heartbroken was he at the intelligence he had just received, that he did not deign to address a word to the man whom he knew to be the real author of all his misery. He cared not now what became of him. Loaded with chains, he was placed in the dungeon where Alvez was accustomed to confine slaves who had been condemned to death for mutiny or violence. That he had no communication with the outer world gave him no concern; he had avenged the death of those for whose safety he had felt himself responsible, and could now calmly await the fate which he could not doubt was in store for him; he did not dare to suppose that he had been temporarily spared otherwise than that he might [Illustration: Accompanied by CoÃ¯mbra, Alvez himself was one of the first arrivals.] suffer the cruellest tortures that native ingenuity could devise. That the "Pilgrim's" cook now held in his power the boy captain he so thoroughly hated was warrant enough that the sternest possible measure of vengeance would be exacted. Two days later, the great market, the , commenced. Although many of the principal traders were there from the interior, it was by no means exclusively a slave-mart; a considerable proportion of the natives from the neighbouring provinces assembled to dispose of the various products of the country. lakoni Quite early the great of KazonndÃ© was all alive with a bustling concourse of little under five thousand people, including the slaves of old Alvez, amongst whom were Tom and his three partners in adversity-an item by no means inconsiderable in the dealer's stock. chitoka Accompanied by CoÃ¯mbra, Alvez himself was one of the first arrivals. He was going to sell his slaves in lots to be conveyed in caravans into the interior. The dealers for the most part consisted of half-breeds from Ujiji, the principal market on Lake Tanganyika, whilst some of a superior class were manifestly Arabs. The natives that were assembled were of both sexes, and of every variety of age, the women in particular displaying an aptitude in making bargains that is shared by their sisters elsewhere of a lighter hue; and it may be said that no market of the most civilized region could be characterized by greater excitement or animation, for amongst the savages of Africa the customer makes his offer in equally noisy terms as the vendor. The was always considered a kind of fÃ¨te-day; consequently the natives of both sexes, though their clothing was scanty in extent, made a point of appearing in a most lavish display of ornaments. Their head-gear was most remarkable. The men had their hair arranged in every variety of eccentric device; some had it divided into four parts, rolled over cushions and fastened into a chignon, or mounted in front into a bunch of tails adorned with red feathers; others plastered it thickly with a mixture of red mud and oil similar to that used for greasing machinery, and formed it into cones or lumps, into which they inserted a medley of iron pins and ivory skewers; whilst the greatest dandies had a glass bead threaded upon every single hair, the whole being fastened together by a tattooing-knife driven through the glittering mass. lakoni As a general rule, the women preferred dressing their hair in little tufts about the size of a cherry, arranging it into the shape of a cap, with corkscrew ringlets on each side of the face. Some wore it simply hanging down their backs, others in French fashion, with a fringe across the forehead; but every , without exception, was daubed and caked either with the mixture of mud and grease, or with a bright red extract of sandal-wood called . coiffure nkola But it was not only on their heads that they made this extraordinary display of ornaments; the lobes of their ears were loaded till they reached their shoulders with a profusion of wooden pegs, open-work copper rings, grains of maize, or little gourds, which served the purpose of snuff-boxes; their necks, arms, wrists, legs, and ankles were a perfect mass of brass and copper rings, or sometimes were covered with a lot of bright buttons. Rows of red beads, called , or , seemed also very popular. As they had no pockets, they attached their knives, pipes and other articles to various parts of their body; so that altogether, in their holiday attire, the rich men of the district might not inappropriately be compared to walking shrines. sames-sames talakas With their teeth they had all played the strangest of vagaries; the upper and lower incisors had generally been extracted, and the others had been filed to points or carved into hooks, like the fangs of a rattle-snake. Their fingernails were allowed to grow to such an immoderate length as to render the hands well-nigh useless, and their swarthy skins were tattooed with figures of trees, birds, crescents and discs, or, not unfrequently, with those zigzag lines which Livingstone thinks he recognizes as resembling those observed in ancient Egyptian drawings. The tattooing is effected by means of a blue substance inserted into incisions previously made in the skin. Every child is tattooed in precisely the same pattern as his father before him, and thus it may always be ascertained to what family he belongs. Instead of carrying his armorial bearings upon his plate or upon the panels of his carriage, the African magnate wears them emblazoned on his own bosom! The garments that were usually worn were simply aprons of antelope-skins descending to the knees, but occasionally a short petticoat might be seen made of woven grass and dyed with bright colours. The ladies not unfrequently wore girdles of beads attached to green skirts embroidered with silk and ornamented with bits of glass or cowries, or sometimes the skirts were made of the grass cloth called , which, in blue, yellow, or black, is so much valued by the people of Zanzibar. lambda Garments of these pretensions, however, always indicated that the wearers belonged to the upper classes; the lower orders, such as the smaller dealers, as well as the slaves, had hardly any clothes at all. The women commonly acted as porters, and arrived at the market with huge baskets on their backs, which they secured by means of straps passed across the forehead. Having deposited their loads upon the chitoka, they turned out their goods, and then seated themselves inside the empty baskets. As the result of the extreme fertility of the country all the articles offered for sale were of a first-rate quality. There were large stores of rice, which had been grown at a profit a hundred times as great as the cost, and maize which, producing three crops in eight months, yielded a profit as large again as the rice. There