Verity

verity

Just weeks after her first movie adaptation It Ends With Us starring Blake Lively was pushed to August, Colleen Hoover has a new movie deal.

Colleen Hoover gets another movie adaptation with 2018 novel Verity at Amazon MGM... after her Blake Lively movie It Ends With Us | Daily Mail Online

Colleen Hoover&#x27;s bestselling TikTok sensation <strong>VERITY</strong> will be adapted by Amazon MGM Studios. Here&#x27;s what we know so far.

Colleen Hoover's VERITY to Be Adapted By Amazon MGM Studios

&#x27;<strong>Verity</strong>,&#x27; arguably one of the most unhinged works of controversial author Colleen Hoover, is getting an adaptation.

'Verity' Movie Release Window, Plot, and More | The Mary Sue

How Useful are Computational Models to Traders in Their Decision Making?

This paper is available on arxiv under CC BY-SA 4.0 DEED license. Authors: (1) Mathias-Felipe de-Lima-Santos, Faculty of Humanities, University of Amsterdam, Institute of Science and Technology, Federal University of São Paulo; (2) Wilson Ceron, Institute of Science and Technology, Federal University of São Paulo. Table of Links Abstract & Introduction Data and Methods Results Discussion and Conclusions Funding and References Funding This project was partially funded by the University of Amsterdam’s RPA Human(e) AI and by the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programs No 951911 (AI4Media). References (1) Sunstein, C. R. #Republic: Divided Democracy in the Age of Social Media; Princeton University Press: Princeton, New Jersey, 2017. (2) Garimella, K.; De Francisci Morales, G.; Gionis, A.; Mathioudakis, M. Political Discourse on Social Media. In Proceedings of the 2018 World Wide Web Conference on World Wide Web - WWW ’18; ACM Press: New York, New York, USA, 2018; Vol. 2, pp 913–922. https://doi.org/10.1145/3178876.3186139. (3) Del Vicario, M.; Bessi, A.; Zollo, F.; Petroni, F.; Scala, A.; Caldarelli, G.; Stanley, H. E.; Quattrociocchi, W. The Spreading of Misinformation Online. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. 2016, 113 (3), 554–559. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1517441113. (4) Garrett, R. K. Echo Chambers Online?: Politically Motivated Selective Exposure among Internet News Users. J. Comput. Commun. 2009, 14 (2), 265–285. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1083- 6101.2009.01440.x. (5) Nickerson, R. S. Confirmation Bias: A Ubiquitous Phenomenon in Many Guises. Rev. Gen. Psychol. 1998, 2 (2), 175–220. https://doi.org/10.1037/1089-2680.2.2.175. (6) Biehl, J. A Political Economy of Pharmaceuticals. Will to Live 2021, 18 (1), 10–13. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1wmz48h.5. (7) Allcott, H.; Gentzkow, M. Social Media and Fake News in the 2016 Election. J. Econ. Perspect. 2017, 31 (2), 211–236. https://doi.org/10.1257/jep.31.2.211. (8) Bennett, W. L.; Livingston, S. The Disinformation Order: Disruptive Communication and the Decline of Democratic Institutions. Eur. J. Commun. 2018, 33 (2), 122–139. https://doi.org/10.1177/0267323118760317. (9) Giglietto, F.; Righetti, N.; Rossi, L.; Marino, G. It Takes a Village to Manipulate the Media: Coordinated Link Sharing Behavior during 2018 and 2019 Italian Elections. Inf. Commun. Soc. 2020, 23 (6), 867–891. https://doi.org/10.1080/1369118X.2020.1739732. (10) Farkas, J.; Schou, J. Fake News as a Floating Signifier: Hegemony, Antagonism and the Politics of Falsehood. Javnost 2018, 25 (3), 298–314. https://doi.org/10.1080/13183222.2018.1463047. (11) Wardle, C. The Need for Smarter Definitions and Practical, Timely Empirical Research on Information Disorder. Digit. Journal. 2018, 6 (8), 951–963. https://doi.org/10.1080/21670811.2018.1502047. (12) Abramowitz, S.; McKune, S. L.; Fallah, M.; Monger, J.; Tehoungue, K.; Omidian, P. A. The Opposite of Denial: Social Learning at the Onset of the Ebola Emergency in Liberia. J. Health Commun. 2017, 22 (sup1), 59–65. https://doi.org/10.1080/10810730.2016.1209599. (13) Guidry, J. P. D.; Jin, Y.; Orr, C. A.; Messner, M.; Meganck, S. Ebola on Instagram and Twitter: How Health Organizations Address the Health Crisis in Their Social Media Engagement. Public Relat. Rev. 2017, 43 (3), 477–486. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.pubrev.2017.04.009. (14) Guidry, J. P. D.; Meganck, S. L.; Perrin, P. B.; Messner, M.; Lovari, A.; Carlyle, K. E. #Ebola: Tweeting and Pinning an Epidemic. Atl. J. Commun. 2021, 29 (2), 79–92. https://doi.org/10.1080/15456870.2019.1707202. (15) Smallman, S. Whom Do You Trust? Doubt and Conspiracy Theories in the 2009 Influenza Pandemic. J. Int. Glob. Stud. 2015, 6 (2), 1–24. (16) Wagner-Egger, P.; Bangerter, A.; Gilles, I.; Green, E.; Rigaud, D.; Krings, F.; Staerklé, C.; Clémence, A. Lay Perceptions of Collectives at the Outbreak of the H1n1 Epidemic: Heroes, Villains and Victims. Public Underst. Sci. 2011, 20 (4), 461–476. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963662510393605. (17) Arif, N.; Al-Jefri, M.; Bizzi, I. H.; Perano, G. B.; Goldman, M.; Haq, I.; Chua, K. L.; Mengozzi, M.; Neunez, M.; Smith, H.; Ghezzi, P. Fake News or Weak Science? Visibility and Characterization of Antivaccine Webpages Returned by Google in Different Languages and Countries. Front. Immunol. 2018, 9 (JUN), 1215. https://doi.org/10.3389/fimmu.2018.01215. (18) Dubé, E.; Vivion, M.; MacDonald, N. E. Vaccine Hesitancy, Vaccine Refusal and the AntiVaccine Movement: Influence, Impact and Implications. Expert Rev. Vaccines 2014, 14 (1), 99– 117. https://doi.org/10.1586/14760584.2015.964212. (19) West, J. D.; Bergstrom, C. T. Misinformation in and about Science. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U. S. A. 2021, 118 (15), e1912444117. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1912444117. (20) Hornsey, M. J.; Harris, E. A.; Fielding, K. S. The Psychological Roots of Anti-Vaccination Attitudes: A 24-Nation Investigation. Heal. Psychol. 2018, 37 (4), 307–315. https://doi.org/10.1037/hea0000586. (21) Ceron, W.; De-Lima-Santos, M.-F.; Quiles, M. G. Fake News Agenda in the Era of COVID-19: Identifying Trends through Fact-Checking Content. Online Soc. Networks Media 2021, 21, 100116. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.osnem.2020.100116. (22) Ceron, W.; Sanseverino, G. G.; De-Lima-Santos, M.-F.; Quiles, M. G. COVID-19 Fake News Diffusion across Latin America. Soc. Netw. Anal. Min. 2021, 11 (1), 47. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13278-021-00753-z. (23) Chadwick, A.; Kaiser, J.; Vaccari, C.; Freeman, D.; Lambe, S.; Loe, B. S.; Vanderslott, S.; Lewandowsky, S.; Conroy, M.; Ross, A. R. N.; Innocenti, S.; Pollard, A. J.; Waite, F.; Larkin, M.; Rosebrock, L.; Jenner, L.; McShane, H.; Giubilini, A.; Petit, A.; Yu, L. M. Online Social Endorsement and Covid-19 Vaccine Hesitancy in the United Kingdom. Soc. Media Soc. 2021, 7 (2), 205630512110088. https://doi.org/10.1177/20563051211008817. (24) Monari, A. C. P.; Sacramento, I. A “Vacina Chinesa de João Doria”: A Influência Da Disputa Política-Ideológica Na Desinformação Sobre a Vacinação Contra a Covid-19. Rev. Mídia e Cotid. 