VenueArc

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Fanaticism nor devoured by the desire of vengeance

The Witch-Doctor Seeks Vengeance

Vengeance and Mercy

Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . La Seeks Vengeance La Seeks Vengeance Swinging back through the jungle in a wide circle the ape-man came to the river at another point, drank and took to the trees again and while he hunted, all oblivious of his past and careless of his future, there came through the dark jungles and the open, parklike places and across the wide meadows, where grazed the countless herbivora of the mysterious continent, a weird and terrible caravan in search of him. There were fifty frightful men with hairy bodies and gnarled and crooked legs. They were armed with knives and great bludgeons and at their head marched an almost naked woman, beautiful beyond compare. It was La of Opar, High Priestess of the Flaming God, and fifty of her horrid priests searching for the purloiner of the sacred sacrificial knife. Never before had La passed beyond the crumbling outer walls of Opar; but never before had need been so insistent. The sacred knife was gone! Handed down through countless ages it had come to her as a heritage and an insignia of her religious office and regal authority from some long-dead progenitor of lost and forgotten Atlantis. The loss of the crown jewels or the Great Seal of England could have brought no greater consternation to a British king than did the pilfering of the sacred knife bring to La, the Oparian, Queen and High Priestess of the degraded remnants of the oldest civilization upon earth. When Atlantis, with all her mighty cities and her cultivated fields and her great commerce and culture and riches sank into the sea long ages since, she took with her all but a handful of her colonists working the vast gold mines of Central Africa. From these and their degraded slaves and a later intermixture of the blood of the anthropoids sprung the gnarled men of Opar; but by some queer freak of fate, aided by natural selection, the old Atlantean strain had remained pure and undegraded in the females descended from a single princess of the royal house of Atlantis who had been in Opar at the time of the great catastrophe. Such was La. Burning with white-hot anger was the High Priestess, her heart a seething, molten mass of hatred for Tarzan of the Apes. The zeal of the religious fanatic whose altar has been desecrated was triply enhanced by the rage of a woman scorned. Twice had she thrown her heart at the feet of the godlike ape-man and twice had she been repulsed. La knew that she was beautiful—and she was beautiful, not by the standards of prehistoric Atlantis alone, but by those of modern times was La physically a creature of perfection. Before Tarzan came that first time to Opar, La had never seen a human male other than the grotesque and knotted men of her clan. With one of these she must mate sooner or later that the direct line of high priestesses might not be broken, unless Fate should bring other men to Opar. Before Tarzan came upon his first visit, La had had no thought that such men as he existed, for she knew only her hideous little priests and the bulls of the tribe of great anthropoids that had dwelt from time immemorial in and about Opar, until they had come to be looked upon almost as equals by the Oparians. Among the legends of Opar were tales of godlike men of the olden time and of black men who had come more recently; but these latter had been enemies who killed and robbed. And, too, these legends always held forth the hope that some day that nameless continent from which their race had sprung, would rise once more out of the sea and with slaves at the long sweeps would send her carven, gold-picked galleys forth to succor the long-exiled colonists. The coming of Tarzan had aroused within La’s breast the wild hope that at last the fulfillment of this ancient prophecy was at hand; but more strongly still had it aroused the hot fires of love in a heart that never otherwise would have known the meaning of that all-consuming passion, for such a wondrous creature as La could never have felt love for any of the repulsive priests of Opar. Custom, duty and religious zeal might have commanded the union; but there could have been no love on La’s part. She had grown to young womanhood a cold and heartless creature, daughter of a thousand other cold, heartless, beautiful women who had never known love. And so when love came to her it liberated all the pent passions of a thousand generations, transforming La into a pulsing, throbbing volcano of desire, and with desire thwarted this great force of love and gentleness and sacrifice was transmuted by its own fires into one of hatred and revenge. It was in a state of mind superinduced by these conditions that La led forth her jabbering company to retrieve the sacred emblem of her high office and wreak vengeance upon the author of her wrongs. To Werper she gave little thought. The fact that the knife had been in his hand when it departed from Opar brought down no thoughts of vengeance upon his head. Of course, he should be slain when captured; but his death would give La no pleasure—she looked for that in the contemplated death agonies of Tarzan. He should be tortured. His should be a slow and frightful death. His punishment should be adequate to the immensity of his crime. He had wrested the sacred knife from La; he had lain sacrilegious hands upon the High Priestess of the Flaming God; he had desecrated the altar and the temple. For these things he should die; but he had scorned the love of La, the woman, and for this he should die horribly with great anguish. The march of La and her priests was not without its adventures. Unused were these to the ways of the jungle, since seldom did any venture forth from behind Opar’s crumbling walls, yet their very numbers protected them and so they came without fatalities far along the trail of Tarzan and Werper. Three great apes accompanied them and to these was delegated the business of tracking the quarry, a feat beyond the senses of the Oparians. La commanded. She arranged the order of march, she selected the camps, she set the hour for halting and the hour for resuming and though she was inexperienced in such matters, her native intelligence was so far above that of the men or the apes that she did better than they could have done. She was a hard taskmaster, too, for she looked down with loathing and contempt upon the misshapen creatures amongst which cruel Fate had thrown her and to some extent vented upon them her dissatisfaction and her thwarted love. She made them build her a strong protection and shelter each night and keep a great fire burning before it from dusk to dawn. When she tired of walking they were forced to carry her upon an improvised litter, nor did one dare to question her authority or her right to such services. In fact they did not question either. To them she was a goddess and each loved her and each hoped that he would be chosen as her mate, so they slaved for her and bore the stinging lash of her displeasure and the habitually haughty disdain of her manner without a murmur. For many days they marched, the apes following the trail easily and going a little distance ahead of the body of the caravan that they might warn the others of impending danger. It was during a noonday halt while all were lying resting after a tiresome march that one of the apes rose suddenly and sniffed the breeze. In a low guttural he cautioned the others to silence and a moment later was swinging quietly up wind into the jungle. La and the priests gathered silently together, the hideous little men fingering their knives and bludgeons, and awaited the return of the shaggy anthropoid. Nor had they long to wait before they saw him emerge from a leafy thicket and approach them. Straight to La he came and in the language of the great apes which was also the language of decadent Opar he addressed her. “The great Tarmangani lies asleep there,” he said, pointing in the direction from which he had just come. “Come and we can kill him.” “Do not kill him,” commanded La in cold tones. “Bring the great Tarmangani to me alive and unhurt. The vengeance is La’s. Go; but make no sound!” and she waved her hands to include all her followers. Cautiously the weird party crept through the jungle in the wake of the great ape until at last he halted them with a raised hand and pointed upward and a little ahead. There they saw the giant form of the ape-man stretched along a low bough and even in sleep one hand grasped a stout limb and one strong, brown leg reached out and overlapped another. At ease lay Tarzan of the Apes, sleeping heavily upon a full stomach and dreaming of Numa, the lion, and Horta, the boar, and other creatures of the jungle. No intimation of danger assailed the dormant faculties of the ape-man—he saw no crouching hairy figures upon the ground beneath him nor the three apes that swung quietly into the tree beside him. The first intimation of danger that came to Tarzan was the impact of three bodies as the three apes leaped upon him and hurled him to the ground, where he alighted half stunned beneath their combined weight and was immediately set upon by the fifty hairy men or as many of them as could swarm upon his person. Instantly the ape-man became the center of a whirling, striking, biting maelstrom of horror. He fought nobly but the odds against him were too great. Slowly they overcame him though there was scarce one of them that did not feel the weight of his mighty fist or the rending of his fangs. 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. Edgar Rice Burroughs (1993). Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/92/pg92-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.