were also sesame, Urua pepper stronger than Cayenne, manioc, nutmegs, salt, and palm-oil. In the market, too, were hundreds of goats, pigs and sheep, evidently of a Tartar breed, with hair instead of wool; and there was a good supply of fish and poultry. Besides all these there was an attractive display of bright-coloured pottery, the designs of which were very symmetrical. In shrill, squeaky voices, children were crying several varieties of native drinks; banana-wine, , which, whatever it was, seemed to be in great demand; , a kind of beer compounded of bananas, and mead, a mixture of honey and water, fermented with malt. pombÃ© malofoo But the most prominent feature in the whole market was the traffic in stuffs and ivory. The pieces could be counted by thousands of the unbleached from Salem in Massachusetts, of the blue cotton, , thirty-four inches wide, and of the checked , blue and black with its scarlet border. More expensive than these were lots of silk , with red, green, or yellow grounds, which are sold in lengths of three yards, at prices varying from seven dollars to eighty, when they are interwoven with gold. mcrikani kaniki sohari diulis The ivory had come from well-nigh every part of Central Africa, and was destined for Khartoom, Zanzibar, and Natal, many of the merchants dealing in this commodity exclusively. How vast a number of elephants must be slaughtered to supply this ivory may be imagined when it is remembered that over 200 tons, that is, 1,125,000 lbs., are exported annually to Europe. Of this, much the larger share goes to England, where the Sheffield cutlery consumes about 382,500 lbs. From the West Coast of Africa alone the produce is nearly 140 tons. The average weight of a pair of tusks is 28 lbs., and the ordinary value of these in 1874 would be about 60 .; but here in KazonndÃ© were some weighing no less than 165 lbs., of that soft, translucent quality which retains its whiteness far better than the ivory from other sources. l As already mentioned, slaves are not unfrequently used as current money amongst the African traders, but the natives themselves usually pay for their goods with Venetian glass beads, of which the chalk-white are called , the black , and the red . Strung in ten rows, or , these beads are twisted twice round the neck, forming what is called a , which is always reckoned of considerable value. catchokolos bubulus sikunderetches khetÃ©s foondo The usual measure by which they are sold is the , containing a weight of about 70 lbs. Livingstone, Cameron and Stanley always took care to be well provided with this kind of currency. In default of beads, the picÃ©, a Zanzibar coin worth something more than a farthing, and shells peculiar to the East Coast, are recognized as a medium of exchange in the market. Amongst the cannibal tribes a certain value is attached to human teeth, and at the lakoni some natives might be seen wearing strings of teeth, the owners of which they had probably, at some previous time, devoured. This species of currency, however, was falling rapidly into disuse. frasilah vioon-gooas, Towards the middle of the day the excitement of the market reached its highest pitch, and the uproar became perfectly deafening. The voices of the eager sellers mingled with those of indignant and overcharged customers; fights were numerous, and as there was an utter absence of any kind of police, no effort was made to restore peace or order amongst the unruly crowd. It was just noon when Alvez gave orders that the slaves he wished to dispose of should be placed on view. Thereupon nearly two thousand unfortunates were brought forward, many of whom had been confined in the dealer's barracks for several months. Most of the stock, however, had been so carefully attended to that they were in good condition, and it was only the last batch that looked as if they would be improved by another month's rest; but as the demand upon the East Coast was now very large, Alvez hoped to get a good price for all, and determined to part with even the last arrivals for whatever sum he could obtain. Amongst these latter, whom the havildars drove like a herd of cattle into the middle of the chitoka, were Tom and his three friends. They were closely chained, and rage and shame were depicted in their countenances. Bat passed a quick and scrutinizing gaze around him, and said to the others,- "I do not see Mr. Dick." Tom answered mournfully,- "Mr. Dick will be killed, if he is not dead already. Our only hope is that we may now all be bought in one lot; it will be a consolation to us if we can be all together." Tears rose to Bat's eyes as he thought of how his poor old father was likely to be sold, and carried away to wear out his days as a common slave. The sale now commenced. The agents of Alvez proceeded to divide the slaves, men, women and children, into lots, treating them in no respect better than beasts in a cattle-market. Tom and the others were paraded about from customer to customer, an agent accompanying them to proclaim the price demanded. Strong, intelligent-looking Americans, quite different to the miserable creatures brought from the banks of the Zambesi and Lualaba, they at once attracted the observation of the Arab and half-breed dealers. Just as though they were examining a horse, the buyers felt their limbs, turned them round and round, looked at their teeth, and finally tested their paces by throwing a stick to a distance and making them run to fetch it. All the slaves were subjected to similar humiliations; and ail alike, except the very young children, seemed deeply sensible of their degradation. The cruelty exhibited towards them was very vile. CoÃ¯mbra, who was half drunk, treated them with the utmost brutality; not that they had any reason to expect any gentler dealings at the hands of the new masters who might purchase them for ivory or any other commodity. Children were torn away from their parents, husbands from their wives, brothers from sisters, and without even the indulgence of a parting word, were separated never to meet again. The scenes that occur at such markets as this at KazonndÃ© are too heartrending to be described in detail. It is one of the peculiar requirements of the slave-trade that the two sexes should have an entirely different destination. In fact, the dealers who purchase men never purchase women. The women, who are required to supply the Mussulman harems, are sent principally to Arab districts to be exchanged for ivory; whilst the men, who are to be put to hard labour, are despatched to the coast, East and West, whence they are exported to the Spanish colonies, or to the markets of