Thinknum is a Fintech company that organizes the Internet’s commercial activity into data models

Thinknum

Diary of a Wimpy DevOps Engineer: Exploring Monoliths

You have probably heard and read about the “Golden Billion” conspiracy theory. The golden billion ( Russian : золотой миллиард, tr. zolotoy milliard) is a term, in the Russian -speaking world, referring to the relatively wealthy people in industrially developed nations , or the West . [1] (source: wikipedia ) I used to think that the “Golden Million” Upwork freelancers plan is one of those conspiracy theories. The first time I read about it was on Twitter. One of the Upwork freelancers made a shocking claim that more than 100K user accounts were purged in one single week. In my comment to his tweet, I asked for evidence. You can’t make claims such as these without the numbers to back it up, can you? Guess what? I got this screenshot in a reply, which I’m sharing with you here. As you can see for yourself, more than 100K freelance accounts on Upwork simply vanished over one week. My personal feeling is that the freelancers with “no earnings yet” were particularly vulnerable and I dare to say a “targeted” category in this purge. I just had to do so some additional checking, and at least, compare results from more than one independent source. So, I did it. This is a screenshot from . When you compare the dates of these two screenshots May 11th and 5th, you get close results in the number of Upwork user accounts. Thinknum’s article Then I remembered that I made one screenshot myself back in 2019 when I published an . article on Hacker Noon When you compare my screenshot and particularly the number of freelancers “any amount earned” with the previously mentioned article (screenshot), you get a very close number of accounts prior to the “Great Upwork Purge,” more than 2M+, give it or take. Now, here’s a billion-dollar question. Why is Upwork purging freelance accounts on such scale, and if I may add, promptly? It’s a ridiculous idea that hundreds of thousands of freelancers were violating Upwork Terms at the same time. So, we can’t blame them, can we? Yes, I’m pointing a finger at Upwork for a reason. Just recently, the new Upwork CEO Hayden Brown was the special guest of CNBC’s Mad Money with Jim Cramer. I think you can . Long story short, Upwork CEO just confirmed what we all knew: this platform has had the merciless Fortune 500 business orientation. Meaning, Upwork has become unacceptably overcrowded in terms of the number of freelancers who are working there from Upwork’s own perspective. find this video on YouTube or somewhere else online The next thing you know, one million freelance accounts disappeared in less than a year. This is how I come up with my theory of Upwork’s “Golden Million.” Unfortunately, this isn’t where my story and theory end. It would be wrong to think that those freelancers who weren’t purged could consider themselves to be lucky or even blessed with an opportunity to work on the biggest and most popular platform in the freelance industry. Why? Well, let’s look at the numbers again. Only about 10% of one million Upwork freelancers make more than $10K. Now, do you remember all those shameless and insensitive articles on Forbes and Business Insider about six-figure freelancers on Upwork? I dare to say that these super-successful guys don’t get even close to the one whole percent. Again, this is my personal estimate based on all of these numbers you were able to see for yourself. Plain and simple, there’s no way of knowing for sure. And The Moral of My Story About Upwork’s “Golden Million” Freelancers Is? Just to be perfectly clear. It’s Upwork’s way or some other freelance highway. If Upwork one day decides to close all freelance accounts, who’s to stop them? Upwork can do whatever they want with their own platform (business). My personal problem is that Upwork could’ve cut their service fees for no more than a few symbolic percents and saved thousands of freelance accounts for a change. My problem is that every freelancer deserves a fair chance because you simply don’t know when one project can change someone’s life. If I’m the only one who’s having a problem with the Upwork’s purge then - nothing. My word of advice to all those victims of Upwork’s “freelanocide” is simple: Don’t cry for Upwork because Upwork certainly doesn’t cry for you.