2021, 15 (3), 125–143. (25) Bode, L.; Vraga, E. The Swiss Cheese Model for Mitigating Online Misinformation. Bull. At. Sci. 2021, 77 (3), 129–133. https://doi.org/10.1080/00963402.2021.1912170. (26) Gera, S.; Sinha, A. C-ANN: A Deep Leaning Model for Detecting Black-Marketed Colluders in Twitter Social Network. Neural Comput. Appl. 2022, 34 (18), 15113–15127. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00521-021-06756-3. (27) Gleicher, N. Coordinated inauthentic behavior explained https://about.fb.com/news/2018/12/inside-feed-coordinated-inauthenticbehavior/%0Ahttps://newsroom.fb.com/news/2018/12/inside-feed-coordinated-inauthenticbehavior/ (accessed Oct 11, 2021). (28) Broniatowski, D. A. Towards Statistical Foundations for Detecting Coordinated Inauthentic Behavior on Facebook; Washington, DC, 2021. (29) Freelon, D.; Wells, C. Disinformation as Political Communication. Polit. Commun. 2020, 37 (2), 145–156. https://doi.org/10.1080/10584609.2020.1723755. (30) Keller, F. B.; Schoch, D.; Stier, S.; Yang, J. H. Political Astroturfing on Twitter: How to Coordinate a Disinformation Campaign. Polit. Commun. 2020, 37 (2), 256–280. https://doi.org/10.1080/10584609.2019.1661888. (31) Yang, K. C.; Pierri, F.; Hui, P. M.; Axelrod, D.; Torres-Lugo, C.; Bryden, J.; Menczer, F. The COVID-19 Infodemic: Twitter versus Facebook. Big Data Soc. 2021, 8 (1). https://doi.org/10.1177/20539517211013861. (32) Kim, Y.; Song, D.; Lee, Y. J. #Antivaccination on Instagram: A Computational Analysis of Hashtag Activism through Photos and Public Responses. Int. J. Environ. Res. Public Health 2020, 17 (20), 1–20. . https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph17207550 (33) Möller, J. Filter Bubbles and Digital Echo Chambers. In The Routledge Companion to Media
Disinformation and Populism; Tumber, H., Waisbord, S., Eds.; Routledge: London, 2021; pp 92–
100. . https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003004431-10 (34) Dahlgren, P. The Internet, Public Spheres, and Political Communication: Dispersion and
Deliberation. Polit. Commun. 2005, 22 (2), 147–162. . https://doi.org/10.1080/10584600590933160 (35) Belair-Gagnon, V.; Nelson, J. L.; Lewis, S. C. Audience Engagement, Reciprocity, and the
Pursuit of Community Connectedness in Public Media Journalism. Journal. Pract. 2019, 13 (5),
558–575. .
(36) Benkler, Y. The Wealth of Networks; Yale University Press: New York, 2006. https://doi.org/10.1080/17512786.2018.1542975 (37) McPherson, M.; Smith-Lovin, L.; Cook, J. M. Birds of a Feather: Homophily in Social
Networks. Annu. Rev. Sociol. 2001, 27 (1), 415–444. . https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.soc.27.1.415 (38) Terren, L.; Borge, R. Echo Chambers on Social Media: A Systematic Review of the Literature.
Rev. Commun. Res. 2021, 9 (May), 1–39. . https://doi.org/10.12840/ISSN.2255-4165.028 (39) Gt Walker, P.; Whittaker, C.; Watson, O.; Baguelin, M.; Ainslie, K. E. C.; Bhatia, S.; Bhatt, S.;
Boonyasiri, A.; Boyd, O.; Cattarino, L.; Cucunubá, Z.; Cuomo-Dannenburg, G.; Dighe, A.;
Donnelly, C. A.; Dorigatti, I.; Van Elsland, S.; Fitzjohn, R.; Flaxman, S.; Fu, H.; Gaythorpe, K.;
Geidelberg, L.; Grassly, N.; Green, W.; Hamlet, A.; Hauck, K.; Haw, D.; Hayes, S.; Hinsley, W.;
Imai, N.; Jorgensen, D.; Knock, E.; Laydon, D.; Mishra, S.; Nedjati-Gilani, G.; Okell, L. C.; Riley,
S.; Thompson, H.; Unwin, J.; Verity, R.; Vollmer, M.; Walters, C.; Wang, W.; Wang, Y.;
Winskill, P.; Xi, X.; Ferguson, N. M.; Ghani, A. C. The Global Impact of COVID-19 and Strategies
for Mitigation and Suppression; 2020. (40) Bruns, A. Echo Chambers? Filter Bubbles? The Misleading Metaphors That Obscure the Real
Problem. In Hate Speech and Polarization in Participatory Society; Pérez-Escolar, M., NogueraVivo, J. M., Eds.; Routledge: London, 2021; pp 33–48. 4. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003109891- (41) Flaxman, S.; Goel, S.; Rao, J. M. Filter Bubbles, Echo Chambers, and Online News
Consumption. Public Opin. Q. 2016, 80 (Specialissue1), 298–320. . https://doi.org/10.1093/poq/nfw006 (42) Bakshy, E.; Messing, S.; Adamic, L. A. Exposure to Ideologically Diverse News and Opinion
on Facebook. Science (80-. ). 2015, 348 (6239), 1130–1132. . https://doi.org/10.1126/science.aaa1160 (43) Bright, J. Explaining the Emergence of Political Fragmentation on Social Media: The Role of
Ideology and Extremism. J. Comput. Commun. 2018, 23 (1), 17–33. . https://doi.org/10.1093/JCMC/ZMX002 (44) Eady, G.; Nagler, J.; Guess, A.; Zilinsky, J.; Tucker, J. A. How Many People Live in Political
Bubbles on Social Media? Evidence From Linked Survey and Twitter Data. SAGE Open 2019,
9 (1). . https://doi.org/10.1177/2158244019832705 (45) Garimella, K.; Morales, G. D. F.; Gionis, A.; Mathioudakis, M. Quantifying Controversy on
Social Media. ACM Trans. Soc. Comput. 2018, 1 (1), 1–27. . https://doi.org/10.1145/3140565 (46) Cinelli, M.; De Francisci Morales, G.; Galeazzi, A.; Quattrociocchi, W.; Starnini, M. The Echo
Chamber Effect on Social Media. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. 2021, 118 (9), e2023301118. . https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2023301118 (47) Arguedas, A. R.; Robertson, C. T.; Fletcher, R.; Nielsen, R. K. Echo Chambers, Filter Bubbles, and
Polarisation: A Literature Review; Oxford, 2022. (48) Bucher, T.; Helmond, A. The Affordances of Social Media Platforms. In The SAGE Handbook of
Social Media; Burgess, J., Marwick, A., Poell, T., Eds.; SAGE Publications Ltd: 1 Oliver’s Yard,
55 City Road London EC1Y 1SP, 2018; pp 233–253. . https://doi.org/10.4135/9781473984066.n14 (49) Barberá, P. How Social Media Reduces Mass Political Polarization. Evidence from Germany, Spain, and the U.S; 2015. (50) van der Linden, S. Misinformation: Susceptibility, Spread, and Interventions to Immunize the Public. Nat. Med. 2022, 28 (3), 460–467. . https://doi.org/10.1038/s41591-022-01713-6 (51) Righetti, N. Four Years of Fake News: A Quantitative Analysis of the Scientific Literature. First Monday 2021. https://doi.org/10.5210/fm.v26i7.11645. (52) Tandoc, E. C.; Lim, Z. W.; Ling, R. Defining “Fake News”: A Typology of Scholarly Definitions. Digit. Journal. 2018, 6 (2), 137–153. https://doi.org/10.1080/21670811.2017.1360143. (53) Chang, K.