La Seeks Vengeance

Astounding Stories of Super-Science April 1931, by Astounding Stories is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Exile of Time - Chapter VII: The Vengeance of Tugh Myriad individual scenes of horror were enacted. Metal travesties of the human form ran along the city streets, overturning stalled vehicles, climbing into houses, roaming dark hallways, breaking into rooms. There was a woman who afterward told that she crouched in a corner, clutching her child, when the door of her room was burst in. Her husband, who had kept them there thinking it was the safest thing to do, fought futilely with the great thing of iron. Its sword slashed his head from his body with a single stroke. The woman and the little child screamed, but the monster ignored them. They had a radio, tuned to a station in New Jersey which was broadcasting the events. The Robot seized the instrument as though in a frenzy of anger, tore it apart, then rushed from the room. No one could give a connected picture of the events of that horrible night. It was a series of disjointed incidents out of which the imagination must construct the whole. The panics were everywhere. The streets were stalled with traffic and running, shouting, fighting people. And the area around Greenwich Village brought reports of continued horror. The Robots were of many different forms; some pseudo-human; others, great machines running amuck—things more monstrous, more horrible even, than those which mocked humanity. There was a great pot-bellied monster which forced its way somehow to a roof. It encountered a crouching woman and child in a corner of the parapet, seized them, one in each of its great iron hands, and whirled them out over the housetops. By dawn it seemed that the Robots had mounted several projectors of the giant red beam on the roofs of Patton Place. They held a full square mile, now, around Tugh's house. The police and firemen had long since given up fighting them. They were needed elsewhere—the police to try and cope with the panics, and the firemen to fight the conflagrations which everywhere began springing up. Fires, the natural outcome of chaos; and fires, incendiary—made by criminals who took advantage of the disaster to fatten like ghouls upon the dead. They prowled the streets. They robbed and murdered at will. The giant beams of the Robots carried a frigid blast for miles. By dawn of that June 10th, the south wind was carrying from the enemy area a perceptible wave of cold even as far as Westchester. Allen, flying over the city, saw the devastated area clearly. Ice in the streets—smashed vehicles—the gruesome litter of sword-slashed human bodies. And other human bodies, plucked apart; strewn.... Alten's plane flew at an altitude of some two thousand feet. In the growing daylight the dark prowling figures of the metal men were plainly seen. There were no humans left alive in the captured area. The plane dropped a bomb into Washington Square where a dozen or two of the Robots were gathered. It missed them. The plane's pilot had not realized that they were grouped around a projector; its red shaft sprang up, caught the plane and clung to it. Frigid blast! Even at that two thousand feet altitude, for a few seconds Alten and the others were stiffened by the cold. The motor missed; very nearly stopped. Then an intervening rooftop cut off the beam, and the plane escaped. All this I have pictured from what Dr. Alten subsequently told me. He leaves my narrative now, since fate hereafter held him in the New York City of 1935. But he has described for me three horrible days, and three still more horrible nights. The whole world now was alarmed. Every nation offered its forces of air and land and sea to overcome these gruesome invaders. Warships steamed for New York harbor. Soldiers were entrained and brought to the city outskirts. Airplanes flew overhead. On Long Island, Staten Island, and in New Jersey, infantry, tanks and artillery were massed in readiness. But they were all very nearly powerless to attack. Manhattan Island still was thronged with refugees. It was not possible for the millions to escape; and for the first day there were hundreds of thousands hiding in their homes. The city could not be shelled. The influx of troops was hampered by the outrush of civilians. By the night of the tenth, nevertheless, ten thousand soldiers were surrounding the enemy area. It embraced now all the mid-section of the island. The soldiers rushed in. Machine-guns were set up. But the Robots were difficult to find. With this direct attack they began fighting with an almost human caution. Their bodies were impervious to bullets, save perhaps in the orifices of the face which might or might not be vulnerable. But when attacked, they skulked in the houses, or crouched like cautious animals under the smashed vehicles. Then there were times when they would wade forward directly into machine-gun fire—unharmed—plunging on until the gunners fled and the Robots wreaked their fury upon the abandoned gun. The only hand-to-hand conflicts took place on the afternoon of June 10th. A full thousand soldiers were killed—and possibly six or eight of the Robots. The troops were ordered away after that; they made lines across the island to the north and to the south, to keep the enemy from increasing its area. Over Greenwich Village now, the circling planes—at their highest altitude, to avoid the upflung crimson beams—dropped bombs. Hundreds of houses there were wrecked. Tugh's house could not be positively identified, though the attack was directed at it most particularly. Afterward, it was found by chance to have escaped. The night of June 10th brought new horrors. The city lights failed. Against all the efforts of the troops and the artillery fire which now was shelling the Washington Square area, the giant mechanisms pushed north and south. By midnight, with their dull-red beams illumining the darkness of the canyon streets, they had reached the Battery, and spread northward beyond the northern limits of Central Park. It is estimated that by then there were still a million people on Manhattan Island. The night of the 11th, the Robots made their real attack. Those who saw it, from planes overhead, say that upon a roof near Washington Square a machine was mounted from which a red beam sprang. It was not of parallel rays, like the others; this one spread. And of such power it was, that it painted the leaden clouds of the threatening, overcast night. Every plane, at whatever high altitude, felt its frigid blast and winged hastily away to safety. Spreading, dull-red beam! It flashed with a range of miles. Its light seemed to cling to the clouds, staining like blood; and to cling to the air itself with a dull lurid radiance. It was a hot night, that June 11th, with a brewing thunderstorm. There had been occasional rumbles of thunder and lightning flashes. The temperature was perhaps 90° F. Then the temperature began falling. A million people were hiding in the great apartment houses and homes of the northern sections, or still struggling to escape over the littered bridges or by the paralyzed transportation systems—and that million people saw the crimson radiance and felt the falling temperature. 80°. Then 70°. Within half an hour it was at 30°! In unheated houses, in midsummer, in the midst of panic, the people were swept by chilling cold. With no adequate clothing available they suffered greatly—and then abruptly they were freezing. Children wailing with the cold; then asleep in numbed, last slumber.... Zero weather in midsummer! And below zero! How cold it got, there is no one to say. The abandoned recording instrument in the Weather Bureau was found, at 2:16 A.M., the morning of June 12, 1935, to have touched minus 42° F. The gathering storm over the city burst with lightning and thunder claps through the blood-red radiance. And then snow began falling. A steady white downpour, a winter blizzard with the lightning flashing above it, and the thunder crashing. With the lightning and thunder and snow, crazy winds sprang up. They whirled and tossed the thick white snowflakes; swept in blasts along the city streets. It piled the snow in great drifts against the houses; whirled and sucked it upward in white powdery geysers. At 2:30 A.M. there came a change. The dull-red radiance which swept the city changed in color. Through the shades of the spectrum it swung up to violet. And no longer was it a blast of cold, but of heat! Of what inherent temperature the ray of that spreading beam may have been, no one can say. It caught the houses, and everything inflammable burst into flame. Conflagrations were everywhere—a thousand spots of yellow-red flames, like torches, with smoke rolling up from them to mingle with the violet glow overhead. The blizzard was gone. The snow ceased. The storm clouds rolled away, blasted by the pendulum winds which lashed the city. By 3 A.M. the city temperature was over 100° F—the dry, blistering heat of a midsummer desert. The northern city streets were littered with the bodies of people who had rushed from their homes and fallen in the heat, the wild winds and the suffocating smoke outside. And then, flung back by the abnormal winds, the storm clouds crashed together overhead. A terrible storm, born of outraged nature, vent itself on the city. The fires of the burning metropolis presently died under the torrent of falling water. Clouds of steam whirled and tossed and hissed close overhead, and there was a boiling hot rain. By dawn the radiance of that strange spreading beam died away. The daylight showed a wrecked, dead city. Few humans indeed were left alive on Manhattan that dawn. The Robots and their apparatus had gone.... The vengeance of Tugh against the New York City of 1935 was accomplished. (To be continued.) 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. Various. 2009. Astounding Stories of Super-Science, April 1931. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved May 2022 from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30452/30452-h/30452-h.htm#Page_26 . 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

CHAPTER VII. The Vengeance of Tugh

Silicon Valley: With Swords & Shields

In the land down under, there’s a tale that’s taken flight, literally. Picture this: one lone soul in Perth, Western Australia, is shaking up the skies with complaints about aircraft noise. Move over, kangaroos boxing on the street; this is the real drama unfolding! Now, get ready to have your socks knocked off by numbers. Out of over 51,000 aircraft noise complaints across Australia, nearly 21,000 of them were dropped by our Perth protagonist. That’s some serious air rage! But wait, it gets better. Brisbane tried to join the complaint party, but they only managed to squeak out around 4,700 gripes. Sorry, Brisbane, but Perth is owning the noise game! Now, before you start laughing it off as a case of someone just having a rough day, think again. Studies show that constant aircraft noise can turn even the most chilled Aussie into a grumpy wallaby. We’re talking sleep disturbances, stress levels skyrocketing higher than a kangaroo on a pogo stick—real chaos, mate! And it’s not just about personal comfort. Oh no, we’re diving into the big bucks territory. Property values? Plummeting faster than a boomerang thrown by a toddler! Now, here’s where it gets interesting. We’re not just talking about a random person shouting into the wind. Nope, this Perth warrior is the David to the aviation Goliath, taking on the system with a vengeance! And speaking of systems, Airservices Australia noticed a curious trend: fewer people are making more noise complaints. It’s like everyone’s decided to let this one Aussie do all the heavy lifting, while the rest of the country enjoys their barbies and surf sessions. But let’s not forget the heart of the matter. These aren’t just complaints; they’re battle cries against the tyranny of aircraft noise. It’s like a scene straight out of "Crocodile Dundee," but instead of wrestling crocs, we’re wrestling with jet engines! And while the suits in Canberra debate policies and regulations, our Perth hero is out there, reminding us that one person’s voice can make a noise big enough to echo across the whole continent. So, next time you hear a plane overhead, spare a thought for our Perth pal fighting the good fight against the roar of the engines. And maybe, just maybe, invest in some noise-canceling headphones. So for the Joke! What did the man who lived near an international airport, one of Australia’s international hubs do when he got sick of all the aircraft noise? Answer #. He moved. In the land down under, there’s a tale that’s taken flight, literally. Picture this: one lone soul in Perth, Western Australia, is shaking up the skies with complaints about aircraft noise. Move over, kangaroos boxing on the street; this is the real drama unfolding! Now, get ready to have your socks knocked off by numbers. Out of over 51,000 aircraft noise complaints across Australia , nearly 21,000 of them were dropped by our Perth protagonist. That’s some serious air rage! aircraft noise complaints across Australia But wait, it gets better. Brisbane tried to join the complaint party, but they only managed to squeak out around 4,700 gripes. Sorry, Brisbane, but Perth is owning the noise game! Now, before you start laughing it off as a case of someone just having a rough day, think again. Studies show that constant aircraft noise can turn even the most chilled Aussie into a grumpy wallaby. We’re talking sleep disturbances, stress levels skyrocketing higher than a kangaroo on a pogo stick—real chaos, mate! And it’s not just about personal comfort. Oh no, we’re diving into the big bucks territory. Property values? Plummeting faster than a boomerang thrown by a toddler! Now, here’s where it gets interesting. We’re not just talking about a random person shouting into the wind. Nope, this Perth warrior is the David to the aviation Goliath, taking on the system with a vengeance! And speaking of systems, Airservices Australia noticed a curious trend: fewer people are making more noise complaints. It’s like everyone’s decided to let this one Aussie do all the heavy lifting, while the rest of the country enjoys their barbies and surf sessions. But let’s not forget the heart of the matter. These aren’t just complaints; they’re battle cries against the tyranny of aircraft noise. It’s like a scene straight out of "Crocodile Dundee," but instead of wrestling crocs, we’re wrestling with jet engines! And while the suits in Canberra debate policies and regulations, our Perth hero is out there, reminding us that one person’s voice can make a noise big enough to echo across the whole continent. So, next time you hear a plane overhead, spare a thought for our Perth pal fighting the good fight against the roar of the engines. And maybe, just maybe, invest in some noise-canceling headphones. So for the Joke! What did the man who lived near an international airport, one of Australia’s international hubs do when he got sick of all the aircraft noise? Answer #. He moved.