Muscat or Madagascar. To Tom and his friends the prospect of being transported to a slave colony was far better than that of being retained in some Central African province, where they could have no chance of regaining their liberty; and the moment, to them, was accordingly one of great suspense. Altogether, things turned out for them better than they dared anticipate. They had at least the satisfaction of finding that as yet they were not to be separated. Alvez, of course, had taken good care to conceal the origin of this exceptional lot, and their own ignorance of the language thoroughly prevented them from communicating it; but the anxiety to secure so valuable a property rendered the competition for it very keen; the bidding rose higher and higher, until at length the four men were knocked down to a rich Arab dealer, who purposed in the course of a few days to take them to Lake Tanganyika, and thence to one of the deptÃ´s of Zanzibar. This journey, it is true, would be for 1500 miles across the most unhealthy parts of Central Africa, through districts harassed by internal wars; and it seemed improbable that Tom could survive the hardships he must meet; like poor old Nan, he would succumb to fatigue; but the brave fellows did not suffer themselves to fear the future, they were only too happy to be still together; and the chain that bound them one to another was felt to be easier and lighter to bear. Their new master knew that it was for his own interest that his purchase should be well taken care of; he looked to make a substantial profit at Zanzibar, and sent them off at once to his own private barracks; consequently they saw no more of what transpired at KazonndÃ©. 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 (2005). Dick sands, the boy Captain. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3250.html.images 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

MARKET-DAY

Dick Sands the Boy Captain by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . THE APPRENTICE here THE APPRENTICE. There was no poop upon the "Pilgrim's" deck, so that Mrs. Weldon had no alternative than to acquiesce in the captain's proposal that she should occupy his own modest cabin. Accordingly, here she was installed with Jack and old Nan; and here she took all her meals, in company with the captain and Cousin Benedict. For Cousin Benedict tolerably comfortable sleeping accommodation had been contrived close at hand, while Captain Hull himself retired to the crew's quarter, occupying the cabin which properly belonged to the chief mate, but as already indicated, the services of a second officer were quite dispensed with. All the crew were civil and attentive to the wife of their employer, a master to whom they were faithfully attached. They were all natives of the coast of California, brave and experienced seamen, and united by tastes and habits in a common bond of sympathy. Few as they were in number, their work was never shirked, not simply from the sense of duty, but because they were directly interested in the profits of their undertaking; the success of their labours always told to their own advantage. The present expedition was the fourth that they had taken together; and, as it turned out to be the first in which they had failed to meet with success, it may be imagined that they were full of resentment against the mutinous whalemen who had been the cause of so serious a diminution of their ordinary gains. [Illustration: Negoro.] The only one on board who was not an American was a man who had been temporarily engaged as cook. His name was Negoro; he was a Portuguese by birth, but spoke English with perfect fluency. The previous cook had deserted the ship at Auckland, and when Negoro, who was out of employment, applied for the place, Captain Hull, only too glad to avoid detention, engaged him at once without inquiry into his antecedents. There was not the slightest fault to be found with the way in which the cook performed his duties, but there was something in his manner, or perhaps, rather in the expression of his countenance, which excited the Captain's misgivings, and made him regret that he had not taken more pains to investigate the character of one with whom he was now brought into such close contact Negoro looked about forty years of age. Although he had the appearance of being slightly built, he was muscular; he was of middle height, and seemed to have a robust constitution; his hair was dark, his complexion somewhat swarthy. His manner was taciturn, and although, from occasional remarks that he dropped, it was evident that he had received some education, he was very reserved on the subjects both of his family and of his past life. No one knew where he had come from, and he admitted no one to his confidence as to where he was going, except that he made no secret of his intention to land at Valparaiso. His freedom from sea-sickness demonstrated that this could hardly be his first voyage, but on the other hand his complete ignorance of seamen's phraseology made it certain that he had never been accustomed to his present occupation. He kept himself aloof as much as possible from the rest of the crew, during the day rarely leaving the great cast-iron stove, which was out of proportion to the measurement of the cramped little kitchen; and at night, as soon as the fire was extinguished, took the earliest opportunity of retiring to his berth and going to sleep. It has been already stated that the crew of the "Pilgrim" consisted of five seamen and an apprentice. This apprentice was Dick Sands. Dick was fifteen years old; he was a foundling, his unknown parents having abandoned him at his birth, and he had been brought up in a public charitable institution. He had been called Dick, after the benevolent passer-by who had discovered him when he was but an infant a few hours old, and he had received the surname of Sands as a memorial of the spot where he had been exposed, Sandy Hook, a point at the mouth of the Hudson, where it forms an entrance to the harbour of New York. As Dick was so young it was most likely he would yet grow a little taller, but it did not seem probable that he would ever exceed middle height, he looked too stoutly and strongly built to grow much. His complexion was dark, but his beaming blue eyes attested, with scarcely room for doubt, his Anglo-Saxon origin, and his countenance betokened energy and intelligence. The profession that he had adopted seemed to have equipped him betimes for fighting the battle of life. Misquoted often as Virgil's are the words "Audaces fortuna juvat!" but the true reading is "Audentes fortuna