-C.; Menczer, F. How many bots are on Twitter? The question is tough to answer — and misses the point https://www.niemanlab.org/2022/05/how-many-bots-are-on-twitterthe-question-is-tough-to-answer-and-misses-the-point/ (accessed Sep 1, 2022). (54) Giglietto, F.; Righetti, N.; Marino, G. Understanding Coordinated and Inauthentic Link Sharing Behavior on Facebook in the Run-up to 2018 General Election and 2019 European Election in Italy; SocArXiv, 2019. https://doi.org/10.31235/osf.io/3jteh. (55) Giglietto, F.; Iannelli, L.; Rossi, L.; Valeriani, A.; Righetti, N.; Carabini, F.; Marino, G.; Usai, S.; Zurovac, E. Mapping Italian News Media Political Coverage in the Lead-Up of 2018 General Election. SSRN Electron. J. 2018. https://doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.3179930. (56) Giglietto, F.; Righetti, N.; Rossi, L.; Marino, G. Coordinated Link Sharing Behavior as a Signal to Surface Sources of Problematic Information on Facebook. ACM Int. Conf. Proceeding Ser. 2020, 20, 85–91. https://doi.org/10.1145/3400806.3400817. (57) Varol, O.; Ferrara, E.; Davis, C. A.; Menczer, F.; Flammini, A. Online Human-Bot Interactions: Detection, Estimation, and Characterization. Proc. 11th Int. Conf. Web Soc. Media, ICWSM 2017 2017, 280–289. (58) Khaund, T.; Kirdemir, B.; Agarwal, N.; Liu, H.; Morstatter, F. Social Bots and Their Coordination During Online Campaigns: A Survey. IEEE Trans. Comput. Soc. Syst. 2022, 9 (2), 530–545. https://doi.org/10.1109/TCSS.2021.3103515. (59) Dang, S.; Paul, K.; Chmielewski, D. Do spam bots really comprise under 5% of Twitter users? Elon Musk wants to know | Reuters https://www.reuters.com/technology/do-spam-botsreally-comprise-under-5-twitter-users-elon-musk-wants-know-2022-05-13/ (accessed Sep 1, 2022). (60) Luceri, L.; Deb, A.; Giordano, S.; Ferrara, E. Evolution of Bot and Human Behavior during Elections. First Monday 2019, 24 (9). https://doi.org/10.5210/fm.v24i9.10213. (61) Bugra Torusdag, M.; Kutlu, M.; Selcuk, A. A. Are We Secure from Bots? Investigating Vulnerabilities of Botometer. 5th Int. Conf. Comput. Sci. Eng. UBMK 2020 2020, 343–348. https://doi.org/10.1109/UBMK50275.2020.9219433. (62) Balestrucci, A. How Many Bots Are You Following? In CEUR Workshop Proceedings; Ancona; Italy, 2020; pp 47–59. (63) Bello, B. S.; Heckel, R.; Minku, L. Reverse Engineering the Behaviour of Twitter Bots. 2018 5th Int. Conf. Soc. Networks Anal. Manag. Secur. SNAMS 2018 2018, 27–34. https://doi.org/10.1109/SNAMS.2018.8554675. (64) Akyon, F. C.; Esat Kalfaoglu, M. Instagram Fake and Automated Account Detection. In Proceedings - 2019 Innovations in Intelligent Systems and Applications Conference, ASYU 2019; IEEE, 2019; pp 1–7. https://doi.org/10.1109/ASYU48272.2019.8946437. (65) Cresci, S. A Decade of Social Bot Detection. Commun. ACM 2020, 63 (10), 72–83. https://doi.org/10.1145/3409116. (66) Al-Khateeb, S.; Agarwal, N. Examining Botnet Behaviors for Propaganda Dissemination: A Case Study of ISIL’s Beheading Videos-Based Propaganda. In Proceedings - 15th IEEE International Conference on Data Mining Workshop, ICDMW 2015; IEEE, 2016; pp 51–57. https://doi.org/10.1109/ICDMW.2015.41. (67) Islam, A. K. M. N.; Laato, S.; Talukder, S.; Sutinen, E. Misinformation Sharing and Social Media Fatigue during COVID-19: An Affordance and Cognitive Load Perspective. Technol. Forecast. Soc. Change 2020, 159, 120201. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.techfore.2020.120201. (68) Törnberg, P. Echo Chambers and Viral Misinformation: Modeling Fake News as Complex Contagion. PLoS One 2018, 13 (9), 1–21. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0203958. (69) IFCN. International Fact-Checking Network – Poynter https://www.poynter.org/ifcn/ (accessed Jul 27, 2020). (70) Bruns, A.; Harrington, S.; Hurcombe, E. ‘Corona? 5G? Or Both?’: The Dynamics of COVID-19/5G Conspiracy Theories on Facebook. Media Int. Aust. 2020, 177 (1), 12–29. https://doi.org/10.1177/1329878X20946113. (71) de-Lima-Santos, M.-F.; Kooli, A. Instagrammable Data: Using Visuals to Showcase More Than Numbers on AJ Labs Instagram Page. Int. J. Commun. 2022, 16, 2821–2842. https://doi.org/1932–8036/20220005. (72) Reuters. Facebook removes dozens of vaccine misinformation “superspreaders” https://www.reuters.com/technology/facebook-removes-dozens-vaccine-misinformationsuperspreaders-2021-08-18/ (accessed Oct 11, 2021). (73) Bastian, M.; Heymann, S.; Jacomy, M. Gephi: An Open Source Software for Exploring and Manipulating Networks. Icwsm 2009. (74) Blondel, V. D.; Guillaume, J. L.; Lambiotte, R.; Lefebvre, E. Fast Unfolding of Communities in Large Networks. J. Stat. Mech. Theory Exp. 2008, 2008 (10), 10008. https://doi.org/10.1088/1742- 5468/2008/10/P10008. (75) Fortunato, S. Community Detection in Graphs. Phys. Rep. 2010, 486 (3–5), 75–174. https://doi.org/10.1016/J.PHYSREP.2009.11.002. (76) Howard, P. N.; Woolley, S.; Calo, R. Algorithms, Bots, and Political Communication in the US 2016 Election: The Challenge of Automated Political Communication for Election Law and Administration. J. Inf. Technol. Polit. 2018, 15 (2), 81–93. https://doi.org/10.1080/19331681.2018.1448735. (77) Theocharis, Y.; Jungherr, A. Computational Social Science and the Study of Political Communication. Polit. Commun. 2021, 38 (1–2), 1–22. https://doi.org/10.1080/10584609.2020.1833121. (78) Girvan, M.; Newman, M. E. J. Community Structure in Social and Biological Networks. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U. S. A. 2002, 99 (12), 7821–7826. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.122653799. (79) Watts, D. J.; Strogatz, S. H. Collective Dynamics of ’small-World9 Networks. Nature 1998, 393 (6684), 440–442. https://doi.org/10.1038/30918. (80) Walter, N.; Salovich, N. A. Unchecked vs. Uncheckable: How Opinion-Based Claims Can Impede Corrections of Misinformation. Mass Commun. Soc. 2021, 15205436.2020.1864406. https://doi.org/10.1080/15205436.2020.1864406. (81) Mozilla Foundation. INSIDE THE SHADOWY WORLD OF DISINFORMATION FOR HIRE IN KENYA; 2021. (82) Culliford, E. Facebook cracks down on German anti-COVID restrictions group over “social harm” https://www.reuters.com/technology/facebook-shuts-down-network-linked-germananti-covid-group-launches-rules-social-2021-09-16/ (accessed Oct 10, 2021). (83) Angus, D.; Bruns, A.; Hurcombe, E.; Harrington, S.; Glazunova, S.; Montaña-Niño, S. X.; Obeid, A.; Coulibaly, S.; Copland, S.; Graham, T.; Wright, S.; Dehghan, E. ‘Fake News’ and Other Problematic Information: Studying Dissemination and Discourse Patterns. AoIR Selected Papers of Internet Research. 2021. https://doi.org/10.5210/spir.v2021i0.12089 (84) Dehghan, E.; Glazunova, S.. ‘Fake news’ discourses. Journal of Language and Politics. 2021. 20(5), 741–760. https://doi.org/10.1075/jlp.21032.deh (85) de-Lima-Santos, M.-F.; Ceron, W. Coordinated Amplification, Coordinated Inauthentic Behavior, Orchestrated Campaigns? A Systematic Literature Review of Coordinated Inauthentic Content on Online Social Networks. In T. Filibeli & M. Ö. Özbek (Eds.), Mapping Lies in the Global Media Sphere (1st ed.). 2024.Taylor & Francis. (86) Porreca, A.; Scozzari, F.; Di Nicola, M. Using text mining and sentiment analysis to analyse YouTube Italian videos concerning vaccination. BMC Public Health. 2020. 20(1), 1–9. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12889-020-8342-4 (87) Wardle, C. Misunderstanding Misinformation. Issues in Science and Technology. 2023. 29(3), 38– 40. https://doi.org/10.58875/zaud1691