The "Golden Million" Upwork Freelancers: Between Conspiracy Theory and Business Reality

Financial reports are lengthy, confusing, and boring. I promise that I will keep it simple, brief, and straight to the point. I will let Upwork’s numbers do all the talking. Upwork’s Q1 2020 are out. Let’s dive right into the numbers financial results Numbers Never Lie First things first, how are Upwork’s stocks doing these days? NASDAQ: Upwork Upwork’s stocks aren’t an ideal choice for the faint-hearted investors as you can see for yourself. What’s happening with the number of jobs available on Upwork in 2020? Source: Thinknum It turns out that April was the to-be-or-not-to-be month for Upwork: On April 13, the . Since then, however, roughly 10,000 new gigs have been added, bringing the new total of available jobs on Upwork to 87,400. number of jobs on Upwork hit a low of 77,500 And, I’m not talking only about the Upwork’s stock prices and the number of jobs, but the number of user accounts, as well. Source: Thinknum Just before that, in early May, the as well. On March 31, the site reported 643,000 user accounts, or workers. As of this week, that number has swelled to 938,000. That’s still a far cry from the 2.6 million workers the site reported in February, but it appears that things are up again at Upwork. number of user accounts at Upwork began to grow Kudos to Upwork for doing their best in improving these numbers right before reporting their financial results in the first quarter of 2020. Were there any surprises worth mentioning? Well, I can think of a few. New Upwork Moments — Direct Contracts Without any exaggeration, Upwork Direct Contracts are the most shocking novelty. Why? Communicating with the clients or taking the work outside Upwork has always been a big no-no of their Terms. Every freelancer who works on Upwork knows all too well that these things can get you banned for good. Has Upwork become more flexible? With Direct Contracts, you can . Just like your other fixed-price contracts on Upwork, your client deposits project funds in escrow before the contract starts. When you’ve completed the work, you’ll request payment from your client. Once they’ve accepted your request, the funds are released to you. create and send fixed-price contract proposals to your clients that don’t have Upwork accounts Here’s the most interesting part of the “New Upwork Deal:” As a freelancer, but you won’t pay any freelancer service fees to Upwork. Your client won’t have to create an Upwork account or pay any additional fees, keeping the experience easy to use for them. you’ll pay a processing fee of 3.4% of the total contract amount It sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? It almost makes you wonder, why do you need Upwork in the first place? You Ain’t Lost Till You Hit The Cost I saved the best for last. Source: Upwork The revenues are looking good, aren’t they? Revenue rose 21% from the year-earlier quarter to $83.2 million, of $81.3 million. pulling slightly ahead of analysts’ expectations Unfortunately, the operating costs are ruining the mood. Operating expenses rose around 30% in the quarter to $68.8 million, as the company had higher research and development, sales and marketing and general and administrative expenses. It also , compared with $637 million in the comparable quarter last year. set aside a $912 million provision for transaction losses in the quarter And, that’s not all. The global freelancing platform , or 5 cents a share, in the same quarter a year earlier. recorded a loss of $10 million, or 9 cents a share, compared with a loss of $5.2 million Plain and simple, Upwork is spending more than they earn. The Troubles in Upwork Paradise Shakespeare warned us to “beware of the Ides of March,” and April, if I may add in Upwork’s case. Remember April 13, when roughly more than 10K new jobs suddenly appeared and improved Upwork’s stats? Well, it turned out that some of them were fake. How many exactly? It’s hard to tell, but quite a few because this “phenomenon” just couldn’t go unnoticed in Upwork Community. Source: Upwork Community Eventually, Upwork admitted that they had a serious problem, apologized, “explained,” and offered to refund freelancers. Source: Upwork Community The fake jobs, or as Upwork formulated it as “test jobs,” problem officially solved. At the very end, a quick history tour. “The Sick Man Upon the Bosphorus” as a description of the declining Ottoman Empire was used for the first time in the 1850s. It took more than 70 years, give it or take, for the troubled Empire to find the “cure” by transforming into the modern Republic of Turkey. How long would it take for Upwork to present the positive financial results in every sense and section? It’s both difficult and unpleasant to predict. The fact remains that the growing operating expenses are threatening to cease all Upwork’s operations, for good. And, that’s not good, is it?