The Funny Australian Aircraft Noise Complaint  

240 Stories To Learn About Astounding Stories

When speaking on digital transformation, it’s typically in present or past-tense; something we’ve just gone through or are currently in the middle-of. While transformation at any organization of any size is daunting, exhausting, and expensive – if done correctly, it should be a constant. As they say, the only constant is change. There’s only one guarantee; that at the end of whatever digital transformation you're in the midst of, it is inevitably the start of your next. And, . the next 3-letter acronym that will be as transformative and disruptive as “ ” might be “ZKP”, GPT Zero-Knowledge Proofs Last week was the anniversa. And, today “generative AI strategy” is across the country from start-ups through the Fortune 100. Big Data is most certainly back with a vengeance because of this global fascination and unprecedented vision of the potential future. And as Uncle Ben would have told us, . the #1 topic in just about every board room with great data comes great responsibility This disruptive transformation is most certainly not about GPT and this is also much bigger than ZKP. This is about the future of how we store, manage, and protect consumer data. More importantly, this is about how we ourselves, as consumers, take control and ownership over our own data. This is bigger than (personal identifiable information), . PII this is a new era in how we think about designing and developing privacy preserving interfaces We’ve long been warned that “ ” – this primarily alluded to advertising based revenue models powered and personalized by troves of our own data. Regardless of the company, industry, or monetization strategy, data is becoming  increasingly more valuable and proprietary; especially in the context of an ever-growing (large language model) dependent world. GitHub sent a shocking revelation through the product community when it two years ago – we had to ask, what if the data behind GitHub was now more valuable than the product of GitHub itself? Which in turn introduced yet another “feedback loop” for product managers everywhere, the “data feedback loop”. An infinite loop of value-delivery where the data collected delivers a value for the purpose of obtaining more data to drive more value to collect more data … continuously. if the product is free, you are the product LLM launched CoPilot The Big Data Problem to Solve ZKPs are a powerful tool for protecting sensitive data and building secure and private systems. As consumers become more aware of the value of their personal data and the risks of sharing it, they are likely to adopt technologies that give more control over how their data is used – this is the opportunity. I believe the best way to understand zero-knowledge proofs are to start with a classic data collection problem that is as old as time. In the classic “boy meets girl” romcom scenario, everything hinges on the first impression that most typically starts with a simple and harmless introduction: So, let’s say you’re out-and-about and there’s someone who catches your eye that you’d like to get to know better. You might go up, introduce yourself, and ask their name. If they’re so inclined, they’ll share their first name – success! Now, if you were to ask for their full legal name, there would likely be an awkward hesitation. But, what if you asked for their age, and not just their age, but their full date-of-birth? That would be considered inappropriate by most. Let’s not stop there, what if you were to ask for their weight? Now you’re being rude (and in danger of being slapped). But, you persist, you next ask for their home address — this would now be a safety concern. Most of us would never entertain this line of questioning, more-or-less answer. We might even call this scenario of data collection impossible. If we so obviously refuse to give up this level of personal data during this kind of interaction; the question would be, where did we, moments earlier, freely and willingly divulge this information, and not even realize it? The answer is … the bouncer at the door; a trojan-horse of data collection. All that the venue required was a binary, a yes-or-no; if you’re 21 or older. However, in blind “trust”, we hand-over our ID exposing our full name, home address, date-of-birth, weight, eye/hair color, and even donor status to a part-time stranger with no data security experience. We don’t think twice about it because we do whatever is asked of us to get on the other side of that door. And, we do this everyday with the websites we visit as well as the apps we download; blindly agreeing to the terms of service and privacy policy. Zero-Knowledge Proofs are that binary. ZKPs are like showing your ID in a sealed envelope; the person checking knows it's valid without seeing it, ensuring your privacy. It's a way to prove you know something without revealing what it is. . “Proof" is a technical method of demonstrating that a statement is true without revealing any additional information. It's a concrete, verifiable demonstration, based on mathematical principles. While “trust” is more abstract, based on belief. Proof is technical and verifiable. This is a moment where a new and emerging technology will fundamentally change our relationships with the brands we interact with everyday. We are entering an era where that blind-trust can now be replaced by proof Zero-knowledge proofs are a key component in blockchain and decentralized technologies, which can reduce or eliminate the need for intermediaries. In a decentralized system, transactions and data exchanges can be verified independently by the network. ZKPs can streamline various business processes by providing a more efficient way to verify transactions and data without compromising security. This reduces the counterparty risk typically associated with transactions and business operations, . moving the paradigm from one of trust in a single entity to trust in a robust, transparent system When Proof Trumps Trust It is time to get comfortable with . As businesses and organizations seek to protect their customers' privacy and comply with ever-changing data protection regulations, the use of ZKPs will inherently become more widespread. trustlessness A is “trust”; everyone says they have it, but who can prove it? More importantly, what happens when consumers demand “proof” over blind-trust? Above all else, consumers want confidence in the brands they engage with. The question becomes less if you have their trust, but rather, if your competitor can prove it. Users increasingly demand transparency and data protection. By implementing ZKPs, organizations of all sizes across all verticals can provide consumers with proof of data security and ethical practices without exposing underlying internal or proprietary information. This not only enhances customer confidence, but also customer loyalty as they no longer need to rely solely on trust in the brand but can have verifiable assurances. common pillar among the Fortune 100 Trust in a corporation traditionally hinges on its reputation and history of compliance. However, with ZKPs, corporations can now provide cryptographic evidence of compliance with regulations and internal policies. This form of proof-based accountability can supplant the traditional trust-based system, offering more concrete assurances to regulators, stakeholders, as well as the general public. Trust was never given, it was earned; the ZKP construct now fundamentally alters the power dynamic the 100+ year old incumbent had over upstarts. This is a transformative step-change, a disruptive accelerant. As these technologies become more widely adopted, the corporate reliance on trust, stemming from brand reputation or historical performance, could shift towards a model where cryptographic proof plays a more central role. The move towards a proof-based operational model could herald a new era of corporate transparency, security, and efficiency. While the term sounds counterintuitive, we're moving towards a trustless future; a better future. Mo’ Data, Mo’ Problems … Mo’ Opportunities Zero-knowledge proofs are like a magic trick where you prove you know a secret without ever revealing the secret itself. It's a way to say "I know something" without showing what that something is, ensuring privacy and security. This magic is extremely beneficial in . And, this is no longer just about exposing our usernames and passwords – our credit card numbers, banking information, and social security numbers are on the line. a world now riddled with data breaches and security hacks But wait, there’s more … When back in 1994, we could never conceive of a world 30-years later where we now share everything online from our to our . ZKPs will be a driving force behind enhanced data security and privacy of all of our data, bringing with it increased transparency and accountability. This is about embracing innovation as the ultimate competitive advantage in a world where big data keeps getting bigger, and more valuable (to all of us). Pizza Hut processed the first internet transaction sleep data DNA This isn’t innovation, this is inevitability. While “GPT” is at the center of this current digital transformation, “ZKP” is most certainly on deck; trust me. 😂