Disinformation Echo-Chambers on Facebook: Funding and References

Looks like it’s part 2 of my series on Data Quality! In a , I explored Airbnb’s strategy for enhancing data quality through incentives. They implemented a single score and clear scoring criteria to establish a common understanding between data producers and consumers, fostering a genuine sense of ownership. previous post https://hackernoon.com/data-quality-score-one-score-to-rule-them-all?embedable=true Now, Lyft is taking a distinct approach, not attempting the same thing differently, but rather focusing on different aspects of data quality. And, Lyft’s strategy complements Airbnb’s efforts. While I regard Airbnb’s DQ score (or any similar score) as an effective means to consolidate various attempts at elevating data quality, Lyft is tackling this challenge from a different angle. The Airbnb’s DQ score serves as a valuable tool for providing a concrete visualization of data quality. In essence, any initiative to enhance data quality should manifest a discernible impact on this score. On the other hand, Lyft presents one possible initiative to proactively enhance quality by testing and validating data against specific quality criteria. https://eng.lyft.com/from-big-data-to-better-data-ensuring-data-quality-with-verity-a996b49343f6?source=post_page-----415baad6c95b--------------------------------&embedable=true Fundamentally, it’s a different point in the data quality lifecycle. Introducing a mechanism to improve quality necessitates the ability to measure it initially. So, while ’s focus lies on and data quality, relying on the producer’s interest to enhance this quality and “look good,” Lyft takes a different approach. Lyft places emphasis on actively and data quality, providing both producers and consumers with the means to effectively improve and control the quality. Airbnb measuring observing testing validating Collectively, these approaches provide a comprehensive strategy to address and enhance throughout its . data quality lifecycle For this reason, I was particularly interested in taking a closer look at Lyft’s approach. Another factor that intrigued me is testing, more specifically, contract testing, which has been used for many years now in basic software engineering with the emergence of microservice architecture. Data contracts, however, are something more recent in the domain of data engineering and are seen as the pinnacle or one of the ultimate steps to put in place on the path to building high-quality data pipelines. This is why I wanted to examine Lyft’s approach in more detail and explore some potential parallels. As mentioned, the approaches taken by Airbnb and Lyft are complementary and aim to achieve the same goal: improving data quality. has developed the DQ score, which focuses on measuring and enhancing 4 distinct : Airbnb aspects of data quality DQ Score has guiding principles, including full coverage, automation, actionability, multi-dimensionality, and evolvability. It has dimensions like Accuracy, Reliability, Stewardship, and Usability. Lyft’s Verity is a platform designed to enhance data quality across 5 dimensions Defines data quality as the measure of how well data can be used as intended, covering aspects like . semantic correctness, consistency, completeness, uniqueness, well-formedness, and timeliness It’s easy to draw parallels between the 5 data quality aspects improved by Lyft’s Verity and the 4 data quality dimensions measured by the Airbnb’s DQ score. For example, aspects like Timeliness would certainly contribute to the DQ score’s Reliability, while Accuracy would be dependent on semantic correctness, completeness, and uniqueness of the data. The Usability score, on the other hand, is influenced by the consistency of the data among other factors. Lyft’s Verity focuses on defining related to . It follows a test-first and validation approach, whereas Airbnb’s unified DQ score emphasizes evaluating data quality through various dimensions. checks semantic correctness, consistency, completeness, uniqueness, well-formedness, and timeliness If we wanted to incorporate the DQ score into this last schema, it would be on the side of the Alert/Debug steps. Airbnb’s DQ score uses different signals to assess data quality across the . Accuracy, Reliability, Stewardship, and Usability aspects We also had a set of input signals that more directly measure quality (Midas certification, data validation, bugs, SLAs, automated DQ checks, etc.), whereas others were more like proxies for quality (e.g., valid ownership, good governance hygiene, the use of paved path tooling). As discussed earlier, there are likely overlaps between Airbnb’s DQ score and Verity. While Airbnb focuses on pushing data quality to the right, emphasizing measurement and scoring, Lyft’s Verity takes a proactive approach by shifting the check definition configurations, testing, and validation processes to the left, emphasizing proactive improvement of data quality. Now, my primary interest lies to the left, in the check definition configurations, testing, and validation aspects. How Lyft integrates data quality testing into its processes? Let’s first examine the execution paths. Currently, Lyft’s Verity is primarily focused on ensuring the quality of data stored in its Hive data warehouse. However, there are plans to expand its capabilities to support other data sources in the future. Note that while they refer to Hive as a data workhouse, they actually utilize it as a hybrid data storage solution, operating as a data warehouse for structured, processed, and cleansed data (silver layer) while also serving as a data lake for raw event data (bronze layer). Poor data quality in Hive caused tainted experimentation metrics, inaccurate machine learning features, and flawed executive dashboards. Verity’s checks can be integrated into an Airflow DAG to ensure that only high-quality raw data is processed and stored in Hive as derived data. Data producers and consumers can define their data quality checks and verify the data when it is produced or before it is consumed inside or . Airflow Flyte … The VerityAirflowOperator can be used in a blocking fashion to halt a DAG upon a check failure, preventing bad data from ever reaching production. This utilizes the “ ” pattern: we create data in a staged schema, verify the data with a blocking operator, then promote it to production if it passes quality checks. Stage-Check-Exchange Checks can also be performed manually or scheduled automatically to verify both raw and derived data. Verity Scheduled Checks are isolated from any data orchestration engine, so they still run even if Airflow or Flyte are completely down. This remedies a common problem of checks not alerting because the Airflow Task never ran. So, there are essentially 3 primary ways to trigger a check: as part of an Airflow DAG, manually, or scheduled through the Verity platform/UI. I don’t believe that current checks can be integrated into real-time streaming pipelines (such as Flink + Kafka) to validate for example data as it enters Hive (or even earlier). Implementing this type of real-time check would enable prompt detection of discrepancies, leading to reduced storage and processing costs and overall data quality enhancement. Well, to be thorough, Verity checks are managed through an API server, which could be used to trigger checks programmatically through some APIs. Verity API Server — This service handles all the external APIs regarding running checks as well as persisting and retrieving their results. The API Server does not execute any checks, but rather writes a message to our Check Queue, which utilizes (SQS). SimpleQueueService So, maybe, you could potentially trigger these jobs in a more real-time fashion, such as from a streaming job or even, as a long stretch, by integrating with Hive change data capture (CDC). However, when executed outside of Airflow, these jobs would not be able to block the data processing job; instead, they would generate asynchronous alerts pushed to the Check Queue. Some consumers would prefer to have data processing delayed when a check fails, while others would rather proceed and receive an alert. Now, let’s look at these data quality tests. Here’s an example that checks whether is never null. This is accomplished through a combination of query and condition components. rider_events.session_id core rider events session_id is not null: # check name
  metadata:
    id: 90bde4fa-148b-4f06-bd5f-f15b3d2ad759
    ownership_slack: #dispatch-service-dev
    tags: [rides, core-data, high-priority]
  query:
    type: dsl
    data_source_id: hive.core.rider_events
    filters:
      - session_id = null
  condition:
    type: fixed_threshold
    max: 0
  notifier_group:
    pagerduty_policy: dispatch-service
    email: dispatch-service@lyft.pagerduty.com Verity is primarily focused on defining and enforcing data quality checks rather than defining complete data schemas. Schema validation is not a novel concept. Several methods exist for defining event data schemas in event-based systems, such as JSON Schema, Protocol Buffers, Avro, or storage formats like Parquet. The optimal choice depends on your tech stack, usage, and specific requirements. While data schemas are valuable for defining the overall structure of data objects or table rows, they fall short in capturing more sophisticated validation checks specific to consumers, such as data distribution, business rules, SLAs, and thresholds. Data contracts go beyond schema validation, which focuses on identifying . I personally find that JSON Schema offers here a more suitable and readable option, effectively separating these structural and syntactical validation capabilities from serialization or storage concerns. syntactical errors However, to address and enhance data accuracy, having an effective means of defining data checks allows for defining the other facet of data contracts. semantic errors This is where Verity DSL comes into play. Beyond semantical validation, data contracts offer another crucial aspect that deserves attention. From a syntactical standpoint, validation checks remain consistent regardless of the consumer or producer involved. The set of validation rules is not tied to any specific consumer or producer and can be defined once and for all as a single schema. However, the Verity data contract DSL offers a finer granularity defining small independent rules, which is particularly well-suited for this context: the semantic meaning and usage of the data vary depending on the specific consumer. Additionally, not all consumers need to utilize all of the properties of an object. Their expectations differ. This doesn’t imply they are contradictory (which would certainly be an issue), but rather complementary and distinct ones. Therefore, allowing all consumers to establish unique rules that, when combined collaboratively, can provide a comprehensive understanding of the semantic significance of data quality is quite crucial. And it’s this aspect that particularly resonates with me. Bear with me, this may seem like a stretch, but from my perspective, it’s worth mentioning. :) collaborative Data exchange enables different teams (producers and consumers) to collaborate effectively. Establishing a shared understanding of these data exchanges is paramount, just like APIs in traditional software development. In microservice architectures, a known as consumer-driven contracts (CDC) has emerged, where consumers define the expected behavior of APIs provided by producers. Producers are responsible for verifying these contracts before releasing new versions. collaborative testing approach I think data contracts share a similar collaborative spirit. Even though data validation is performed on real data, rather than at release time, and does not block releases, it’s based on cooperation and encourages teamwork between data producers and consumers. I strongly believe that this collaborative approach is key to improving data quality and should be further integrated into the process. Well, I’m a big fan of drawing parallels… Notice actually that this collaborative aspect is something mentioned also as part of Lyft’s verity charter. The VerityUI provides a streamlined data discovery experience via the Verity Homepage. Our full-text search on the Check Definition Metadata lets users see all the checks currently being enforced and their Check Results. This has useful aggregations like owning team, table name, and tags. I’m not entirely clear on how data contract issues are shared between consumers and producers through the Verity platform UI, but I definitely recognize the significance of collaboration through the dashboards: The producer of a data product interface can confidently ensure that they’re not inadvertently causing downstream breakages that they hadn’t anticipated. The consumer of the interface can rest assured that their reliance on the interface is not and will not be compromised. While Verity is a remarkable tool for defining data quality checks, it’s unfortunately not open-source. Fortunately, there’s another open-source data quality framework called Soda Core that provides similar functionality. Soda Core is a free and open-source command-line tool and Python library that enables data engineers to test data quality. It utilizes user-defined input to generate SQL queries that run checks on datasets in a data source to find invalid, missing or unexpected data. When checks fail, they surface the data that you defined as “bad” in the check. https://medium.com/@seckindinc/soda-core-the-simplest-open-source-data-reliability-tool-f35ae5b576d9?source=post_page-----415baad6c95b--------------------------------&embedable=true During a scan of a dataset, Soda Core evaluates the predefined checks to identify invalid, missing, or unexpected data. Here’s the equivalent check using Soda.core syntax for the Verity DSL test that was previously defined. name: rider_events_session_id_check
source: hive
query: SELECT * FROM rider_events WHERE session_id IS NULL;
raise_alert: true
threshold: 10
action: slack
message: "There are more than 10 rows that are null for the 'session_id' property in the 'rider_events' table. Please investigate this issue." soda run --check checks/rider_events_session_id_check.yaml Soda Core is a powerful tool for ensuring the quality of your data. It can help you to identify and fix data problems early, before they can cause issues for your business. It’s worth noting that Soda Core can also facilitate data quality checks for streaming data by seamlessly integrating with Spark DataFrames. While Verity’s data quality checks for Hive are applied to static datasets, the checks for streaming data need to be more lightweight and efficient. Data would typically be processed in small batches of events, with very low latency, making them suitable for real-time checks and specific use cases like anomaly detection. Finally, let’s mention that there are other data validation tools available, such as DeeQu, Great Expectations, … As we wrap up, I hope you have a clearer understanding of the steps you can take to enhance your data quality journey. We’ve seen two distinct approaches to data quality improvement, each with its own strengths and methodologies. One focuses on increasing visibility and observability, motivating data producers to raise the quality bar. The other prioritizes elevating the quality standard through a testing and validation-first approach. Both are complementary. Verity is not merely a domain-specific language (DSL) for defining data checks; it’s a centralized platform that empowers data practitioners to collaborate effectively. This platform helps producers and consumers align on data quality expectations, including format, structure, and accuracy. Verity’s data contract management capabilities could (is?) further enhanced by integrating with a broader set of features, such as metadata management and discovery, to address more sophisticated data quality needs. Similar to Airbnb’s DQ score, Lyft’s Verity fosters a collaborative feedback loop between data producers and consumers. By incentivizing and empowering each team to take ownership of data quality, Verity cultivates a supportive environment where data quality continuously improves. , Found this article useful? Follow me on Linkedin , and ! Please 👏 this article to share it! Hackernoon Medium Also published . here