Is Upwork The Sick Man Upon the Silicon Bosphorus? [Looking At Numbers]

Hackernoon is my favorite source of knowledge about technology. I love reading Hackernoon story since Medium. However, the Hackernoon new site makes me harder to stay reading more stories before going to bed. It got a big bright green and yellow header on top of the story. At first, I think maybe I can scroll the page down, and it will disappear. I was wrong, it was fixed over the page and it takes a portion of the readable screen. At first, I just open inspect windows and delete the header element manually but more story I read it really painful to goes to the process every time. I'm thinking about what I used when Hackernoon was on Medium. I'm using a Chrome extension called . It's exactly what I looking for - plus it's an open source project. I can make the same extension for Hackernoon too. "Make Medium Readable Again" (MMRA) It took me 30 minutes to selective copy source code from MMRA. In fact it just one block of statement I needed. Using injected CSS to hide the unwanted header on the site, ignore it on the front page, no option needed. I made the icon from screen capture the header and it's meh, who care? I call it "Readable Hackernoon". The result is good enough for me. Before: After: For more features request and bug please tell me on the Github. Download: https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/bbaopcbihfmndeedafhcafpojpibkgic Source code: https://github.com/artiya4u/ReadableHackernoon

Chrome Browser Extension to Remover Hacker Noon Header

The focus of this interview is proprietary trading, otherwise known as prop trading, and my guest is Dylan Loomer, the co-founder of and a seasoned crypto trader. Breakout Proprietary trading is a type of trading activity where a financial institution trades financial instruments leveraging its capital for profit. Evaluation-based proprietary trading, unlike traditional proprietary trading, does not have a formal interview process but instead charges an upfront fee for prospective traders to undertake an evaluation. Unlike traditional trading models, proprietary trading has a large access to capital and a huge potential for high returns. But on the flip side, it can also attract significant losses and be subject to regulatory scrutiny. We dive into the world of proprietary trading with Dylan Loomer to unravel Breakout's unique approach to optimizing the crypto trading experience. Please note that ‘prop trading’ is sometimes used interchangeably with ‘proprietary trading’. Dylan, can you tell us about yourself and your route to crypto and proprietary trading? I started trading and discovered crypto in 2013. My route to crypto was initially via speculation. Regarding prop trading, it has been around the FX space for some time. I first traded with a prop firm in 2020. After a decade of trading, I decided to utilize my expertise and experience to be productive and build something for a change. What is proprietary trading, and how does it relate to cryptocurrency? At its core, prop trading involves trading with someone else’s capital. There are usually rules and performance metrics attached to a trader’s account. As far as prop trading and crypto are concerned, while there are plenty of traditional prop firms in the crypto space, there are very few evaluation-based prop firms that have accurately replicated crypto’s unique trading conditions. We believe this is the first product of its kind. What can you tell us about the founding of Breakout? Our founding team is composed of experienced crypto native founders and traders. We decided to start Breakout to bring the popular evaluation-based prop firm model from FX into the crypto space. This model has seen limited success in the crypto space on account of poor execution and trading conditions, usually offered via legacy brokers. Through computer simulation, Breakout helps users experience real market conditions and hone their skills during the evaluation stage before venturing into live trading in a funded environment. How essential is risk management in prop trading? That is a great question! Risk management is at the very forefront of prop trading. In both the evaluation stage and the funded trading stage, there are drawdown rules that must be adhered to. This benefits both the trader in their decision-making but also protects us as a firm. How does Breakout differentiate itself from other prop trading firms? Our two main differentiating factors are superior execution (notably on the crypto side) and radical transparency. Regarding execution, we believe we are the first evaluation-based proprietary firm whose crypto trading environment sources liquidity directly from Bybit/a tier 1 centralized exchange. This is a very significant improvement to the status quo of offering crypto trading via legacy brokers with worse spreads and execution in general. Regarding transparency, a full outline of our business model as well as monthly data sharing of our key metrics (evaluations purchased, pass rates, and more) are available. Can you tell us about Breakout's technology stack? Our technology stack allows us to source liquidity directly from Bybit/a tier 1 centralized exchange on the crypto side while also offering raw spreads from ThinkMarkets on the legacy side. This is a huge leap forward, especially on the crypto trading side, where evaluation-based prop traders have consistently been faced with poor execution and an experience far removed from a centralized exchange trading experience. What are the benefits and risks of participating in Breakout's prop trading evaluations? The benefit of participating in an evaluation is that if a trader passes it, they receive access to a Breakout Account. This account allows traders to receive payouts based on their trading performance (while keeping up to 90% of those gains). The risk is that statistically, evaluation pass rates across all prop firms are low, and taking an evaluation comes with a fee. What are the challenges and opportunities of prop trading in the crypto industry? The main challenge is creating trading conditions that are familiar to crypto native traders, especially when it comes to trade execution (spreads, available liquidity, and so on). We believe we have done that. The opportunity is trading crypto with a larger sum of notional capital in realistic conditions without risking your own capital or custodying your assets with a third party. And final words? We are excited to bring Breakout to the world and encourage interested traders to learn more.