ZKP Just Might Be the Next GPT

In 2023, Tesla experienced its biggest insider threat of the year in May, announcing that it had suffered a massive data breach, marking what is possibly the biggest breach in the company’s history, with __ __and former employees having personally identifiable information (PII) leaked. over 75,000 employees According to the reports which dubbed the stolen data as “The Tesla Files”, the 100 GB leak included: Employees’ personal information like their names, addresses, phone numbers, and Social Security numbers Customer bank details Production secrets Customer complaints about Tesla’s Full Self-Driving (FSD) features Even CEO Elon Musk reportedly had his Social Security number leaked. We have since learned that there were two culprits behind the breach: who sent the massive data dump to the German newspaper Handelsblatt. two former Tesla employees The good news for Tesla is that the outlet has announced that they will not be publishing the contents of the leak. As a journalistic organization, especially in Germany, Handelsblatt could find itself in hot water for publishing peoples’ PII. However, the publisher did note the fact that the leaks included complaints about safety issues with the vehicles, which could still cause Tesla a fair amount of grief as writing about these issues could easily fall in the “public interest” bucket for journalists. The bad news is that the company may still be on the hook for in fines due to data privacy violations under GDPR. $3.3 billion While the leak is interesting in itself for reasons of scale and the high profile target, in this article, we are going to look at the role that fostering loyalty with employees can play in helping to tamper with the desire of employees to want to turn against their organizations. But first, let's take a look at Tesla’s history of dealing with insider threats. Tesla's History of Insider Threat Incidents This is not the first time that Tesla found itself in the headlines in terms of an insider threat incident. In fact, the company has a mixed bag when it comes to its history of insider threat incidents over the years. In 2018, Musk announced that a malicious employee had conducted " " to the company, exfiltrating large quantities of data and making changes to their systems. extensive and damaging sabotage The employee reportedly was angry over not receiving the promotion that they thought they thought was coming to them and decided to make their displeasure known through less than pleasant means. On the other side of the scale, in 2020, an employee alerted the company that he had been approached by an old acquaintance who tried to . Thanks to the employee’s warning, Tesla was able to thwart the attack, and the ransomware crew member was arrested. bribe him into helping carry out a ransomware attack In both cases, we see the potential damage a malicious insider can cause to their organization and frankly how easy it can be for them to be successful. Why are Insider Threats so Difficult to Stop? Insider threats are one of the hardest for organizations to defend against because they are legitimate users who are already inside your systems. Unlike outsiders who need to steal/phish/buy credentials and then defeat MFA, an insider is a real user inside your organization who can act totally normally until the moment that they do not.\ This means no indicators of compromise and no leaked credentials showing up on “Have I been Pwned.” You often will not detect it until the damage has been done. An additional factor is the fact that many insider threats are not actually malicious. While they cause real harm with their leaks, they act unintentionally through mistakes and general negligence. According to the Verizon Data Breach Investigations Report for 2023, was the cause of 98% of errors that led to a data breach. carelessness This difficulty in detection has led many organizations to look for ways to head off incidents before they happen, looking at strategies for prevention. This is where the question of motivation and loyalty comes into play. Negative Impactors on Employee Loyalty Year after year, the number one motivator for insider threat incidents is financial gain. You know, good old-fashioned greed. And yet, the seed that leads to the betrayal is planted long before an employee decides to take the more drastic steps of stealing or harming your data. Looking at the , researchers found that 89% of privilege misuse cases were financially motivated, followed by a “grudge” at 13%. Verizon Data Breach Investigations Report for 2023 So, what leads to that grudge? According to Jacques Y. Kassa’s 2021 thesis “ at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, CA, depression, hopelessness, frustration, disgruntlement, and anger are all emotional factors that play into insider threats. ” Modeling the Relationship Between Loyalty and Insider Threat Not a groundbreaking insight but we also know that organizations do not invest enough effort in checking in with employees to see how they are feeling about their place in the organization. Kassa writes that motivators like ideology, vengeance, retribution, espionage, and activism are more frequent in government organizations than in the civilian sectors. Perhaps in the case of Tesla, there may have been a desire to share some of the safety data with the public, though there is a question of whether this is activism or retribution. There are, however, a couple of factors to watch out for. Underpaid and Underappreciated Being well compensated for your work is the top motivator for basically every employee. Better than extra snacks or company activities, employees need to feel that they are appreciated for their work, and commensurate compensation is a clear indicator of that recognition and respect. Feeling Part of the Team During the pandemic, one of the struggles faced by organizations was in employees maintaining a sense of being on the team. Going remote meant not strengthening the in-person, informal bonds that can make a person feel comradery with their co-workers and deter them from wanting to cause them harm. After all, if these are just people that you see on Zoom calls and email chains, what do you owe them if a better opportunity comes along? This has primarily been a problem for retention, but it can also impact motivations for someone turning malicious. Mass Layoffs and the Great Resignation We are at a cultural moment that is frankly different from where we were five or ten years ago. Uncertainty in the job market is a constant, with organizations laying off large quantities of workers in massive waves. Big players like Amazon have cut workers in the past year, while Microsoft has laid off over people. 27,000 10,000 This has led to the justified feeling among many that their companies are not loyal to them. So why should they show loyalty back? Why not take some customer data or valuable IP before you get shown the door if it might give you a leg up at your next job? Combine this uncertainty with the Great Resignation that saw workers leave jobs that they may have put up with for something better. Maybe they found a better location, something totally remote, or having other good conditions that they decided to seek greener pastures elsewhere. Many simply looked around and saw that plenty of others were leaving their jobs, so why not them, too? 3 Tips for Reducing Insider Threat Risk Given the ways that employee loyalty can be diminished, how can organizations improve the positive feelings that their employees have and reduce their risk of an insider threat incident? Here are a few suggestions. Provide an Outlet for Frustration or Concerns Beyond the need to feel appreciated, people need to feel that they have a place to turn to when something is bothering them at work. A question any company, especially a manufacturer, should ask is whether employees have a place to go where they can voice ethical concerns in-house and see that they are handled with due seriousness. If workers do not have an internal channel for dealing with concerns, then they may seek options elsewhere. Invest in Education and Training There’s an interesting question about when it comes to accidental insider-caused incidents. On the one hand, they do not actively choose to harm their employer since the case is unintentional. However, on the other hand, a lack of interest in following the guidelines due to a lack of a strong commitment to their organization probably plays a role in these incidents occurring. Dealing with the non-malicious actors requires fewer sticks and more carrots to get results. Training and education can play a critical role here in preventing incidents. The advantages here can be two-fold. Learning the proper protocols for handling sensitive data and systems teaches them how to do the job correctly and safely. It also gives them a sense of ownership. When your organization invests time and resources into training them how to be better at their job and protect the organization, then chances increase that they will try to implement what they learn in the courses. Encourage but Verify with User Behavioral Analytics Even as we work to increase the level of trust with employees, we need to implement measures to verify that folks are on their best behavior. This means putting in place User Behavioral Analytics tools for continuously monitoring behavior in order to establish a baseline of activity. Once we understand how people normally interact with the systems that they are entitled to work with and think about which applications, data sets, etc they interact with regularly, then we can detect when they begin to act anomalously. Most insider threat cases follow similar patterns in that they have threat actors abuse their privileges and find ways to exfiltrate their pilfered data. By monitoring sensitive files, we can see who is accessing them and potentially who is stepping outside the lines and needs to be followed up with. Loyalty is Earned, Not a Given One note for clarification. Companies are not families. They hire, fire, downsize, and work in their own self-interest. Most of us do not fire our family members, even if we want to sometimes. Employees have the same right to leave an organization if they feel that their own needs are not being met. Having loyalty to a company does not mean that someone should stay if they are not happy. What it does mean is that if the organization acts properly, then it will engender enough goodwill to keep employees on the ethical and legal path of not stealing their data or seeking to cause them harm. And that may count for enough to help diffuse and prevent a potential incident.

Data Breach: What Tesla’s Biggest Insider Threat in 2023 Can Teach Us Going Into 2024

ডেটা লঙ্ঘন: 2023 সালে টেসলার সবচেয়ে বড় অভ্যন্তরীণ হুমকি কী আমাদের 2024-এ যেতে শেখাতে পারে

Datenschutzverletzung: Was uns Teslas größte Insider-Bedrohung im Jahr 2023 für das Jahr 2024 lehren kann

Violación de datos: lo que la mayor amenaza interna de Tesla en 2023 puede enseñarnos de cara a 2024

Violation de données : ce que la plus grande menace interne de Tesla en 2023 peut nous apprendre à l’approche de 2024

डेटा उल्लंघन: 2023 में टेस्ला का सबसे बड़ा अंदरूनी खतरा हमें 2024 में क्या सिखा सकता है

データ侵害: 2023 年のテスラ最大のインサイダー脅威が 2024 年に向けて私たちに教えてくれること

데이터 침해: 2023년 Tesla의 가장 큰 내부자 위협이 2024년에 우리에게 가르쳐 줄 수 있는 것

Violação de dados: o que a maior ameaça interna da Tesla em 2023 pode nos ensinar em 2024

Утечка данных: чему нас может научить крупнейшая инсайдерская угроза Tesla в 2023 году в 2024 году

Veri İhlali: Tesla'nın 2023'teki En Büyük İçeriden Tehdidi, 2024'e Girerken Bize Ne Öğretebilir?

Vi phạm dữ liệu: Mối đe dọa nội bộ lớn nhất của Tesla vào năm 2023 có thể dạy chúng ta điều gì khi bước sang năm 2024