juvat!" and, slight as the difference may seem, it is very significant. It is upon the confident rather than the rash, the daring rather than the bold, that Fortune sheds her smiles; the bold man often acts without thinking, whilst the daring always thinks before he acts. And Dick Sands was truly courageous; he was one of the daring. At fifteen years old, an age at which few boys have laid aside the frivolities of childhood, he had acquired the stability of a man, and the most casual observer could scarcely fail to be attracted by his bright, yet thoughtful countenance. At an early period of his life he had realized all the difficulties of his position, and had made a resolution, from which nothing tempted him to flinch, that he would carve out for himself an honourable and independent career. Lithe and agile in his movements, he was an adept in every kind of athletic exercise; and so marvellous was his success in everything he undertook, that he might almost be supposed to be one of those gifted mortals who have two right hands and two left feet. Until he was four years old the little orphan had found a home in one of those institutions in America where forsaken children are sure of an asylum, and he was subsequently sent to an industrial school supported by charitable aid, where he learnt reading, writing, and arithmetic. From the days of infancy he had never deviated from the expression of his wish to be a sailor, and accordingly, as soon as he was eight, he was placed as cabin-boy on board one of the ships that navigate the Southern Seas. The officers all took a peculiar interest in him, and he received, in consequence, a thoroughly good grounding in the duties and discipline of a seaman's life. There was no room to doubt that he must ultimately rise to eminence in his profession, for when a child from the very first has been trained in the knowledge that he must gain his bread by the sweat of his brow, it is comparatively rare that he lacks the will to do so. Whilst he was still acting as cabin-boy on one of those trading-vessels, Dick attracted the notice of Captain Hull, who took a fancy to the lad and introduced him to his employer. Mr. Weldon at once took a lively interest in Dick's welfare, and had his education continued in San Francisco, taking care that he was instructed in the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church, to which his own family belonged. Throughout his studies Dick Sands' favourite subjects were always those which had a reference to his future profession; he mastered the details of the geography of the world; he applied himself diligently to such branches of mathematics as were necessary for the science of navigation; whilst for recreation in his hours of leisure, he would greedily devour every book of adventure in travel that came in his way. Nor did he omit duly to combine the practical with the theoretical; and when he was bound apprentice on board the "Pilgrim," a vessel not only belonging to his benefactor, but under the command of his kind friend Captain Hull, he congratulated himself most heartily, and felt that the experience he should gain in the southern whale-fisheries could hardly fail to be of service to him in after-life. A first-rate sailor ought to be a first-rate fisherman too. It was a matter of the greatest pleasure to Dick Sands when he heard to his surprise that Mrs. Weldon was about to become a passenger on board the "Pilgrim." His devotion to the family of his benefactor was large and genuine. For several years Mrs. Weldon had acted towards him little short of a mother's part, and for Jack, although he never forgot the difference in their position, he entertained well-nigh a brother's affection. His friends had the satisfaction of being assured that they had sown the seeds of kindness on a generous soil, for there was no room to doubt that the heart of the orphan boy was overflowing with sincere gratitude. Should the occasion arise, ought he not, he asked, to be ready to sacrifice everything in behalf of those to whom he was indebted not only for his start in life, but for the knowledge of all that was right and holy? Confiding in the good principles of her protÃ©gÃ©, Mrs. Weldon had no hesitation in entrusting her little son to his especial charge. During the frequent periods of leisure, when the sea was fair, and the sails required no shifting, the apprentice was never weary of amusing Jack by making him familiar with the practice of a sailor's craft; he made him scramble up the shrouds, perch upon the yards, and slip down the back-stays; and the mother had no alarm; her assurance of Dick Sands' ability and watchfulness to protect her boy was so complete that she could only rejoice in an occupation for him that seemed more than anything to restore the colour he had lost in his recent illness. Time passed on without incident; and had it not been for the constant prevalence of an adverse wind, neither passengers nor crew could have found the least cause of complaint. The pertinacity, however, with which the wind kept to the east could not do otherwise than make Captain Hull somewhat concerned; it absolutely prevented him from getting his ship into her proper course, and he could not altogether suppress his misgiving that the calms near the [Illustration: Dick and little Jack.] Tropic of Capricorn, and the equatorial current driving him on westwards, would entail a delay that might be serious. It was principally on Mrs. Weldon's account that the Captain began to feel uneasiness, and he made up his mind that if he could hail a vessel proceeding to America he should advise his passengers to embark on her; unfortunately, however, he felt that they were still in a latitude far too much to the south to make it likely that they should sight a steamer going to Panama; and at that date, communication between Australia and the New World was much less frequent than it has since become. Still, nothing occurred to interrupt the general monotony of the voyage until the 2nd of February, the date at which our narrative commences. It was about nine o'clock in the morning of that day that Dick and little Jack had perched themselves together on the top-mast-yards. The weather was very clear, and they could see the horizon right round except the section behind them, hidden by the brigantine-sail on the main-mast. Below them, the bowsprit seemed to lie along the water with its stay-sails attached like three unequal wings; from the lads' feet to the deck was the smooth surface of the fore-mast; and above their heads nothing but the small top-sail and the top-mast. The schooner was running on the larboard tack as close to the wind as possible. Dick Sand was pointing out to Jack how well the ship was ballasted, and was trying to explain how it was impossible for her to capsize, however much she heeled to starboard, when suddenly the little fellow cried out,- "I can see something in the water!" "Where? what?" exclaimed Dick, clambering to his feet upon the yard. "There!" said the child, directing attention to the portion of the sea-surface that was visible between the stay-sails. Dick fixed his gaze intently for a moment, and then shouted out lustily,- "Look out in front, to starboard! There is something afloat. To windward, look out!" 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 (2005). Dick sands, the boy Captain. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3250.html.images 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 APPRENTICE