Proprietary Trading: One-On-One With Dylan Loomer , Cofounder Breakout Trading Group

The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits by Lewis Carroll, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . The Vanishing here Fit the Eighth - The Vanishing They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; They threatened its life with a railway-share; They charmed it with smiles and soap. They shuddered to think that the chase might fail, And the Beaver, excited at last, Went bounding along on the tip of its tail, For the daylight was nearly past. “There is Thingumbob shouting!” the Bellman said, “He is shouting like mad, only hark! He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head, He has certainly found a Snark!” They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed “He was always a desperate wag!” They beheld him—their Baker—their hero unnamed— On the top of a neighboring crag. Erect and sublime, for one moment of time. In the next, that wild figure they saw (As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm, While they waited and listened in awe. “It’s a Snark!” was the sound that first came to their ears, And seemed almost too good to be true. Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers: Then the ominous words “It’s a Boo-” Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air A weary and wandering sigh Then sounded like “-jum!” but the others declare It was only a breeze that went by. They hunted till darkness came on, but they found Not a button, or feather, or mark, By which they could tell that they stood on the ground Where the Baker had met with the Snark. In the midst of the word he was trying to say, In the midst of his laughter and glee, He had softly and suddenly vanished away—- For the Snark a Boojum, you see. was THE END 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. Lewis Carroll (2008). The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13.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 VANISHING