数据泄露：进入 2024 年，特斯拉 2023 年最大的内部威胁可以告诉我们什么

On the Causes and Consequences of Large Factories

The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . HETTA'S SORROW here HETTA'S SORROW. When Hetta Carbury received that letter from her lover which was given to the reader some chapters back, it certainly did not tend in any way to alleviate her misery. Even when she had read it over half-a-dozen times, she could not bring herself to think it possible that she could be reconciled to the man. It was not only that he had sinned against her by giving his society to another woman to whom he had at any rate been engaged not long since, at the very time at which he was becoming engaged to her,—but also that he had done this in such a manner as to make his offence known to all her friends. Perhaps she had been too quick;—but there was the fact that with her own consent she had acceded to her mother's demand that the man should be rejected. The man had been rejected, and even Roger Carbury knew that it was so. After this it was, she thought, impossible that she should recall him. But they should all know that her heart was unchanged. Roger Carbury should certainly know that, if he ever asked her further question on the matter. She would never deny it; and though she knew that the man had behaved badly,—having entangled himself with a nasty American woman,—yet she would be true to him as far as her own heart was concerned. And now he told her that she had been most unjust to him. He said that he could not understand her injustice. He did not fill his letter with entreaties, but with reproaches. And certainly his reproaches moved her more than any prayer would have done. It was too late now to remedy the evil; but she was not quite sure within her own bosom that she had not been unjust to him. The more she thought of it the more puzzled her mind became. Had she quarrelled with him because he had once been in love with Mrs. Hurtle, or because she had grounds for regarding Mrs. Hurtle as her present rival? She hated Mrs. Hurtle, and she was very angry with him in that he had ever been on affectionate terms with a woman she hated;—but that had not been the reason put forward by her for quarrelling with him. Perhaps it was true that he, too, had of late loved Mrs. Hurtle hardly better than she did herself. It might be that he had been indeed constrained by hard circumstances to go with the woman to Lowestoft. Having so gone with her, it was no doubt right that he should be rejected;—for how can it be that a man who is engaged shall be allowed to travel about the country with another woman to whom also he was engaged a few months back? But still there might be hardship in it. To her, to Hetta herself, the circumstances were very hard. She loved the man with all her heart. She could look forward to no happiness in life without him. But yet it must be so. At the end of his letter he had told her to go to Mrs. Hurtle herself if she wanted corroboration of the story as told by him. Of course he had known when he wrote it that she could not and would not go to Mrs. Hurtle. But when the letter had been in her possession three or four days,—unanswered, for, as a matter of course, no answer to it from herself was possible,—and had been read and re-read till she knew every word of it by heart, she began to think that if she could hear the story as it might be told by Mrs. Hurtle, a good deal that was now dark might become light to her. As she continued to read the letter, and to brood over it all, by degrees her anger was turned from her lover to her mother, her brother, and to her cousin Roger. Paul had of course behaved badly, very badly,—but had it not been for them she might have had an opportunity of forgiving him. They had driven her on to the declaration of a purpose from which she could now see no escape. There had been a plot against her, and she was a victim. In the first dismay and agony occasioned by that awful story of the American woman,—which had, at the moment, struck her with a horror which was now becoming less and less every hour,—she had fallen head foremost into the trap laid for her. She acknowledged to herself that it was too late to recover her ground. She was, at any rate, almost sure that it must be too late. But yet she was disposed to do battle with her mother and her cousin in the matter—if only with the object of showing that she would not submit her own feelings to their control. She was savage to the point of rebellion against all authority. Roger Carbury would of course think that any communication between herself and Mrs. Hurtle must be most improper,—altogether indelicate. Two or three days ago she thought so herself. But the world was going so hard with her, that she was beginning to feel herself capable of throwing propriety and delicacy to the winds. This man whom she had once accepted, whom she altogether loved, and who, in spite of all his faults, certainly still loved her,—of that she was beginning to have no further doubt,—accused her of dishonesty, and referred her to her rival for a corroboration of his story. She would appeal to Mrs. Hurtle. The woman was odious, abominable, a nasty intriguing American female. But her lover desired that she should hear the woman's story; and she would hear the story,—if the woman would tell it. So resolving, she wrote as follows to Mrs. Hurtle, finding great difficulty in the composition of a letter which should tell neither too little nor too much, and determined that she would be restrained by no mock modesty, by no girlish fear of declaring the truth about herself. The letter at last was stiff and hard, but it sufficed for its purpose. Madam,— Mr. Paul Montague has referred me to you as to certain circumstances which have taken place between him and you. It is right that I should tell you that I was a short time since engaged to marry him, but that I have found myself obliged to break off that engagement in consequence of what I have been told as to his acquaintance with you. I make this proposition to you, not thinking that anything you will say to me can change my mind, but because he has asked me to do so, and has, at the same time, accused me of injustice towards him. I do not wish to rest under an accusation of injustice from one to whom I was once warmly attached. If you will receive me, I will make it my business to call any afternoon you may name. Yours truly, Henrietta Carbury. When the letter was written she was not only ashamed of it, but very much afraid of it also. What if the American woman should put it in a newspaper! She had heard that everything was put into newspapers in America. What if this Mrs. Hurtle should send back to her some horribly insolent answer;—or should send such answer to her mother, instead of herself! And then, again, if the American woman consented to receive her, would not the American woman, as a matter of course, trample upon her with rough words? Once or twice she put the letter aside, and almost determined that it should not be sent;—but at last, with desperate fortitude, she took it out with her and posted it herself. She told no word of it to any one. Her mother, she thought, had been cruel to her, had disregarded her feelings, and made her wretched for ever. She could not ask her mother for sympathy in her present distress. There was no friend who would sympathise with her. She must do everything alone. Mrs. Hurtle, it will be remembered, had at last determined that she would retire from the contest and own herself to have been worsted. It is, I fear, impossible to describe adequately the various half resolutions which she formed, and the changing phases of her mind before she brought herself to this conclusion. And soon after she had assured herself that this should be the conclusion,—after she had told Paul Montague that it should be so,—there came back upon her at times other half resolutions to a contrary effect. She had written a letter to the man threatening desperate revenge, and had then abstained from sending it, and had then shown it to the man,—not intending to give it to him as a letter upon which he would have to act, but only that she might ask him whether, had he received it, he would have said that he had not deserved it. Then she had parted with him, refusing either to hear or to say a word of farewell, and had told Mrs. Pipkin that she was no longer engaged to be married. At that moment everything was done that could be done. The game had been played and the stakes lost,—and she had schooled herself into such restraint as to have abandoned all idea of vengeance. But from time to time there arose in her heart a feeling that such softness was unworthy of her. Who had ever been soft to her? Who had spared her? Had she not long since found out that she must fight with her very nails and teeth for every inch of ground, if she did not mean to be trodden into the dust? Had she not held her own among rough people after a very rough fashion, and should she now simply retire that she might weep in a corner like a love-sick schoolgirl? And she had been so stoutly determined that she would at any rate avenge her own wrongs, if she could not turn those wrongs into triumph! There were moments in which she thought that she could still seize the man by the throat, where all the world might see her, and dare him to deny that he was false, perjured, and mean. Then she received a long passionate letter from Paul Montague, written at the same time as those other letters to Roger Carbury and Hetta, in which he told her all the circumstances of his engagement to Hetta Carbury, and implored her to substantiate the truth of his own story. It was certainly marvellous to her that the man who had so long been her own lover and who had parted with her after such a fashion should write such a letter to her. But it had no tendency to increase either her anger or her sorrow. Of course she had known that it was so, and at certain times she had told herself that it was only natural,—had almost told herself that it was right. She and this young Englishman were not fit to be mated. He was to her thinking a tame, sleek household animal, whereas she knew herself to be wild,—fitter for the woods than for polished cities. It had been one of the faults of her life that she had allowed herself to be bound by tenderness of feeling to this soft over-civilised man. The result had been disastrous, as might have been expected. She was angry with him,—almost to the extent of tearing him to pieces,—but she did not become more angry because he wrote to her of her rival. Her only present friend was Mrs. Pipkin, who treated her with the greatest deference, but who was never tired of asking questions about the lost lover. "That letter was from Mr. Montague?" said Mrs. Pipkin on the morning after it had been received. "How can you know that?" "I'm sure it was. One does get to know handwritings when letters come frequent." "It was from him. And why not?" "Oh dear no;—why not certainly? I wish he'd write every day of his life, so that things would come round again. Nothing ever troubles me so much as broken love. Why don't he come again himself, Mrs. Hurtle?" "It is not at all likely that he should come again. It is all over, and there is no good in talking of it. I shall return to New York on Saturday week." "Oh, Mrs. Hurtle!" "I can't remain here, you know, all my life doing nothing. I came over here for a certain purpose, and that has—gone by. Now I may just go back again." "I know he has ill-treated you. I know he has." "I am not disposed to talk about it, Mrs. Pipkin." "I should have thought it would have done you good to speak your mind out free. I know it would me if I'd been served in that way." "If I had anything to say at all after that fashion it would be to the gentleman, and not to any other else. As it is I shall never speak of it again to any one. You have been very kind to me, Mrs. Pipkin, and I shall be sorry to leave you." "Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, you can't understand what it is to me. It isn't only my feelings. The likes of me can't stand by their feelings only, as their betters do. I've never been above telling you what a godsend you've been to me this summer;—have I? I've paid everything, butcher, baker, rates and all, just like clockwork. And now you're going away!" Then Mrs. Pipkin began to sob. "I suppose I shall see Mr. Crumb before I go," said Mrs. Hurtle. "She don't deserve it; do she? And even now she never says a word about him that I call respectful. She looks on him as just being better than Mrs. Buggins's children. That's all." "She'll be all right when he has once got her home." "And I shall be all alone by myself," said Mrs. Pipkin, with her apron up to her eyes. It was after this that Mrs. Hurtle received Hetta's letter. She had as yet returned no answer to Paul Montague,—nor had she intended to send any written answer. Were she to comply with his request she could do so best by writing to the girl who was concerned rather than to him. And though she wrote no such letter she thought of it,—of the words she would use were she to write it, and of the tale which she would have to tell. She sat for hours thinking of it, trying to resolve whether she would tell the tale,—if she told it at all,—in a manner to suit Paul's purpose, or so as to bring that purpose utterly to shipwreck. She did not doubt that she could cause the shipwreck were she so minded. She could certainly have her revenge after that fashion. But it was a woman's fashion, and, as such, did not recommend itself to Mrs. Hurtle's feelings. A pistol or a horsewhip, a violent seizing by the neck, with sharp taunts and bitter-ringing words, would have made the fitting revenge. If she abandoned that she could do herself no good by telling a story of her wrongs to another woman. Then came Hetta's note, so stiff, so cold, so true,—so like the letter of an Englishwoman, as Mrs. Hurtle said to herself. Mrs. Hurtle smiled as she read the letter. "I make this proposition not thinking that anything you can say to me can change my mind." Of course the girl's mind would be changed. The girl's mind, indeed, required no change. Mrs. Hurtle could see well enough that the girl's heart was set upon the man. Nevertheless she did not doubt but that she could tell the story after such a fashion as to make it impossible that the girl should marry him,—if she chose to do so. At first she thought that she would not answer the letter at all. What was it to her? Let them fight their own lovers' battles out after their own childish fashion. If the man meant at last to be honest, there could be no doubt, Mrs. Hurtle thought, that the girl would go to him. It would require no interference of hers. But after a while she thought that she might as well see this English chit who had superseded herself in the affections of the Englishman she had condescended to love. And if it were the case that all revenge was to be abandoned, that no punishment was to be exacted in return for all the injury that had been done, why should she not say a kind word so as to smooth away the existing difficulties? Wild cat as she was, kindness was more congenial to her nature than cruelty. So she wrote to Hetta making an appointment. Dear Miss Carbury,— If you could make it convenient to yourself to call here either Thursday or Friday at any hour between two and four, I shall be very happy to see you. Yours sincerely, Winifred Hurtle. 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 (2004). The Way We Live Now. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5231/pg5231-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

HETTA'S SORROW

We held a council, to decide on our future movements

THE BREHGERT CORRESPONDENCE.

MR. KENNEDY'S WILL.