Five Weeks in a Balloon by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Chapter XLIII here CHAPTER FORTY-THIRD. The Talabas.—The Pursuit.—A Devastated Country.—The Wind begins to fall.—The Victoria sinks.—The last of the Provisions.—The Leaps of the Balloon.—A Defence with Fire-arms.—The Wind freshens.—The Senegal River.—The Cataracts of Gouina.—The Hot Air.—The Passage of the River. “Had we not taken the precaution to lighten the balloon yesterday evening, we should have been lost beyond redemption,” said the doctor, after a long silence. “See what’s gained by doing things at the right time!” replied Joe. “One gets out of scrapes then, and nothing is more natural.” “We are not out of danger yet,” said the doctor. “What do you still apprehend?” queried Kennedy. “The balloon can’t descend without your permission, and even were it to do so—” “Were it to do so, Dick? Look!” They had just passed the borders of the forest, and the three friends could see some thirty mounted men clad in broad pantaloons and the floating bournouses. They were armed, some with lances, and others with long muskets, and they were following, on their quick, fiery little steeds, the direction of the balloon, which was moving at only moderate speed. When they caught sight of the aëronauts, they uttered savage cries, and brandished their weapons. Anger and menace could be read upon their swarthy faces, made more ferocious by thin but bristling beards. Meanwhile they galloped along without difficulty over the low levels and gentle declivities that lead down to the Senegal. “It is, indeed, they!” said the doctor; “the cruel Talabas! the ferocious marabouts of Al-Hadji! I would rather find myself in the middle of the forest encircled by wild beasts than fall into the hands of these banditti.” “They haven’t a very obliging look!” assented Kennedy; “and they are rough, stalwart fellows.” “Happily those brutes can’t fly,” remarked Joe; “and that’s something.” “See,” said Ferguson, “those villages in ruins, those huts burned down—that is their work! Where vast stretches of cultivated land were once seen, they have brought barrenness and devastation.” “At all events, however,” interposed Kennedy, “they can’t overtake us; and, if we succeed in putting the river between us and them, we are safe.” “Perfectly, Dick,” replied Ferguson; “but we must not fall to the ground!” and, as he said this, he glanced at the barometer. “In any case, Joe,” added Kennedy, “it would do us no harm to look to our fire-arms.” “No harm in the world, Mr. Dick! We are lucky that we didn’t scatter them along the road.” “My rifle!” said the sportsman. “I hope that I shall never be separated from it!” And so saying, Kennedy loaded the pet piece with the greatest care, for he had plenty of powder and ball remaining. “At what height are we?” he asked the doctor. “About seven hundred and fifty feet; but we no longer have the power of seeking favorable currents, either going up or coming down. We are at the mercy of the balloon!” “That is vexatious!” rejoined Kennedy. “The wind is poor; but if we had come across a hurricane like some of those we met before, these vile brigands would have been out of sight long ago.” “The rascals follow us at their leisure,” said Joe. “They’re only at a short gallop. Quite a nice little ride!” “If we were within range,” sighed the sportsman, “I should amuse myself with dismounting a few of them.” “Exactly,” said the doctor; “but then they would have you within range also, and our balloon would offer only too plain a target to the bullets from their long guns; and, if they were to make a hole in it, I leave you to judge what our situation would be!” The pursuit of the Talabas continued all morning; and by eleven o’clock the aëronauts had made scarcely fifteen miles to the westward. The doctor was anxiously watching for the least cloud on the horizon. He feared, above all things, a change in the atmosphere. Should he be thrown back toward the Niger, what would become of him? Besides, he remarked that the balloon tended to fall considerably. Since the start, he had already lost more than three hundred feet, and the Senegal must be about a dozen miles distant. At his present rate of speed, he could count upon travelling only three hours longer. At this moment his attention was attracted by fresh cries. The Talabas appeared to be much excited, and were spurring their horses. The doctor consulted his barometer, and at once discovered the cause of these symptoms. “Are we descending?” asked Kennedy. “Yes!” replied the doctor. “The mischief!” thought Joe In the lapse of fifteen minutes the was only one hundred and fifty feet above the ground; but the wind was much stronger than before. Victoria The Talabas checked their horses, and soon a volley of musketry pealed out on the air. “Too far, you fools!” bawled Joe. “I think it would be well to keep those scamps at a distance.” And, as he spoke, he aimed at one of the horsemen who was farthest to the front, and fired. The Talaba fell headlong, and, his companions halting for a moment, the balloon gained upon them. “They are prudent!” said Kennedy. “Because they think that they are certain to take us,” replied the doctor; “and, they will succeed if we descend much farther. We must, absolutely, get higher into the air.” “What can we throw out?” asked Joe. “All that remains of our stock of pemmican; that will be thirty pounds less weight to carry.” “Out it goes, sir!” said Joe, obeying orders. The car, which was now almost touching the ground, rose again, amid the cries of the Talabas; but, half an hour later, the balloon was again falling rapidly, because the gas was escaping through the pores of the covering. Ere long the car was once more grazing the soil, and Al-Hadji’s black riders rushed toward it; but, as