The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Encounter in the Rose Garden XXIII. Encounter in the Rose Garden At 2.30 a little party met together in the Council Chamber: Bundle, Virginia, Superintendent Battle, M. Lemoine and Anthony Cade. “No good waiting until we can get hold of Mr. Lomax,” said Battle. “This is the kind of business one wants to get on with quickly.” “If you’ve got any idea that Prince Michael was murdered by some one who got in this way, you’re wrong,” said Bundle. “It can’t be done. The other end’s blocked completely.” “There is no question of that, milady,” said Lemoine quickly. “It is quite a different search that we make.” “Looking for something, are you?” asked Bundle quickly. “Not the historic what-not, by any chance?” Lemoine looked puzzled. “Explain yourself, Bundle,” said Virginia encouragingly. “You can when you try.” “The thingummybob,” said Bundle. “The historic diamond of purple princes that was pinched in the dark ages before I grew to years of discretion.” “Who told you this, Lady Eileen?” asked Battle. “I’ve always known. One of the footmen told me when I was twelve years old.” “A footman,” said Battle. “Lord! I’d like Mr. Lomax to have heard that!” “Is it one of George’s closely guarded secrets?” asked Bundle. “How perfectly screaming! I never really thought it was true. George always was an ass—he must know that servants always know everything.” She went across to the Holbein portrait, touched a spring concealed somewhere at the side of it, and immediately, with a creaking noise, a section of the panelling swung inward, revealing a dark opening. “Entrez, Messieurs et Mesdames,” said Bundle dramatically. “Walk up, walk up, dearies. Best show of the season, and only a tanner.” Both Lemoine and Battle were provided with torches. They entered the dark aperture first, the others close on their heels. “Air’s nice and fresh,” remarked Battle. “Must be ventilated somehow.” He walked on ahead. The floor was of rough uneven stone, but the walls were bricked. As Bundle had said, the passage extended for a bare hundred yards. Then it came to an abrupt end with a fallen heap of masonry. Battle satisfied himself that there was no way of egress beyond, and then spoke over his shoulder. “We’ll go back, if you please. I wanted just to spy out the land, so to speak.” In a few minutes they were back again at the panelled entrance. “We’ll start from here,” said Battle. “Seven straight, eight left, three right. Take the first as paces.” He paced seven steps carefully, and bending down examined the ground. “About right, I should fancy. At one time or another, there’s been a chalk mark made here. Now then, eight left. That’s not paces, the passage is only wide enough to go Indian file anyway.” “Say it in bricks,” suggested Anthony. “Quite right, Mr. Cade. Eight bricks from the bottom or the top on the left-hand side. Try from the bottom first—it’s easier.” He counted up eight bricks. “Now three to the right of that. One, two, three—Hullo—— Hullo, what’s this?” “I shall scream in a minute,” said Bundle, “I know I shall. What is it?” Superintendent Battle was working at the brick with the point of his knife. His practised eye had quickly seen that this particular brick was different from the rest. A minute or two’s work, and he was able to pull it right out. Behind was a small dark cavity. Battle thrust in his hand. Every one waited in breathless expectancy. Battle drew out his hand again. He uttered an exclamation of surprise and anger. The others crowded round and stared uncomprehendingly at the three articles he held. For a moment it seemed as though their eyes must have deceived them. A card of small pearl buttons, a square of coarse knitting and a piece of paper on which were inscribed a row of capital E’s! “Well,” said Battle. “I’m—I’m danged! What’s the meaning of this?” “Mon Dieu,” muttered the Frenchman. “Ça, c’est un peu trop fort!” “But what does it mean?” cried Virginia, bewildered. “Mean?” said Anthony. “There’s only one thing it can mean. The late Count Stylptitch must have had a sense of humour! This is an example of that humour. I may say that I don’t consider it particularly funny myself.” “Do you mind explaining your meaning a little more clearly, sir?” said Superintendent Battle. “Certainly. This was the Count’s little joke. He must have suspected that his memorandum had been read. When the crooks came to recover the jewel, they were to find instead this extremely clever conundrum. It’s the sort of thing you pin on to yourself at Book Teas, when people have to guess what you are.” “It has a meaning, then?” “I should say, undoubtedly. If the Count had meant to be merely offensive, he would have put a placard with ‘Sold’ on it, or a picture of a donkey or something crude like that.” “A bit of knitting, some capital E’s, and a lot of buttons,” muttered Battle discontentedly. “C’est inoui,” said Lemoine angrily. “Cipher No. 2,” said Anthony. “I wonder whether Professor Wynward would be any good at this one?” “When was this passage last used, milady?” asked the Frenchman of Bundle. Bundle