Advancing Data Quality: Exploring Data Contracts with Lyft

ডেটা গুণমান উন্নত করা: Lyft-এর সাথে ডেটা চুক্তিগুলি অন্বেষণ করা

Verbesserung der Datenqualität: Erkundung von Datenverträgen mit Lyft

Mejora de la calidad de los datos: exploración de los contratos de datos con Lyft

Améliorer la qualité des données : explorer les contrats de données avec Lyft

डेटा गुणवत्ता को आगे बढ़ाना: Lyft के साथ डेटा अनुबंध की खोज करना

データ品質の向上: Lyft とのデータ契約の検討

데이터 품질 향상: Lyft를 통한 데이터 계약 탐색

Avançando na qualidade dos dados: explorando contratos de dados com Lyft

Повышение качества данных: изучение контрактов на передачу данных с Lyft

Veri Kalitesini Geliştirme: Lyft ile Veri Sözleşmelerini Keşfetmek

Nâng cao chất lượng dữ liệu: Khám phá hợp đồng dữ liệu với Lyft

提高数据质量：与 Lyft 探索数据合同

As the dust of the cloud hype wave settles, more tech teams discover the side effects of cloud infrastructures, typically kept under the radar. As promising as on-demand scalability, less time managing on-premise services, and other benefits sound, they are often balanced by a significant drawback–spikes in infrastructure costs in high-load systems. When discussing infrastructure costs, the focus on high-load systems is substantial: There’s hardly a more flexible and cheaper alternative to the cloud for smaller companies. However, as QPS reaches hundreds of thousands, vendor fees that seem small are no longer sustainable. As a software development company specializing in building and optimizing high-load systems for AdTech, we have explored multiple practices teams use to prevent infrastructure costs from spiking. With over 15 years of experience, Xenoss helped support projects like Activision Blizzard, Verve Group, Smartly, Voodoo, Inmar Intelligence, and others to build robust yet nimble infrastructures. In this post, we’d like to share our experience and know-how on infrastructure challenges relevant to high-load platforms and explore ways to streamline costs. To illustrate the tactics shown in the post, we’ll use an industry where speed and scale are non-negotiable: AdTech. We also have a blog post that , featuring expert tips and comments from our software architects and a case study of a twenty-fold infrastructure cost reduction. covers infrastructure cost optimization in more detail AdTech platforms–a poster case for high-load systems High-load platforms enable multiple sectors like banking, healthcare, and more. Programmatic advertising, though often not seen as a technical feat to develop, can rival other complex systems, as its operational requirements often push the boundaries of infrastructure design. Let’s quickly recap why AdTech platforms (SSP, DSP, and so on) are an excellent lens for exploring . infrastructure cost optimization Pressure for high volume and low latency AdTech platforms are caught in a constant tug-of-war between the need for high traffic volume and low latency. On the one hand, they need to handle the vast amount of traffic generated by online advertising (which, , CEO of TPA Digital, amounts to 950 billion impressions per day). according to Wayne Bloodwell Besides the load, the real-time nature of the ecosystem adds a new layer of complexity. High latency in AdTech platforms, i.e., a delay between a bid request and a response, leads advertisers to miss out on high-quality inventory, as their bids aren’t processed in time. High latency creates a struggle to fill ad slots for publishers, leading to lower revenues in the long run. A standard time frame for bid processing hovers around 80-120 ms is the average time frame within which the industry operates. Real-time decision-making Real-time data processing is another recurring challenge for AdTech projects due to the following challenges: Need to retrieve data rapidly (under 100 ms) to make real-time decisions, such as bid price modeling. Collecting audience data from multiple sources increases the complexity of the pipelines and expands the toolset needed to process various data types. Data quality concerns: Wrong data can result in advertisers making poor bidding decisions. Data quality checks for every pipeline stage (ingestion, processing, consumption) are essential. The clip below illustrates the complexity and critical operations of real-time data analytics. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaRzovqK3t0&embedable=true Scalability demands The AdTech industry is cyclical, with periods of economic ups and downs leading to fluctuations in demand for advertising services. Market hikes pressure AdTech platforms into implementing dynamic scalability capabilities. Coupled with SPO on the rise, AdTech vendors feel the pressure to reliably adjust their capacity up or down in response to changes in demand. Thus, they need the ability and resources to handle peak traffic without sacrificing performance or reliability (and to scale it down to adjust for market fluctuations). Collecting raw and aggregated data Using raw data is pivotal to the success of AdTech platforms. These systems collect a lot of aggregated data–demographic information, browsing history, user behavior, etc. These insights are integrated from various sources and help fuel targeting and personalization. Before raw data is ready for use, it needs to undergo the steps of ETL: Extraction, transformation, and loading. However, maintaining multiple pipelines becomes an engineering challenge as systems scale and data volumes increase exponentially. Best practices Xenoss uses to optimize infrastructure costs in high-load systems Unless tech teams pay close attention to infrastructure costs, they quickly get out of control. Inefficient data modeling and storage, lack of selectivity in relying on services, and failure to plan and counter threats ahead make infrastructures unpredictable, slow, expensive, and hard to maintain. Cutting infrastructure costs is not a day’s work, but armed with the knowledge of the ecosystem and your platform, you can achieve significant reductions with a few tweaks. Here’s a list of several infrastructure reduction practices Xenoss tech teams use to help our clients achieve leaner infrastructures. Exploring the benefits of hybrid cloud infrastructure In early-stage projects, not much thought is given to designing an optimal cloud infrastructure. Tech teams typically choose one of two ways; , like AWS, Google Cloud, or Microsoft Azure. While relying on a cloud vendor early in the development process is understandable, we’d like to caution tech leaders against using managed services if not strictly needed. Over time, these tools can significantly increase the project’s infrastructure bills - one of our clients reached out when infrastructure bills were at $2.5 million. Public cloud service providers . These days, maintaining on-premises data centers is not as common for early-stage projects due to the upfront investment and manpower it requires. It’s worth noting that on-prem infrastructures have their benefits, such as more control and tighter security. On-premises infrastructure maintained by the in-house team In AdTech, flexibility and the ability to scale dynamically are vital. Full control over infrastructure costs and the ability to tighten security are equally important. The former is typically associated with the cloud, while the latter is commonly cited as a benefit for on-prem. At Xenoss, we recognize the benefits of both infrastructures, which is why we use both in client projects. The combination of cloud and on-prem is often referred to as “hybrid cloud”, though more combinations fit the term. Combining a public and private cloud or two public clouds (aka multi-cloud) also fits the concept. , 33% of surveyed organizations use a combination of cloud and on-premises infrastructure. The figure goes up to 42% if we take only enterprise organizations (over 1000 employees) into account. According to the Data Pipelines report published by DZone The hybrid model offers AdTech teams higher financial flexibility, allowing AdTech platforms to merge the control of on-premises setups with the dynamic scalability of cloud platforms. Security is another significant advantage; projects can maintain stringent data protection standards by keeping sensitive data on-premise and using the cloud for less critical tasks. Another reason we prefer and advocate for a hybrid approach is its ability to prevent vendor lock-in. Keeping critical infrastructures on-premises gives businesses the leeway to diversify their tech stack without dependence on one cloud provider. Besides, a hybrid approach allows product teams to be more intentional about building workload-specific infrastructures. Some tasks in AdTech, like real-time ad bidding or data operations bound by strict regional compliance, are better suited for on-premise execution. At the same time, other workflows (campaign analytics, distributed ad content hosting, or collaborative ad design) can seamlessly migrate to the cloud. Optimizing data storage In our experience, optimizing storage alone can significantly trim infrastructure costs. In AdTech, both SQL and NoSQL databases are used to manage structured and non-structured data. Let’s recap the key differences between the two types of databases, as well as their use cases in AdTech. To add more context to the discussion, let’s recap the differences between the two. Relational database benefits NoSQL database benefits High reliability High performance High data consistency High scalability Standardized schema Storage optimized for high data volumes ACID compliance High agility and customization Now, let’s look at the database of choice for top AdTech platforms and their approaches to data storage. How AdTech vendors use SQL databases to operate high data volumes Pubmatic Pubmatic SSP helps publishers capture wide audiences and maximize advertising revenue with unique demand partnerships, advanced analytics, and creative optimization tools. the company needed a robust database to handle large datasets and solve complex problems. The company wanted a battle-tested tool that would, above all, be reliable and effective. Challenge: MySQL Solution: PubMatic’s Ad Quality team uses MySQL as its primary data source. The platform’s database stores up to a hundred million records. Known for reliability and robustness, MySQL allows PubMatic to process millions of creatives a day and maintain 2x-10x data loads. Impact: AdGreetz AdGreetz is a personalization platform that distributes tailored advertising creatives across multiple channels: social media, CTV/OTT, in-app, and more. the organization’s workflows are data-intensive, requiring database management solutions that would support millions of user records. Challenge: ClickHouse Chosen database: For the engineering team at AdGreetz, Clickhouse turned out to be a cost-efficient and high-performance solution. The company was able to cut query time from seconds to sub-seconds at small compute. Impact: How AdTech projects use NoSQL databases Beeswax Beeswax is a managed RTB platform that allows advertisers to streamline programmatic operations. The company offers a Bidder-as-a-Service solution that processes millions of queries per second and consumes 125 GB of data each minute. Rapid scaling that would ensure efficient ad delivery, need for equal load distribution across the organization’s machine. Challenge: . Chosen NoSQL database: Aerospike running on Amazon EC2 Beeswax can process millions of queries per second with a 2-milliseconds tail-read latency. Impact: GumGum GumGum offers a platform for contextual targeting enabled by a proprietary machine-learning platform, Verity. The company wanted to process high volumes of advertising-related data (impressions, views, clicks, conversion) with minimal latency - although data was not processed in real-time, the goal was to keep the gap to the minimum. Challenge: Chosen NoSQL database: ScyllaDB Impact: Reduced strain on engineering resources 75% volume increase Facilitating scalability thanks to on-demand resource provisioning. Moloco Moloco is a mobile audience platform that helps advertisers acquire, engage, and retail mobile audiences. The platform heavily relies on machine learning models for campaign optimization and predictive analytics. The pressure to process millions of bid quests per second with a strict latency limit (under 100 ms). Challenge: Chosen NoSQL database: Google Cloud BigTable Impact: Scaled the number of processed requests from 500k to 5 million per second Low latency Managed infrastructure enabled the company to reallocate its software engineering resources to focus on other tasks. Our years of experience in AdTech platform development have shown us that there’s no cookie-cutter approach to choosing the suitable database for AdTech data storage infrastructure. There’s a lot of variety under the database umbrella - it takes experience, product knowledge, and thorough research to find the right fit. Sometimes, switching between two NoSQL databases can make a lot of difference. GumGum, featured above, relied on Cassandra before switching to ScyllaDB. We’ve seen significant operation cost reductions in a client’s (mobile DSP) case after migrating from MongoDB to Aerospike. Other ways to optimize data storage Implementing data compression and deduplication techniques is another way to reduce the required storage space, leading to cost savings. implies a reduction in data size, which leads to faster transmission and reduced storage costs. Data teams can employ techniques like GZIP. Compression , as the name suggests, eliminates redundant copies of data. It is instrumental in AdTech, where repeated user profiles or similar datasets are commonplace. Deduplication is a cost-effective way to store rarely accessed data (old campaign metrics) with no performance repercussions. Cold storage Selecting premium services offered by an infrastructure vendor Navigating cloud services requires intelligent choices. If you don’t pay attention, it’s easy to use service bundles that add infrastructure costs but no value to the platform. In a clip below, Xenoss CTO Vova Kyrychenko explains how the “free money trap” can result in high infrastructure costs as AdTech platforms scale. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_57WdKDJI0&embedable=true Our crucial recommendation to AdTech vendors is to dissect the pricing of premium services to spot hidden costs or savings.” Also, since new tools can slow the platform down, testing them on a small scale before you take a new service to production is reasonable. Keeping an eye on third-party or open-source projects is another alternative to expensive managed offerings. Free or low-cost platforms can offer better performance than mainstream cloud vendors. By adopting this approach on a client project, Xenoss’ engineers helped drive infrastructure costs down by 20 times. In the infographic below, we illustrate the client’s old infrastructure and the modernized version designed by our architects. Balancing traffic and load As we mentioned a while back, AdTech platforms don’t operate under stable loads - one moment, a platform might hit a sudden spike, and the next, it has more computing resources than it knows what to do with. Since Xenoss’ engineers believe efficient traffic and load balancing is a must-have for AdTech systems, let’s dive deeper into these concepts. Load balancing means evenly distributing incoming requests across multiple servers, ensuring no single server is overwhelmed. Within this framework, Xenoss architects prioritize mission-critical processes—essential tasks that, if interrupted, will disrupt the system's core functionality (real-time ad bidding or user data processing). By giving these processes precedence, we safeguard the vital operations from potential slowdowns or failures. Designing a mechanism for early threat detection A famous adage goes: “Failure is a part of every plan,” concisely warning AdTech product teams to guard for threats and downtimes. To that end, we urge vendors and in-house tech teams to leverage monitoring tools that keep an eye on system health, ensuring uninterrupted operations. If you set up alerts for any anomalies, teams can be alerted promptly, act swiftly, and ensure minor setbacks don’t turn into major meltdowns. Enhancing this approach with AI-powered insights offers even more granularity. Anomaly Detection algorithms, such as the Isolation Forest or One-Class SVM, are a good fit for identifying unusual data patterns, which can indicate threats or system vulnerabilities. We again suggest deploying Long Short-Term Memory recurrent neural networks to analyze time-series data. Large Language Models can also contribute to threat detection by analyzing logs and system messages to detect anomalies, thus making sense of textual data that might otherwise be overlooked. The bottom line Infrastructure cost optimization is a linchpin for companies in every sector aiming for efficiency and profitability. AdTech is an excellent playground for exploring the challenges and workarounds of working with high data volumes and traffic loads, as the need to tackle thousands of queries in a millisecond time frame pushes the limits of infrastructure development to the edge. The good news is that experienced tech teams have, often through trial and error, developed a handbook for keeping infrastructure costs low, even for high-load systems. Balancing between cloud and on-premises solutions, leveraging AI for threat detection, and continuously refining data storage strategies help product teams ensure robust operations without compromising on budget. Staying agile and informed in this domain is a cost-saving measure and a competitive advantage in the dynamic AdTech landscape.