frequently happens in like cases, the balloon had scarcely touched the surface ere it rebounded, and only came down again a mile away. “So we shall not escape!” said Kennedy, between his teeth. “Throw out our reserved store of brandy, Joe,” cried the doctor; “our instruments, and every thing that has any weight, even to our last anchor, because go they must!” Joe flung out the barometers and thermometers, but all that amounted to little; and the balloon, which had risen for an instant, fell again toward the ground. The Talabas flew toward it, and at length were not more than two hundred paces away. “Throw out the two fowling-pieces!” shouted Ferguson. “Not without discharging them, at least,” responded the sportsman; and four shots in quick succession struck the thick of the advancing group of horsemen. Four Talabas fell, amid the frantic howls and imprecations of their comrades. The ascended once more, and made some enormous leaps, like a huge gum-elastic ball, bounding and rebounding through the air. A strange sight it was to see these unfortunate men endeavoring to escape by those huge aërial strides, and seeming, like the giant Antaeus, to receive fresh strength every time they touched the earth. But this situation had to terminate. It was now nearly noon; the was getting empty and exhausted, and assuming a more and more elongated form every instant. Its outer covering was becoming flaccid, and floated loosely in the air, and the folds of the silk rustled and grated on each other. Victoria Victoria “Heaven abandons us!” said Kennedy; “we have to fall!” Joe made no answer. He kept looking intently at his master. “No!” said the latter; “we have more than one hundred and fifty pounds yet to throw out.” “What can it be, then?” said Kennedy, thinking that the doctor must be going mad. “The car!” was his reply; “we can cling to the network. There we can hang on in the meshes until we reach the river. Quick! quick!” And these daring men did not hesitate a moment to avail themselves of this last desperate means of escape. They clutched the network, as the doctor directed, and Joe, holding on by one hand, with the other cut the cords that suspended the car; and the latter dropped to the ground just as the balloon was sinking for the last time. “Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the brave fellow exultingly, as the , once more relieved, shot up again to a height of three hundred feet. Victoria The Talabas spurred their horses, which now came tearing on at a furious gallop; but the balloon, falling in with a much more favorable wind, shot ahead of them, and was rapidly carried toward a hill that stretched across the horizon to the westward. This was a circumstance favorable to the aëronauts, because they could rise over the hill, while Al-Hadji’s horde had to diverge to the northward in order to pass this obstacle. The three friends still clung to the network. They had been able to fasten it under their feet, where it had formed a sort of swinging pocket. Suddenly, after they had crossed the hill, the doctor exclaimed: “The river! the river! the Senegal, my friends!” And about two miles ahead of them, there was indeed the river rolling along its broad mass of water, while the farther bank, which was low and fertile, offered a sure refuge, and a place favorable for a descent. “Another quarter of an hour,” said Ferguson, “and we are saved!” But it was not to happen thus; the empty balloon descended slowly upon a tract almost entirely bare of vegetation. It was made up of long slopes and stony plains, a few bushes and some coarse grass, scorched by the sun. The touched the ground several times, and rose again, but her rebound was diminishing in height and length. At the last one, it caught by the upper part of the network in the lofty branches of a baobab, the only tree that stood there, solitary and alone, in the midst of the waste. Victoria “It’s all over,” said Kennedy. “And at a hundred paces only from the river!” groaned Joe. The three hapless aëronauts descended to the ground, and the doctor drew his companions toward the Senegal. At this point the river sent forth a prolonged roaring; and when Ferguson reached its bank, he recognized the falls of Gouina. But not a boat, not a living creature was to be seen. With a breadth of two thousand feet, the Senegal precipitates itself for a height of one hundred and fifty, with a thundering reverberation. It ran, where they saw it, from east to west, and the line of rocks that barred its course extended from north to south. In the midst of the falls, rocks of strange forms started up like huge ante-diluvian animals, petrified there amid the waters. The impossibility of crossing this gulf was self-evident, and Kennedy could not restrain a gesture of despair. But Dr. Ferguson, with an energetic accent of undaunted daring, exclaimed— “All is not over!” “I knew it,” said Joe, with that confidence in his master which nothing could ever shake. The sight of the dried-up grass had inspired the doctor with a bold idea. It was the last chance of escape. He led his friends quickly back to where they had left the covering of the balloon. “We have at least an hour’s start of those banditti,” said he; “let us lose no time, my friends; gather a quantity of this dried grass; I want a hundred pounds of it, at least.” “For what purpose?” asked Kennedy, surprised. “I have no more gas; well, I’ll cross the river with hot air!” “Ah, doctor,” exclaimed Kennedy, “you are, indeed, a great man!” Joe and Kennedy at once went to work, and soon had an immense pile of dried grass heaped up near the baobab. In the mean time, the doctor had enlarged the orifice of the balloon by cutting it open at the lower end. He then was very careful to expel the last remnant of hydrogen through the valve, after which he heaped up a quantity of grass under the balloon, and set fire to it. It takes but a little while to inflate a balloon with hot air. A head of one hundred and eighty degrees is sufficient to diminish the weight of the air it contains to the extent of one-half, by rarefying it. Thus, the quickly began to assume a more rounded form. There was no lack of grass; the fire was kept in full blast by the doctor’s assiduous efforts, and the balloon grew fuller every instant. Victoria It was then a quarter to four o’clock. At this moment the band of Talabas reappeared about two miles to the northward, and the three friends could hear their cries, and the clatter of their horses galloping at full speed. “In twenty minutes they will be here!” said Kennedy. “More grass! more grass, Joe! In ten minutes we shall have her full of hot