reflected. “I don’t believe anyone’s been into it for over two years. The Priest’s Hole is the show exhibit for Americans and tourists generally.” “Curious,” murmured the Frenchman. “Why curious?” Lemoine stooped and picked up a small object from the floor. “Because of this,” he said. “This match has not lain here for two years—not even for two days.” Battle looked at the match curiously. It was of pink wood, with a yellow head. “Any of you ladies or gentlemen drop this, by any chance?” he asked. He received a negative all round. “Well, then,” said Superintendent Battle, “we’ve seen all there is to see. We might as well get out of here.” The proposal was assented to by all. The panel had swung to, but Bundle showed them how it was fastened from the inside. She unlatched it, swung it noiselessly open, and sprang through the opening, alighting in the Council Chamber with a resounding thud. “Damn!” said Lord Caterham, springing up from an arm-chair in which he appeared to have been taking forty winks. “Poor old father,” said Bundle. “Did I startle you?” “I can’t think,” said Lord Caterham, “why nobody nowadays ever sits still after a meal. It’s a lost art. God knows Chimneys is big enough, but even here there doesn’t seem to be a single room where I can be sure of a little peace. Good Lord, how many of you are there? Reminds me of the Pantomimes I used to go to as a boy when hordes of demons used to pop up out of trapdoors.” “Demon No. 7,” said Virginia, approaching him, and patting him on the head. “Don’t be cross. We’re just exploring secret passages, that’s all.” “There seems to be a positive boom in secret passages to-day,” grumbled Lord Caterham, not yet completely mollified. “I’ve had to show that fellow Fish round them all this morning.” “When was that?” asked Battle quickly. “Just before lunch. It seems he’d heard of the one in here. I showed him that, and then took him up to the White Gallery, and we finished up with the Priest’s Hole. But his enthusiasm was waning by that time. He looked bored to death. But I made him go through with it.” Lord Caterham chuckled at the remembrance. Anthony put a hand on Lemoine’s arm. “Come outside,” he said softly. “I want to speak to you.” The two men went out together through the window. When they had gone a sufficient distance from the house, Anthony drew from his pocket the scrap of paper that Boris had given him that morning. “Look here,” he said. “Did you drop this?” Lemoine took it and examined it with some interest. “No,” he said. “I have never seen it before. Why?” “Quite sure?” “Absolutely sure, Monsieur.” “That’s very odd.” He repeated to Lemoine what Boris had said. The other listened with close attention. “No, I did not drop it. You say he found it in that clump of trees?” “Well, I assumed so, but he did not actually say so.” “It is just possible that it might have fluttered out of M. Isaacstein’s suit-case. Question Boris again.” He handed the paper back to Anthony. After a minute or two he said: “What exactly do you know of this man Boris?” Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “I understood he was the late Prince Michael’s trusted servant.” “It may be so, but make it your business to find out. Ask some one who knows, such as the Baron Lolopretjzyl. Perhaps this man was engaged but a few weeks ago. For myself, I have believed him honest. But who knows? King Victor is quite capable of making himself into a trusted servant at a moment’s notice.” “Do you really think——” Lemoine interrupted him. “I will be quite frank. With me, King Victor is an obsession. I see him everywhere. At this moment even I ask myself—this man who is talking to me, this M. Cade, is he, perhaps, King Victor?” “Good Lord,” said Anthony, “you have got it badly.” “What do I care for the diamond? For the discovery of the murderer of Prince Michael? I leave those affairs to my colleague of Scotland Yard whose business it is. Me, I am in England for one purpose, and one purpose only, to capture King Victor and to capture him red-handed. Nothing else matters.” “Think you’ll do it?” asked Anthony, lighting a cigarette. “How should I know?” said Lemoine, with sudden despondency. “H’m!” said Anthony. They had regained the terrace. Superintendent Battle was standing near the French window in a wooden attitude. “Look at poor old Battle,” said Anthony. “Let’s go and cheer him up.” He paused a minute, and said, “You know, you’re an odd fish in some ways, M. Lemoine.” “In what ways, M. Cade?” “Well,” said Anthony, “in your place, I should have been inclined to note down that address that I showed you. It may be of no importance—quite conceivably. On the other hand, it might be very important indeed.” Lemoine looked at him for a minute or two steadily. Then, with a slight smile, he drew back the cuff of his left coat sleeve. Pencilled on the white shirt-cuff beneath were the words “Hurstmere, Langly Road, Dover.” “I apologize,” said Anthony. “And I retire worsted.” He joined Superintendent Battle. “You look very pensive, Battle,” he remarked. “I’ve got a lot to think about, Mr. Cade.” “Yes, I expect you