Five Ways to Cut Infrastructure costs in High-load Systems: AdTech Case Study

হাই-লোড সিস্টেমে অবকাঠামো খরচ কমানোর পাঁচটি উপায়: অ্যাডটেক কেস স্টাডি

Fünf Möglichkeiten zur Senkung der Infrastrukturkosten in Hochlastsystemen: AdTech-Fallstudie

Cinco formas de reducir los costos de infraestructura en sistemas de alta carga: estudio de caso de AdTech

Cinq façons de réduire les coûts d'infrastructure dans les systèmes à forte charge : étude de cas AdTech

हाई-लोड सिस्टम में बुनियादी ढांचे की लागत में कटौती के पांच तरीके: एडटेक केस स्टडी

高負荷システムのインフラストラクチャ コストを削減する 5 つの方法: AdTech ケーススタディ

고부하 시스템에서 인프라 비용을 절감하는 5가지 방법: AdTech 사례 연구

Cinco maneiras de reduzir custos de infraestrutura em sistemas de alta carga: estudo de caso da AdTech

Пять способов сократить расходы на инфраструктуру в высоконагруженных системах: пример AdTech

Yüksek yüklü sistemlerde altyapı maliyetlerini azaltmanın beş yolu: AdTech örnek olay incelemesi

Năm cách để cắt giảm chi phí cơ sở hạ tầng trong các hệ thống có tải trọng cao: Nghiên cứu điển hình về AdTech