air.” “Here it is, doctor!” The was now two-thirds inflated. Victoria “Come, my friends, let us take hold of the network, as we did before.” “All right!” they answered together. In about ten minutes a few jerking motions by the balloon indicated that it was disposed to start again. The Talabas were approaching. They were hardly five hundred paces away. “Hold on fast!” cried Ferguson. “Have no fear, master—have no fear!” And the doctor, with his foot pushed another heap of grass upon the fire. With this the balloon, now completely inflated by the increased temperature, moved away, sweeping the branches of the baobab in her flight. “We’re off!” shouted Joe. A volley of musketry responded to his exclamation. A bullet even ploughed his shoulder; but Kennedy, leaning over, and discharging his rifle with one hand, brought another of the enemy to the ground. Cries of fury exceeding all description hailed the departure of the balloon, which had at once ascended nearly eight hundred feet. A swift current caught and swept it along with the most alarming oscillations, while the intrepid doctor and his friends saw the gulf of the cataracts yawning below them. Ten minutes later, and without having exchanged a word, they descended gradually toward the other bank of the river. There, astonished, speechless, terrified, stood a group of men clad in the French uniform. Judge of their amazement when they saw the balloon rise from the right bank of the river. They had well-nigh taken it for some celestial phenomenon, but their officers, a lieutenant of marines and a naval ensign, having seen mention made of Dr. Ferguson’s daring expedition, in the European papers, quickly explained the real state of the case. The balloon, losing its inflation little by little, settled with the daring travellers still clinging to its network; but it was doubtful whether it would reach the land. At once some of the brave Frenchmen rushed into the water and caught the three aëronauts in their arms just as the fell at the distance of a few fathoms from the left bank of the Senegal. Victoria “Dr. Ferguson!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “The same, sir,” replied the doctor, quietly, “and his two friends.” The Frenchmen escorted our travellers from the river, while the balloon, half-empty, and borne away by a swift current, sped on, to plunge, like a huge bubble, headlong with the waters of the Senegal, into the cataracts of Gouina. “The poor ” was Joe’s farewell remark. Victoria! The doctor could not restrain a tear, and extending his hands his two friends wrung them silently with that deep emotion which requires no spoken words. 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 (2002). Five Weeks in a Balloon. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3526/pg3526-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 Talabas

There was once a priest with cold, watery eyes

FORTUNE TELLING

THE PEROXIDE BLONDE

The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Second Body XIV. The Second Body Waiting for no more, I turned and ran up the path to the shed. The two men on guard there stood aside to let me pass and, filled with excitement, I entered. The light was dim, the place was a mere rough wooden erection to keep old pots and tools in. I had entered impetuously, but on the threshold I checked myself, fascinated by the spectacle before me. Giraud was on his hands and knees, a pocket torch in his hand with which he was examining every inch of the ground. He looked up with a frown at my entrance, then his face relaxed a little in a sort of good-humoured contempt. “Ah, c’est l’Anglais! Enter then. Let us see what you can make of this affair.” Rather stung by his tone, I stooped my head, and passed in. “There he is,” said Giraud, flashing his torch to the far corner. I stepped across. The dead man lay straight upon his back. He was of medium height, swarthy of complexion, and possibly about fifty years of age. He was neatly dressed in a dark blue suit, well cut and probably made by an expensive tailor, but not new. His face was terribly convulsed, and on his left side, just over the heart, the hilt of a dagger stood up, black and shining. I recognized it. It was the same dagger I had seen reposing in the glass jar the preceding morning! “I’m expecting the doctor any minute,” explained Giraud. “Although we hardly need him. There’s no doubt what the man died of. He was stabbed to the heart, and death must have been pretty well instantaneous.” “When was it done? Last night?” Giraud shook his head. “Hardly. I don’t lay down the law on medical evidence, but the man’s been dead well over twelve hours. When do you say you last saw that dagger?” “About ten o’clock yesterday morning.” “Then I should be inclined to fix the crime as being done not long after that.” “But people were passing and repassing this shed continually.” Giraud laughed disagreeably. “You progress to a marvel! Who told you he was killed in this shed?” “Well—” I felt flustered. “I—I assumed it.” “Oh, what a fine detective! Look at him, mon petit—does a man stabbed to the heart fall like that—neatly with his feet together, and his arms to his side? No. Again does a man lie down on his back and permit himself to be stabbed without raising a hand to defend himself? It is absurd, is it not? But see here—and here—” He flashed the torch along the ground. I saw curious irregular marks in the soft dirt. “He was dragged here after he was dead. Half dragged, half carried by two people. Their tracks do not show on the hard ground outside, and here they have been careful to obliterate them—but one of the two was a woman, my young friend.” “A woman?” “Yes.” “But if the tracks are obliterated, how do you know?” “Because, blurred as they are, the prints of the woman’s shoe are unmistakable. Also, by this—” And, leaning forward, he drew something from the handle of the dagger and held it up for me to see. It was a woman’s long black hair—similar to the one Poirot had taken from the arm-chair in the library. With a slightly ironic smile he wound it round the dagger again. “We will leave things as they are as much as possible,” he explained. “It pleases the examining magistrate. Eh bien, do you notice anything else?” I was forced to shake my head. “Look at his hands.” I did. The nails were broken and discoloured, and the skin was hard. It hardly enlightened me as much as I should have liked it to have done. I looked up at Giraud. “They are not the hands of a gentleman,” he said, answering my look. “On the contrary his clothes are those of a well-to-do man. That is curious, is it not?” “Very curious,” I agreed. “And none