have.” “Things aren’t dovetailing. They’re not dovetailing at all.” “Very trying,” sympathized Anthony. “Never mind, Battle, if the worst comes to the worst, you can always arrest me. You’ve got my guilty footprints to fall back upon, remember.” But the superintendent did not smile. “Got any enemies here that you know of, Mr. Cade?” he asked. “I’ve an idea that the third footman doesn’t like me,” replied Anthony lightly. “He does his best to forget to hand me the choicest vegetables. Why?” “I’ve been getting anonymous letters,” said Superintendent Battle. “Or rather an anonymous letter, I should say.” “About me?” Without answering Battle took a folded sheet of cheap notepaper from his pocket, and handed it to Anthony. Scrawled on it in an illiterate handwriting were the words: “Look out for Mr. Cade. He isn’t wot he seems.” Anthony handed it back with a light laugh. “That’s all? Cheer up, Battle. I’m really a King in disguise, you know.” He went into the house, whistling lightly as he walked along. But as he entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him, his face changed. It grew set and stern. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared moodily at the floor. “Things are getting serious,” said Anthony to himself. “Something must be done about it. It’s all damned awkward....” He sat there for a minute or two, then strolled to the window. For a moment or two he stood looking out aimlessly, and then his eyes became suddenly focused on a certain spot, and his face lightened. “Of course,” he said. “The Rose Garden! That’s it! The Rose Garden.” He hurried downstairs again and out into the garden by a side door. He approached the Rose Garden by a circuitous route. It had a little gate at either end. He entered by the far one, and walked up to the sundial which was on a raised hillock in the exact centre of the garden. Just as Anthony reached it, he stopped dead and stared at another occupant of the Rose Garden who seemed equally surprised to see him. “I didn’t know that you were interested in roses, Mr. Fish,” said Anthony gently. “Sir,” said Mr. Fish, “I am considerably interested in roses.” They looked at each other warily, as antagonists seek to measure their opponents’ strength. “So am I,” said Anthony. “Is that so?” “In fact, I dote upon roses,” said Anthony airily. A very slight smile hovered upon Mr. Fish’s lips and at the same time Anthony also smiled. The tension seemed to relax. “Look at this beauty now,” said Mr. Fish, stooping to point out a particularly fine bloom. “Madame Abel Chatenay, I pressoom it to be. Yes, I am right. This white rose, before the war, was known as Frau Carl Drusky. They have, I believe, renamed it. Over sensitive, perhaps but truly patriotic. The La France is always popular. Do you care for red roses at all, Mr. Cade? A bright scarlet rose now——” Mr. Fish’s slow, drawling voice was interrupted. Bundle was leaning out of a first-floor window. “Care for a spin to town, Mr. Fish? I’m just off.” “Thank you, Lady Eileen, but I am vurry happy here.” “Sure you won’t change your mind, Mr. Cade?” Anthony laughed and shook his head. Bundle disappeared. “Sleep is more in my line,” said Anthony, with a wide yawn. “A good after luncheon nap!” He took out a cigarette. “You haven’t got a match, have you?” Mr. Fish handed him a match-box. Anthony helped himself, and handed back the box with a word of thanks. “Roses,” said Anthony, “are all very well. But I don’t feel particularly horticultural this afternoon.” With a disarming smile, he nodded cheerfully. A thundering noise sounded from just outside the house. “Pretty powerful engine she’s got in that car of hers,” remarked Anthony. “There, off she goes.” They had a view of the car speeding down the long drive. Anthony yawned again, and strolled towards the house. He passed in through the door. Once inside, he seemed as though changed to quicksilver. He raced across the hall, out through one of the windows on the farther side, and across the park. Bundle, he knew, had to make a big détour by the lodge gates, and through the village. He ran desperately. It was a race against time. He reached the park wall just as he heard the car outside. He swung himself up and dropped into the road. “Hi!” cried Anthony. In her astonishment, Bundle swerved half across the road. She managed to pull up without accident. Anthony ran after the car, opened the door, and jumped in beside Bundle. “I’m coming to London with you,” he said. “I meant to all along.” “Extraordinary person,” said Bundle. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” “Only a match,” said Anthony. He regarded it thoughtfully. It was pink, with a yellow head. He threw away his unlighted cigarette, and put the match carefully into his pocket. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (1998). The Secret of Chimneys. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65238/pg65238-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

Encounter in the Rose Garden

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

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