降低高负载系统基础设施成本的五种方法：AdTech 案例研究

Philochristus: Memoirs of a Disciple of the Lord by Edwin Abbott Abbott is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . How Xanthias the Alexandrine said that the philosophy of Jesus aimed at the taking in of the Gentiles into the Kingdom, and at the enfranchisement of slaves; and how he found fault with Jesus for that he called himself the Son of man. here How Xanthias the Alexandrine said that the philosophy of Jesus aimed at the taking in of the Gentiles into the Kingdom, and at the enfranchisement of slaves; and how he found fault with Jesus for that he called himself the Son of man. Between the Feast of Passover and the Feast of Weeks I was not much with Jesus; for when I perceived that Jesus was in no instant peril, I returned to Sepphoris for a while, partly by reason of my mother’s health, and partly to gather in the harvest. And during this time, when it was perceived that Jesus went not up to the Passover, neither made any levy of the people as had been expected, the Pharisees for a while ceased to lay snares for him: and the common people, though they murmured that he went not up to Jerusalem, nevertheless had him in honour. But the harvest being now over, when I went back to meet Jesus at Capernaum, I found there one of mine acquaintance, a merchant (whom I had known at Alexandria in my uncle’s house), a Greek learned in the knowledge of the Greeks. This man was not a proselyte; neither did he in any wise conform himself to the Law of Moses. But he spake of himself, at that time, as a seeker after truth; for he did not join himself to any of the schools of the Gentile philosophers, but chose forth from each whatsoever seemed to him useful or true. He had read our Scriptures, and was greatly given to the study of our psalms and prophecies; and when he had heard me speak of Jesus of Nazareth as being our Messiah, his heart was moved to hear Jesus preach the gospel. So it came to pass, about the first or second Sabbath after the Feast of Weeks, he accompanied me into the synagogue where Jesus was to speak to the people. But as I went, I perceived Abuyah the son of Elishah; and with him were certain of the Sadducees, and some also of the Herodians. And when I saw them, I knew that they had come for no good purpose. And so it proved. For when we were now assembled in the synagogue, Abuyah came forward and said to Jesus, “Behold, thou art a vessel very full of knowledge, and the people are come together at thy feet for to hear of thee the words of wisdom, according as it is said, ‘Powder thyself in the dust of the feet of the wise, and drink their words with thirstiness.’ Now therefore, I pray thee, suffer me to ask of thee touching a certain matter.” And Jesus said, “Ask.” And Abuyah said, “Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife?” Now when Abuyah spake these words, all the Herodians and Sadducees listened with greedy ears, as though they would devour the words that fell from Jesus, if perchance he should say something against Herod the Tetrarch. For Herod had put away his own wife and had married Herodias, the wife of his brother Herod Philip, which thing was not lawful for him to do. And it was for this cause that Abuyah had asked the question. For the Pharisees considered that in this way they would do one of two things; either they would incense Herod against Jesus (even as they had incensed him against John the son of Zachariah, whose death they had procured), or else they would cause Jesus to appear unto the people a time-server and a prophet of smooth things, a prophet not to be trusted. But Jesus knew their devices and said to Abuyah, “What did Moses command you?” And Abuyah said, “Moses suffered a man to write a bill of divorcement and to put his wife away.” But Jesus answered and said, “For the hardness of your hearts he wrote you this precept. But from the beginning of the creation God made them male and female. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh. So then they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together let not man put asunder.” By these words we understood Jesus both to find fault with them that allowed of divorce for every slight cause (as did certain of the Pharisees); and also to disallow of divorce generally, except (as he afterwards said) for adultery; which alone is, of itself, a divorce. But it was quite after the manner of Jesus to found this doctrine not upon the Law, but upon the nature of things, as it was created in the beginning; teaching that woman was not made as an afterthought, nor as a mere pleasure to the man; but that mankind was made, from the first, male and female. And according to this doctrine did Jesus ever behave towards women, showing unto them not only gentleness and kindness, but also a singular reverence. After these words Jesus began to exhort the people: and he taught them that God requireth purity in the inner parts, namely, in the soul, saying, Not that which goeth into a man defileth a man, but that which cometh out of a man, evil and impure thoughts and deeds, these, he said, defile a man. Hereat many of the disciples were sore grieved that Jesus should thus openly, as it seemed, trample upon the Law of Moses; and from this time certain Essenes that had hitherto followed with us, now altogether left Jesus. And one of the younger Scribes, interrupting him, cried aloud, “He that despiseth the washing of hands shall be rooted out.” But Jesus went on to say, Nay, but every plant that the Father in Heaven had not planted, should be rooted out; and as for the teaching of the Pharisees, he likened it to the tares, the end whereof is to be burned. He also likened them and their pupils to blind men leading other blind men; who should all together fall into the pit. Then he drew, as it were, a model of the New Kingdom; wherein, he said, the only thing needful would be that a man should love God with all the heart, and his neighbours as himself. And when some one asked him who were a man’s neighbours, he replied, in parables, that whosoever was sick, or naked, or an-hungered, or in pain or sorrow, whosoever in fine was in need of aught, that man (yea, even though he were a Samaritan), was neighbour unto each citizen in the New Kingdom; and towards every neighbour the citizens were to do whatsoever they would desire that their neighbours should do unto them. When the people were come forth out of the synagogue, the Greek merchant walked by my side for a while in silence: but Abuyah, who walked behind us, was plainly heard blaming Jesus as one that brake the Law and taught others to break it. Hearing these words, the merchant nodded over his shoulder, and exclaimed, “Yonder pedant, who with his washings would purify the very sun, is altogether void of understanding; else would he perceive that the philosophy of thy Teacher mounteth up to something far higher than the pulling down of the laws of thy nation.” Then he questioned me touching Jesus, and of his former doctrine and manner of life since he had begun to teach; and I replied to all these things and asked of him in turn what he might mean by his words about the philosophy of Jesus. But he seemed rapt for the time in other thoughts, and, instead of answering me, he questioned me further concerning the birth and rearing and childhood of Jesus; and in particular, whether both his parents were of Israel, or whether his mother were not a Greek. But after that I had answered again to all his questioning, when I perceived that he was still musing on his own thoughts, and took no heed of my words, I waxed impatient, and repeated my question somewhat loudly. Then my friend made answer, howbeit not in the way of a direct reply to my question, but rather as still partly meditating with himself: “Thou describest a gracious, a very gracious nature, ignorant of evil throughout his youth, seeing ever in his mind’s eye the Isles of the Blessed, and desiring that same blessedness for all mankind. And lo, whatsoever he desireth that he seeth: for he deceiveth himself, feigning that all things are like unto that beautiful idea which he seeth in his mind.” But I said to the merchant, “Nay, friend Xanthias,” for that was the man’s name, “but when Jesus spake of the Pharisees, did he then seem to thee ignorant of evil?” “Thou didst not give me time,” replied the merchant, “to finish my speech: for I was about to say that, as it seemeth to me, thy teacher is even now awakening to the evil that is in the world; and, becoming at last undeceived, he seeth his fair phantasma vanishing away. Thus his gracious nature, yielding to the over great pressure of the evil that surroundeth him, is becoming marred and wounded. Alas for the pitiful change! For behold, his former life, as thou describest it, was like unto a deer sporting gladly in the woods, to whom the flowers of the fields are as friends, and the wind ever bringeth glad tidings. But to what shall I liken the latter end of his life? It is like unto the same deer wounded by the huntsman, who passeth by the same way, and through the same woods; but she is glad no longer, for the dart still cleaveth to her side, and the flowers delight her no longer, and the breezes are messengers of evil.” I was grieved at his words, and all the more because they agreed with certain fears in the depth of my own heart, whereof I had up to this time made no mention even to Nathanael, no, nor yet unto mine own self. But I was grieved also because the Greek knew not the true nature of Jesus. For he spake of him as of one gracious and lovable, but he knew not the might and the power of our Master, how he was like unto a rock immovable, unchangeable; even such another as the Gentiles fable Atlas to have been, who bore up the world by the strength of his shoulders. For I knew that, if heaven and earth had set themselves in league against Jesus, to make him do aught against the will of the Father, Jesus would have stood up alone against earth and heaven, and hell to boot. Moreover, I had noted how there still came