The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . SIR FELIX MEDDLES WITH MANY MATTERS here SIR FELIX MEDDLES WITH MANY MATTERS. There is no duty more certain or fixed in the world than that which calls upon a brother to defend his sister from ill-usage; but, at the same time, in the way we live now, no duty is more difficult, and we may say generally more indistinct. The ill-usage to which men's sisters are most generally exposed is one which hardly admits of either protection or vengeance,—although the duty of protecting and avenging is felt and acknowledged. We are not allowed to fight duels, and that banging about of another man with a stick is always disagreeable and seldom successful. A John Crumb can do it, perhaps, and come out of the affair exulting; but not a Sir Felix Carbury, even if the Sir Felix of the occasion have the requisite courage. There is a feeling, too, when a girl has been jilted,—thrown over, perhaps, is the proper term,—after the gentleman has had the fun of making love to her for an entire season, and has perhaps even been allowed privileges as her promised husband, that the less said the better. The girl does not mean to break her heart for love of the false one, and become the tragic heroine of a tale for three months. It is her purpose again to —trick her beams, and with new-spangled ore Flame in the forehead of the morning sky. Though this one has been false, as were perhaps two or three before, still the road to success is open. Uno avulso non deficit alter. But if all the notoriety of cudgels and cutting whips be given to the late unfortunate affair, the difficulty of finding a substitute will be greatly increased. The brother recognises his duty, and prepares for vengeance. The injured one probably desires that she may be left to fight her own little battles alone. "Then, by heaven, he shall answer it to me," Sir Felix had said very grandly, when his sister had told him that she was engaged to a man who was, as he thought he knew, engaged also to marry another woman. Here, no doubt, was gross ill-usage, and opportunity at any rate for threats. No money was required and no immediate action,—and Sir Felix could act the fine gentleman and the dictatorial brother at very little present expense. But Hetta, who ought perhaps to have known her brother more thoroughly, was fool enough to believe him. On the day but one following, no answer had as yet come from Roger Carbury,—nor could as yet have come. But Hetta's mind was full of her trouble, and she remembered her brother's threat. Felix had forgotten that he had made a threat,—and, indeed, had thought no more of the matter since his interview with his sister. "Felix," she said, "you won't mention that to Mr. Montague!" "Mention what? Oh! about that woman, Mrs. Hurtle? Indeed I shall. A man who does that kind of thing ought to be crushed;—and, by heavens, if he does it to you, he shall be crushed." "I want to tell you, Felix. If it is so, I will see him no more." "If it is so! I tell you I know it." "Mamma has written to Roger. At least I feel sure she has." "What has she written to him for? What has Roger Carbury to do with our affairs?" "Only you said he knew! If he says so, that is, if you and he both say that he is to marry that woman,—I will not see Mr. Montague again. Pray do not go to him. If such a misfortune does come, it is better to bear it and to be silent. What good can be done?" "Leave that to me," said Sir Felix, walking out of the room with much fraternal bluster. Then he went forth, and at once had himself driven to Paul Montague's lodgings. Had Hetta not been foolish enough to remind him of his duty, he would not now have undertaken the task. He too, no doubt, remembered as he went that duels were things of the past, and that even fists and sticks are considered to be out of fashion. "Montague," he said, assuming all the dignity of demeanour that his late sorrows had left to him, "I believe I am right in saying that you are engaged to marry that American lady, Mrs. Hurtle." "Then let me tell you that you were never more wrong in your life. What business have you with Mrs. Hurtle?" "When a man proposes to my sister, I think I've a great deal of business," said Sir Felix. "Well;—yes; I admit that fully. If I answered you roughly, I beg your pardon. Now as to the facts. I am not going to marry Mrs. Hurtle. I suppose I know how you have heard her name;—but as you have heard it, I have no hesitation in telling you so much. As you know where she is to be found you can go and ask her if you please. On the other hand, it is the dearest wish of my heart to marry your sister. I trust that will be enough for you." "You were engaged to Mrs. Hurtle?" "My dear Carbury, I don't think I'm bound to tell you all the details of my past life. At any rate, I don't feel inclined to do so in answer to hostile questions. I dare say you have heard enough of Mrs. Hurtle to justify you, as your sister's brother, in asking me whether I am in any way entangled by a connection with her. I tell you that I am not. If you still doubt, I refer you to the lady herself. Beyond that, I do not think I am called on to go; and beyond that I won't go,—at any rate, at present." Sir Felix still blustered, and made what capital he could out of his position as a brother; but he took no steps towards positive revenge. "Of course, Carbury," said the other, "I wish to regard you as a brother; and if I am rough to you, it is only because you are rough to me." Sir Felix was now in that part of town which he had been accustomed to haunt,—for the first time since his misadventure,—and, plucking up his courage, resolved that he would turn into the Beargarden. He would have a glass of sherry, and face the one or two men who would as yet be there, and in this way gradually creep back to his old habits. But when he arrived there, the club was shut up. "What the deuce is Vossner about?" said he, pulling out his watch. It was nearly five o'clock. He rang the bell, and knocked at the door, feeling that this was an occasion for courage. One of the servants, in what we may call private clothes, after some delay, drew back the bolts, and told him the astounding news;—The club was shut up! "Do you mean to say I can't come in?" said Sir Felix. The man certainly did mean to tell him so, for he opened the door no more than a foot, and stood in that narrow aperture. Mr. Vossner had gone away. There had been a meeting of the Committee, and the club was shut up. Whatever further information rested in the waiter's bosom he declined to communicate to Sir Felix Carbury. "By George!" The wrong that was done him filled the young baronet's bosom with indignation. He had intended, he assured himself, to dine at his club, to spend the evening there sportively, to be pleasant among his chosen companions. And now the club was shut up, and Vossner had gone away! What business had the club to be shut up? What right had Vossner to go away? Had he not paid his subscription in advance? Throughout the world, the more wrong a man does, the more indignant is he at wrong done to him. Sir Felix almost thought that he could recover damages from the whole Committee. He went direct to Mrs. Pipkin's house. When he made that half promise of marriage in Mrs. Pipkin's hearing, he had said that he would come again on the morrow. This he had not done; but of that he thought nothing. Such breaches of faith, when committed by a young man in his position, require not even an apology. He was admitted by Ruby herself, who was of course delighted to see him. "Who do you think is in town?" she said. "John Crumb; but though he came here ever so smart, I wouldn't so much as speak to him, except to tell him to go away." Sir Felix, when he heard the name, felt an uncomfortable sensation creep over him. "I don't know I'm sure what he should come after me for, and me telling him as plain as the nose on his face that I never want to see him again." "He's not of much account," said the baronet. "He would marry me out and out immediately, if I'd have him," continued Ruby, who perhaps thought that her honest old lover should not be spoken of as being altogether of no account. "And he has everything comfortable in the way of furniture, and all that. And they do say he's ever so much money in the bank. But I detest him," said Ruby, shaking her pretty head, and inclining herself towards her aristocratic lover's shoulder. This took place in the back parlour, before Mrs. Pipkin had ascended from the kitchen prepared to disturb so much romantic bliss with wretched references to the cold outer world. "Well, now, Sir Felix," she began, "if things is square, of course you're welcome to see my niece." "And what if they're round, Mrs. Pipkin?" said the gallant, careless, sparkling Lothario. "Well, or round either, so long as they're honest." "Ruby and I are both honest;—ain't we, Ruby? I want to take her out to dinner, Mrs. Pipkin. She shall be back before late;—before ten; she shall indeed." Ruby inclined herself still more