of his clothing is marked. What do we learn from that? This man was trying to pass himself off as other than he was. He was masquerading. Why? Did he fear something? Was he trying to escape by disguising himself? As yet we do not know, but one thing we do know—he was as anxious to conceal his identity as we are to discover it.” He looked down at the body again. “As before there are no finger-prints on the handle of the dagger. The murderer again wore gloves.” “You think, then, that the murderer was the same in both cases?” I asked eagerly. Giraud became inscrutable. “Never mind what I think. We shall see. Marchaud!” The sergent de ville appeared at the doorway. “Monsieur?” “Why is Madame Renauld not here? I sent for her a quarter of an hour ago?” “She is coming up the path now, monsieur, and her son with her.” “Good. I only want one at a time, though.” Marchaud saluted and disappeared again. A moment later he reappeared with Mrs. Renauld. “Here is Madame.” Giraud came forward with a curt bow. “This way, madame.” He led her across, and then, standing suddenly aside. “Here is the man. Do you know him?” And as he spoke, his eyes, gimlet-like, bored into her face, seeking to read her mind, noting every indication of her manner. But Mrs. Renauld remained perfectly calm—too calm, I felt. She looked down at the corpse almost without interest, certainly without any sign of agitation or recognition. “No,” she said. “I have never seen him in my life. He is quite a stranger to me.” “You are sure?” “Quite sure.” “You do not recognize in him one of your assailants, for instance?” “No,” she seemed to hesitate, as though struck by the idea. “No, I do not think so. Of course they wore beards—false ones the examining magistrate thought, but still—no.” Now she seemed to make her mind up definitely. “I am sure neither of the two was this man.” “Very well, madame. That is all, then.” She stepped out with head erect, the sun flashing on the silver threads in her hair. Jack Renauld succeeded her. He, too, failed to identify the man, in a completely natural manner. Giraud merely grunted. Whether he was pleased or chagrined I could not tell. He merely called to Marchaud: “You have got the other there?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Bring her in then.” “The other” was Madame Daubreuil. She came indignantly, protesting with vehemence. “I object, monsieur! This is an outrage! What have I to do with all this?” “Madame,” said Giraud brutally, “I am investigating not one murder, but two murders! For all I know you may have committed them both.” “How dare you?” she cried. “How dare you insult me by such a wild accusation! It is infamous.” “Infamous, is it? What about this?” Stooping, he again detached the hair, and held it up. “Do you see this, madame?” He advanced towards her. “You permit that I see whether it matches?” With a cry she started backwards, white to the lips. “It is false—I swear it. I know nothing of the crime—of either crime. Any one who says I do lies! Ah! mon Dieu, what shall I do?” “Calm yourself, madame,” said Giraud coldly. “No one has accused you as yet. But you will do well to answer my questions without more ado.” “Anything you wish, monsieur.” “Look at the dead man. Have you ever seen him before?” Drawing nearer, a little of the colour creeping back to her face, Madame Daubreuil looked down at the victim with a certain amount of interest and curiosity. Then she shook her head. “I do not know him.” It seemed impossible to doubt her, the words came so naturally. Giraud dismissed her with a nod of the head. “You are letting her go?” I asked in a low voice. “Is that wise? Surely that black hair is from her head.” “I do not need teaching my business,” said Giraud dryly. “She is under surveillance. I have no wish to arrest her as yet.” Then, frowning, he gazed down at the body. “Should you say that was a Spanish type at all?” he asked suddenly. I considered the face carefully. “No,” I said at last. “I should put him down as a Frenchman most decidedly.” Giraud gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. “Same here.” He stood there for a moment, then with an imperative gesture he waved me aside, and once more, on hands and knees, he continued his search of the floor of the shed. He was marvellous. Nothing escaped him. Inch by inch he went over the floor, turning over pots, examining old sacks. He pounced on a bundle by the door, but it proved to be only a ragged coat and trousers, and he flung it down again with a snarl. Two pairs of old gloves interested him, but in the end he shook his head and laid them aside. Then he went back to the pots, methodically turning them over one by one. In the end, he rose to his feet, and shook his head thoughtfully. He seemed baffled and perplexed. I think he had forgotten my presence. But, at that moment, a stir and bustle was heard outside, and our old friend, the examining magistrate, accompanied by his clerk and M. Bex, with the doctor behind him, came bustling in. “But this is extraordinary, Mr. Giraud,” cried M. Hautet. “Another crime! Ah, we have not got to the bottom of this case. There is some deep mystery here. But who is the victim this time?” “That is just what nobody can tell us, M. le juge. He has not been identified.” “Where is the body?” asked the doctor. Giraud moved aside a little. “There in the corner. He has been stabbed to the heart, as you see. And with the dagger that was stolen yesterday morning. I fancy that the murder followed hard upon the theft—but that is for you to say. You can handle the dagger freely—there are no finger-prints on it.” The doctor knelt down by the dead man, and Giraud turned to the examining magistrate. “A pretty little problem, is it not? But I shall solve it.” “And so no one can identify him,” mused the magistrate. “Could it possibly be one of the assassins? They may have fallen out among themselves.” Giraud shook his head. “The man is a Frenchman—I would take my oath of that—” But at that moment they were interrupted by the doctor who was sitting back on his heels with a perplexed expression. “You say he was killed yesterday morning?” “I fix it by the theft of the dagger,” explained Giraud. “He may, of course, have been killed later in the day.” “Later in the day? Fiddlesticks! This man has been dead at least forty-eight hours, and probably longer.” We stared at each other in blank amazement. 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 (2019). The Murder on the Links. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/58866/pg58866-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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