closely towards his shoulder. "Come, Ruby, get your hat and change your dress, and we'll be off. I've ever so many things to tell you." Ever so many things to tell her! They must be to fix a day for the marriage, and to let her know where they were to live, and to settle what dress she should wear,—and perhaps to give her the money to go and buy it! Ever so many things to tell her! She looked up into Mrs. Pipkin's face with imploring eyes. Surely on such an occasion as this an aunt would not expect that her niece should be a prisoner and a slave. "Have it been put in writing, Sir Felix Carbury?" demanded Mrs. Pipkin with cruel gravity. Mrs. Hurtle had given it as her decided opinion that Sir Felix would not really mean to marry Ruby Ruggles unless he showed himself willing to do so with all the formality of a written contract. "Writing be bothered," said Sir Felix. "That's all very well, Sir Felix. Writing do bother, very often. But when a gentleman has intentions, a bit of writing shows it plainer nor words. Ruby don't go no where to dine unless you puts it into writing." "Aunt Pipkin!" exclaimed the wretched Ruby. "What do you think I'm going to do with her?" asked Sir Felix. "If you want to make her your wife, put it in writing. And if it be as you don't, just say so, and walk away,—free." "I shall go," said Ruby. "I'm not going to be kept here a prisoner for any one. I can go when I please. You wait, Felix, and I'll be down in a minute." The girl, with a nimble spring, ran upstairs, and began to change her dress without giving herself a moment for thought. "She don't come back no more here, Sir Felix," said Mrs. Pipkin, in her most solemn tones. "She ain't nothing to me, no more than she was my poor dear husband's sister's child. There ain't no blood between us, and won't be no disgrace. But I'd be loth to see her on the streets." "Then why won't you let me bring her back again?" "'Cause that'd be the way to send her there. You don't mean to marry her." To this Sir Felix said nothing. "You're not thinking of that. It's just a bit of sport,—and then there she is, an old shoe to be chucked away, just a rag to be swept into the dust-bin. I've seen scores of 'em, and I'd sooner a child of mine should die in a workus', or be starved to death. But it's all nothing to the likes o' you." "I haven't done her any harm," said Sir Felix, almost frightened. "Then go away, and don't do her any. That's Mrs. Hurtle's door open. You go and speak to her. She can talk a deal better nor me." "Mrs. Hurtle hasn't been able to manage her own affairs very well." "Mrs. Hurtle's a lady, Sir Felix, and a widow, and one as has seen the world." As she spoke, Mrs. Hurtle came downstairs, and an introduction, after some rude fashion, was effected between her and Sir Felix. Mrs. Hurtle had heard often of Sir Felix Carbury, and was quite as certain as Mrs. Pipkin that he did not mean to marry Ruby Ruggles. In a few minutes Felix found himself alone with Mrs. Hurtle in her own room. He had been anxious to see the woman since he had heard of her engagement with Paul Montague, and doubly anxious since he had also heard of Paul's engagement with his sister. It was not an hour since Paul himself had referred him to her for corroboration of his own statement. "Sir Felix Carbury," she said, "I am afraid you are doing that poor girl no good, and are intending to do her none." It did occur to him very strongly that this could be no affair of Mrs. Hurtle's, and that he, as a man of position in society, was being interfered with in an unjustifiable manner. Aunt Pipkin wasn't even an aunt; but who was Mrs. Hurtle? "Would it not be better that you should leave her to become the wife of a man who is really fond of her?" He could already see something in Mrs. Hurtle's eye which prevented his at once bursting into wrath;—but who was Mrs. Hurtle, that she should interfere with him? "Upon my word, ma'am," he said, "I'm very much obliged to you, but I don't quite know to what I owe the honour of your—your—" "Interference you mean." "I didn't say so, but perhaps that's about it." "I'd interfere to save any woman that God ever made," said Mrs. Hurtle with energy. "We're all apt to wait a little too long, because we're ashamed to do any little good that chance puts in our way. You must go and leave her, Sir Felix." "I suppose she may do as she pleases about that." "Do you mean to make her your wife?" asked Mrs. Hurtle sternly. "Does Mr. Paul Montague mean to make you his wife?" rejoined Sir Felix with an impudent swagger. He had struck the blow certainly hard enough, and it had gone all the way home. She had not surmised that he would have heard aught of her own concerns. She only barely connected him with that Roger Carbury who, she knew, was Paul's great friend, and she had as yet never heard that Hetta Carbury was the girl whom Paul loved. Had Paul so talked about her that this young scamp should know all her story? She thought awhile,—she had to think for a moment,—before she could answer him. "I do not see," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "that there is any parallel between the two cases. I, at any rate, am old enough to take care of myself. Should he not marry me, I am as I was before. Will it be so with that poor girl if she allows herself to be taken about the town by you at night?" She had desired in what she said to protect Ruby rather than herself. What could it matter whether this young man was left in a belief that she was, or that she was not, about to be married? "If you'll answer me, I'll answer you," said Sir Felix. "Does Mr. Montague mean to make you his wife?" "It does not concern you to know," said she, flashing upon him. "The question is insolent." "It does concern me,—a great deal more than anything about Ruby can concern you. And as you won't answer me, I won't answer you." "Then, sir, that girl's fate will be upon your head." "I know all about that," said the baronet. "And the young man who has followed her up to town will probably know where to find you," added Mrs. Hurtle. To such a threat as this, no answer could be made, and Sir Felix left the room. At any rate, John Crumb was not there at present. And were there not policemen in London? And what additional harm would be done to John Crumb, or what increase of anger engendered in that true lover's breast, by one additional evening's amusement? Ruby had danced with him so often at the Music Hall that John Crumb could hardly be made more bellicose by the fact of her dining with him on this evening. When he descended, he found Ruby in the hall, all arrayed. "You don't come in here again to-night," said Mrs. Pipkin, thumping the little table which stood in the passage, "if you goes out of that there door with that there young man." "Then I shall," said Ruby linking herself on to her lover's arm. "Baggage! Slut!" said Mrs. Pipkin; "after all I've done for you, just as one as though you were my own flesh and blood." "I've worked for it, I suppose;—haven't I?" rejoined Ruby. "You send for your things to-morrow, for you don't come in here no more. You ain't nothing to me no more nor no other girl. But I'd 've saved you, if you'd but a' let me. As for you,"—and she looked at Sir Felix,—"only because I've lodgings to let, and because of the lady upstairs, I'd shake you that well, you'd never come here no more after poor girls." I do not think that she need have feared any remonstrance from Mrs. Hurtle, even had she put her threat into execution. Sir Felix, thinking that he had had enough of Mrs. Pipkin and her lodger, left the house with Ruby on his arm. For the moment, Ruby had been triumphant, and was happy. She did not stop to consider whether her aunt would or would not open her door when she should return tired, and perhaps repentant. She was on her lover's arm, in her best clothes, and going to have a dinner given to her. And her lover had told her that he had ever so many things,—ever so many things to say to her! But she would ask no impertinent questions in the first hour of her bliss. It was so pleasant to walk with him up to Pentonville;—so joyous to turn into a gay enclosure, half public-house and half tea-garden; so pleasant to hear him order the good things, which in his company would be so nice! Who cannot understand that even an urban Rosherville must be an Elysium to those who have lately been eating their meals in all the gloom of a small London underground kitchen? There we will leave Ruby in her bliss. At about nine that evening John Crumb called at Mrs. Pipkin's, and was told that Ruby had gone out with Sir Felix Carbury. He hit his leg a blow with his fist, and glared out of his eyes. "He'll have it hot some day," said John Crumb. He was allowed to remain waiting for Ruby till midnight, and then, with a sorrowful heart, he took his departure. 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 (2004). The Way We Live Now. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5231/pg5231-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

SIR FELIX MEDDLES WITH MANY MATTERS

Phineas Redux by Anthony Trollope, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . WHAT CAME OF THE QUARREL. here WHAT CAME OF THE QUARREL. On the next morning at seven o'clock a superintendent of police called at the house of Mr. Gresham and informed the Prime Minister that Mr. Bonteen, the President of the Board of Trade, had been murdered during the night. There was no doubt of the fact. The body had been recognised, and information had been taken to the unfortunate widow at the house Mr. Bonteen had occupied in St. James's Place. The superintendent had already found out that Mr. Bonteen had been attacked as he was returning from his club late at night,—or rather, early in the morning, and expressed no doubt that he had been murdered close to the spot on which his body was found. There is a dark, uncanny-looking passage running from the end of Bolton Row, in May Fair, between the gardens of two great noblemen, coming out among the mews in Berkeley Street, at the corner of Berkeley Square, just opposite to the bottom of Hay Hill. It was on the steps leading up from the passage to the level of the ground above that the body was found. The passage was almost as near a way as any from the club to Mr. Bonteen's house in St. James's Place; but the superintendent declared that gentlemen but seldom used the passage after dark, and he was disposed to think that the unfortunate man must have been forced down the steps by the ruffian who had attacked him from the level above. The murderer, so thought the superintendent, must have been cognizant of the way usually taken by Mr. Bonteen, and must have lain in wait for him in the darkness of the mouth of the passage. The superintendent had been at work on his inquiries since four in the morning, and had heard from Lady Eustace,—and from Mrs. Bonteen, as far as that poor distracted woman had been able to tell her story,—some account of the cause of quarrel between the respective husbands of those two ladies. The officer, who had not as yet heard a word of the late disturbance between Mr. Bonteen and Phineas Finn, was strongly of opinion that the Reverend Mr. Emilius had been the murderer. Mr. Gresham, of course, coincided in that opinion. What steps had been taken as to the arrest of Mr. Emilius? The superintendent was of opinion that Mr. Emilius was already in custody. He was known to be lodging close to the Marylebone Workhouse, in Northumberland Street, having removed to that somewhat obscure neighbourhood as soon as his house in Lowndes Square had been broken up by the running away of his wife and his consequent want of means. Such was the story as told to the Prime Minister at seven o'clock in the morning. At eleven o'clock, at his private room at the Treasury Chambers, Mr. Gresham heard much more. At that time there were present with him two officers of the police force, his colleagues in the Cabinet, Lord Cantrip and the Duke of Omnium, three of his junior colleagues in the Government, Lord Fawn, Barrington Erle, and Laurence Fitzgibbon,—and Major Mackintosh, the chief of the London police. It was not exactly part of the duty of Mr. Gresham to investigate the circumstances of this murder; but there was so much in it that brought it closely home to him and his Government, that it became impossible for him not to concern himself in the business. There had been so much talk about Mr. Bonteen lately, his name had been so common in the newspapers, the ill-usage which he had been supposed by some to have suffered had been so freely discussed, and his quarrel, not only with Phineas Finn, but subsequently with the Duke of Omnium, had been so widely known,—that his sudden death created more momentary excitement than might probably have followed that of a greater man. And now, too, the facts of the past night, as they became known, seemed to make the crime more wonderful, more exciting, more momentous than it would have been had it been brought clearly home to such a wretch as the Bohemian Jew, Yosef Mealyus, who had contrived to cheat that wretched Lizzie Eustace into marrying him. As regarded Yosef Mealyus the story now told respecting him was this. He was already in custody. He had been found in bed at his lodgings between seven and eight, and had, of course, given himself up without difficulty. He had seemed to be horror-struck when he heard of the man's death,—but had openly expressed his joy. "He has endeavoured to ruin me, and has done me a world of harm. Why should I sorrow for him?"—he said to the policeman when rebuked for his inhumanity. But nothing had been found tending to implicate him in the crime. The servant declared that he had gone to bed before eleven o'clock, to her knowledge,—for she had seen him there,—and that he had not left the house afterwards. Was he in possession of a latch-key? It appeared that he did usually carry a latch-key, but that it was often borrowed from him by members of the family when it was known that he would not want it himself,—and that it had been so lent on this night. It was considered certain by those in the house that he had not gone out after he went to bed. Nobody in fact had left the house after ten; but in accordance with his usual custom Mr. Emilius had sent down the key as soon as he had found that he would not want it, and it had been all night in the custody of the mistress of the establishment. Nevertheless his clothes were examined minutely, but without affording any evidence against him. That Mr. Bonteen had been killed with some blunt weapon, such as a life-preserver, was assumed by the police, but no such weapon was in the possession of Mr. Emilius, nor had any such weapon yet been found. He was, however, in custody, with no evidence against him except that which was afforded by his known and acknowledged enmity to Mr. Bonteen. So far, Major Mackintosh and the two officers had told their story. Then came the united story of the other gentlemen assembled,—from hearing which, however, the two police officers were debarred. The Duke and Barrington Erle had both dined in company with Phineas Finn at Madame Goesler's, and the Duke was undoubtedly aware that ill blood had existed between Finn and Mr. Bonteen. Both Erle and Fitzgibbon described the quarrel at the club, and described also the anger which Finn had expressed against the wretched man as he stood talking at the club door. His gesture of vengeance was remembered and repeated, though both the men who heard it expressed their strongest conviction that the murder had not been committed by him. As Erle remarked, the very expression of such a threat was almost proof that he had not at that moment any intention on his mind of doing such a deed as had been done. But they told also of the life-preserver which Finn had shown them, as he took it from the pocket of his outside coat, and they marvelled at the coincidences of the night. Then Lord Fawn gave further evidence, which seemed to tell very hardly upon Phineas Finn. He also had been at the club, and had left it just before Finn and the two other men had clustered at the door. He had walked very slowly, having turned down to Curzon Street and Bolton Row, from whence he made his way into Piccadilly by Clarges Street. He had seen nothing of Mr. Bonteen; but as he crossed over to Clarges Street he was passed at a very rapid pace by a man muffled in a top coat, who made his way straight along Bolton Row towards the passage which has been described. At the moment he had not connected the person of the man who passed him with any acquaintance of his own; but he now felt sure,—after what he had heard,—that the man was Mr. Finn. As he passed out of the club Finn was putting on his overcoat, and Lord Fawn had observed the peculiarity of the grey colour. It was exactly a similar coat, only with its collar raised, that had passed him in the street. The man, too, was of Mr. Finn's height and build. He had known Mr. Finn well, and the man stepped with Mr. Finn's step. Major Mackintosh thought that Lord Fawn's evidence was—"very unfortunate as regarded Mr. Finn." "I'm d—— if that idiot won't hang poor Phinny," said Fitzgibbon afterwards to Erle. "And yet I don't believe a word of it." "Fawn wouldn't lie for the sake of hanging Phineas Finn," said Erle. "No;—I don't suppose he's given to lying at all. He believes it all. But he's such a muddle-headed fellow that he can get himself to believe anything. He's one of those men who always unconsciously exaggerate what they have to say for the sake of the importance it gives them." It might be possible that a jury would look at Lord Fawn's evidence in this light; otherwise it would bear very heavily, indeed, against Phineas Finn. Then a question arose as to the road which Mr. Bonteen usually took from the club. All the members who were there present had walked home with him at various times,—and by various routes, but never by the way through the passage. It was supposed that on this occasion he must have gone by Berkeley Square, because he had certainly not turned down by the first street to the right, which he would have taken had he intended to avoid the square. He had been seen by Barrington Erle and Fitzgibbon to pass that turning. Otherwise they would have made no remark as to the possibility of a renewed quarrel between him and Phineas, should Phineas chance to overtake him;—for Phineas would certainly go by the square unless taken out of his way by some special purpose. The most direct way of all for Mr. Bonteen would have been that followed by Lord Fawn; but as he had not turned down this street, and had not been seen by Lord Fawn, who was known to walk very slowly, and had often been seen to go by Berkeley Square,—it was presumed that he had now taken that road. In this case he would certainly pass the end of the passage towards which Lord Fawn declared that he had seen the man hurrying whom he now supposed to have been Phineas Finn. Finn's direct road home would, as has been already said, have been through the square, cutting off the corner of the square, towards Bruton Street, and thence across Bond Street by Conduit Street to Regent Street, and so to Great Marlborough Street, where he lived. But it had been, no doubt, possible for him to have been on the spot on which Lord Fawn had seen the man; for, although in his natural course thither from the club he would have at once gone down the street to the right,—a course which both Erle and Fitzgibbon were able to say that he did not take, as they had seen him go beyond the turning,—nevertheless there had been ample time for him to have retraced his steps to it in time to have caught Lord Fawn, and thus to have deceived Fitzgibbon and Erle as to the route he had taken. When they had got thus far Lord Cantrip was standing close to the window of the room at Mr. Gresham's elbow. "Don't allow yourself to be hurried into believing it," said Lord Cantrip. "I do not know that we need believe it, or the reverse. It is a case for the police." "Of course it is;—but your belief and mine will have a weight. Nothing that I have heard makes me for a moment think it possible. I know the man." "He was very angry." "Had he struck him in the club I should not have been much surprised; but he never attacked his enemy with a bludgeon in a dark alley. I know him well." "What do you think of Fawn's story?" "He was mistaken in his man. Remember;—it was a dark night." "I do not see that you and I can do anything," said Mr. Gresham. "I shall have to say something in the House as to the poor fellow's death, but I certainly shall not express a suspicion. Why should I?" Up to this moment nothing had been done as to Phineas Finn. It was known that he would in his natural course of business be in his place in Parliament at four, and Major Mackintosh was of opinion that he certainly should be taken before a magistrate in time to prevent the necessity of arresting him in the House. It was decided that Lord Fawn, with Fitzgibbon and Erle, should accompany the police officer to Bow Street, and that a magistrate should be applied to for a warrant if he thought the evidence was sufficient. Major Mackintosh was of opinion that, although by no possibility could the two men suspected have been jointly guilty of the murder, still the circumstances were such as to justify the immediate arrest of both. Were Yosef Mealyus really guilty and to be allowed to slip from their hands, no doubt it might be very difficult to catch him. Facts did not at present seem to prevail against him; but, as the Major observed, facts are apt to alter considerably when they are minutely sifted. His character was half sufficient to condemn him;—and then with him there was an adequate motive, and what Lord Cantrip regarded as "a possibility." It was not to be conceived that from mere rage Phineas Finn would lay a plot for murdering a man in the street. "It is on the cards, my lord," said the Major, "that he may have chosen to attack Mr. Bonteen without intending to murder him. The murder may afterwards have been an accident." It was impossible after this for even a Prime Minister and two Cabinet Ministers to go about their work calmly. The men concerned had been too well known to them to allow their minds to become clear of the subject. When Major Mackintosh went off to Bow Street with Erle and Laurence, it was certainly the opinion of the majority of those who had been present that the blow had been struck by the hand of Phineas Finn. And perhaps the worst aspect of it all was that there had been not simply a blow,—but blows. The constables had declared that the murdered man had been struck thrice about the head, and that the fatal stroke had been given on the side of his head after the man's hat had been knocked off. That Finn should have followed his enemy through the street, after such words as he had spoken, with the view of having the quarrel out in some shape, did not seem to be very improbable to any of them except Lord Cantrip;—and then had there been a scuffle, out in the open path, at the spot at which the angry man might have overtaken his adversary, it was not incredible to them that he should have drawn even such a weapon as a life-preserver from his pocket. But, in the case as it had occurred, a spot peculiarly traitorous had been selected, and the attack had too probably been made from behind. As yet there was no evidence that the murderer had himself encountered any ill-usage. And Finn, if he was the murderer, must, from the time he was standing at the club door, have contemplated a traitorous, dastardly attack. He must have counted his moments;—have returned slyly in the dark to the corner of the street which he had once passed;—have muffled his face in his coat;—and have then laid wait in a spot to which an honest man at night would hardly trust himself with honest purposes. "I look upon it as quite out of the question," said Lord Cantrip, when the three Ministers were left alone. Now Lord Cantrip had served for many months in the same office as Phineas Finn. "You are simply putting your own opinion of the man against the facts," said Mr. Gresham. "But facts always convince, and another man's opinion rarely convinces." "I'm not sure that we know the facts yet," said the Duke. "Of course we are speaking of them as far as they have been told to us. As far as they go,—unless they can be upset and shown not to be facts,—I fear they would be conclusive to me on a jury." "Do you mean that you have heard enough to condemn him?" asked Lord Cantrip. "Remember what we have heard. The murdered man had two enemies." "He may have had a third." "Or ten; but we have heard of but two." "He may have been attacked for his money," said the Duke. "But neither his money nor his watch were touched," continued Mr. Gresham. "Anger, or the desire of putting the man out of the way, has caused the murder. Of the two enemies one,—according to the facts as we now have them,—could not have been there. Nor is it probable that he could have known that his enemy would be on that spot. The other not only could have been there, but was certainly near the place at the moment,—so near that did he not do the deed himself, it is almost wonderful that it should not have been interrupted in its doing by his nearness. He certainly knew that the victim would be there. He was burning with anger against him at the moment. He had just threatened him. He had with him such an instrument as was afterwards used. A man believed to be him is seen hurrying to the spot by a witness whose credibility is beyond doubt. These are the facts such as we have them at present. Unless they can be upset, I fear they would convince a jury,—as they have already convinced those officers of the police." "Officers of the police always believe men to be guilty," said Lord Cantrip. "They don't believe the Jew clergyman to be guilty," said Mr. Gresham. "I fear that there will be enough to send Mr. Finn to a trial," said the Duke. "Not a doubt of it," said Mr. Gresham. "And yet I feel as convinced of his innocence as I do of my own," said Lord Cantrip. 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 (2006). Phineas Redux. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18640/pg18640-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

WHAT CAME OF THE QUARREL.

How Jesus fled from Capernaum, and the Galileans at first fell away from him;

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