forth from Jesus a new strength to bear each new burden, and a new knowledge to discern each new Revelation from the Father, yea, and a new delight to delight therein. For though it were true indeed, as the Greek had said, that Jesus had sometimes marvelled at evil (when it befel him) as though he had been ignorant thereof before, yet was it also true that he seemed to have become greater through the increase of the knowledge of evil. But Xanthias knew naught of this. For he was deceived by the gentleness of Jesus, not perceiving that this same gentleness of Jesus was stronger than the strength of kings. Therefore was I grieved at his words; but I constrained myself and asked him yet again what he might mean by saying that the philosophy of Jesus mounted to somewhat higher than the pulling down of the Law. Then said the Greek, “Are there then in this country no slaves?” “Thou knowest,” I replied, “that there are slaves: howbeit, not many, nor ill used, nor treated like beasts, as the Gentiles treat them.” Then said he to me, “And wouldst thou willingly be a slave in this country?” I said, “Nay.” “And if thou wert a slave, wouldst thou wish that thy master should retain thee as a slave, or should enfranchise thee?” I replied, “The latter.” Then said the Greek with a smile, “But if ye all became followers of Jesus of Nazareth, would ye not perforce confess that all men were your neighbours, yea, even Greeks and Romans; yea, even Samaritans; yea, even your own slaves?” Then was I silent: for I understood now that his meaning was, that the teaching of Jesus would in the end bring to pass the enfranchising of all slaves, and I knew not what to reply. But he, still smiling, said, “I perceive that thou understandest my meaning. For the teaching of thy Master aimeth at nothing less than the destroying of all manner of slavery. But without slavery the race of man neither hath existed, nor can exist, as thou knowest very well. For without slaves no work could be performed except the tilling of the land, which alone is fit for free men.” I said then to him that in Israel there was not the same disliking of handicrafts as among the Greeks and Romans. But he said, “Dost thou suppose that thy Master’s philosophy concerneth only thine own people?” “Yea, of a surety,” said I; “our own people, and none else; for he himself proclaimed the Kingdom to no strangers.” He replied, “That may be, for a time: but is not the Samaritan thy neighbour?” Then was I again silent. For there came into my mind that ancient prophecy which saith that in the seed of Abraham, that is to say in the Messiah, all the nations of the earth shall be blessed; and I remembered how oft Jesus had of late taught us that the Samaritans were neighbours to the citizens in the Kingdom. But I put the thought away from me; for the truth was at that time hid from our eyes: neither could I at that time perceive how we could be redeemed or delivered, if we were to treat the Romans as neighbours. But while I mused thereon, Xanthias continued his speech concerning Jesus, and he said that Jesus did wisely in that he seemed to encourage marriage, and to prohibit many wives, and to forbid divorce. “For,” said he, “herein I incline rather to Aristotle than to Plato, believing that the state is composed of families; and if the family be rotten, the state cannot be sound. But to hope to destroy slavery is to hope to pull down the pillar whereon the life of all states is based.” Now was my heart hot within me; and I was fain to speak, and to say that Jesus would indeed pull down slavery in Israel, and make our people to be a nation of priests and princes for the world, and would in the end destroy even the Evil Nature of man. But I abstained from speech; for I knew that my words would be foolishness in his ears, and that he could not understand the Redemption unless he understood Jesus himself. Therefore I made him some courteous answer and accompanied him toward the house where he lay. But he still continued his discourse of the philosophy of Jesus (as he called it), and he likened Jesus unto the Greek Teacher Socrates, in that neither Socrates nor Jesus would receive teaching upon mere authority, nor because this saying or that precept chanced to have been written in books: but Socrates trusted to a certain power of reason or dialectic, and Jesus to a certain power which he called a Spirit: the two being diverse in appearance, but in truth following one and the same method. Thus Xanthias continued his speech of Jesus; but as he bade me farewell near the threshold, it came to pass that Abuyah, who had been walking behind us, came near, still talking with his companions, and saying in a loud voice that Jesus was as the bramble, whereof Jotham maketh mention in the Scriptures. “Wherefore,” said he, “meet it is that we cut down this vile thorn-tree, lest there come forth fire from the bramble and consume the olive-tree, and the fig, and all the fruitful trees of the forest.” When Abuyah had passed by, the merchant said unto me, “Truly I have heard no philosopher whose lectures have so pleased me as the teaching of this thy Teacher; and, though I esteem little of wonders, whereof we have enough and to spare at Alexandria, yet if even the half of that which thou sayest touching the acts of thy Jesus be true, he will deserve worship even better than Æsculapius or Amphiaraus. But as thou knowest, my dear friend, I am one of them which doubt all things; and I incline to the belief that there are no gods, or if there be, that they deal not with human matters. And thereto I incline the more because I see all human things full of misery and oppression. And, unless my fears deceive me, this my belief will be confirmed by the fate of thine own Teacher. For I fear, I greatly fear, lest the friends of Abuyah the Scribe may prevail over the friends of Jesus the philosopher of the New Kingdom and deliverer of the slaves.” So saying he turned himself round to depart. But I was scarce gone ten paces when he called me back, and taking me by the hand very earnestly, “I pray thee,” said he, “tell me by what name doth thy Master call himself. A prophet? or a teacher? Or doth he say that he is your Messiah? or a lawgiver like unto Moses?” But I made answer that Jesus called himself by none of these names; but, for the most part, only “Son of man.” Hereat Xanthias marvelled and said, “But wherefore useth he this title? For thou, and I, and all men, are not we all sons of men? Doth thy Master therefore fear lest his disciples may perchance forget that he is a man and deem him to be a god? For such a title as this, albeit humble in appearance, seemeth in verity too proud for any save such as aspire to be gods. But perchance your prophets have so used this title that it hath some strange meaning, whereof I know naught.” Then I said that the word was indeed used by the prophets: for whensoever the Lord speaketh to Ezekiel as to a mortal creature, the Lord calleth him Son of man, as if to set the mortal infirmities of the prophet over against the divine nature of the Lord; but again the prophet Daniel saith that, in the day of Judgment, there shall appear one like unto the Son of man, sitting on the clouds of heaven, and coming in glory to judge the nations of the earth: wherefore the title seemed to signify the weak nature of man, whether infirm or whether exalted. Howbeit, added I, before Jesus, no prophet spake thus of himself as the Son of man. Hereat Xanthias marvelled the more, saying that this was indeed a strange title, and such as no philosopher had ever before taken upon himself. Then he mused a while, still holding me by the cloak, and would have questioned me farther; but I could tell him no more. So at the last he let me go, shaking his head, and saying that it was strange, it was passing strange, and that there was more in this than he could understand: and as he turned himself to depart, I heard him repeating again to himself that it was a proud title, a very proud title, and such as no wise and sober philosopher should take. And thus he departed, meditating as he went, and so rapt in his study that he forgot to bid me farewell. But when he was departed, so that I had leisure to think on his wonder and on the cause thereof; then I also began to perceive that there was more than I had as yet understood, in this title of the Son of man. 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. Edwin Abbott Abbott (2015). Philochristus: Memoirs of a Disciple of the Lord. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/48843/pg48843-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

How Xanthias the Alexandrine said that the philosophy of Jesus aimed at the taking in of the Gentile

The Big Four by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . NUMBER FOUR WINS A TRICK XVII. NUMBER FOUR WINS A TRICK From our quiet retreat in the Ardennes we watched the progress of affairs in the great world. We were plentifully supplied with newspapers, and every day Poirot received a bulky envelope, evidently containing some kind of report. He never showed these reports to me, but I could usually tell from his manner whether its contents had been satisfactory or otherwise. He never wavered in his belief that our present plan was the only one likely to be crowned by success. "As a minor point, Hastings," he remarked one day, "I was in continual fear of your death lying at my door. And that rendered me nervous—like a cat upon the jumps, as you say. But now I am well satisfied. Even if they discover that the Captain Hastings who landed in South America is an imposter (and I do not think they will discover it, they are not likely to send an agent out there who knows you personally), they will only believe that you are trying to circumvent them in some clever manner of your own, and will pay no serious attention to discovering your whereabouts. Of the one vital fact, my supposed death, they are thoroughly convinced. They will go ahead and mature their plans." "And then?" I asked eagerly. "And then, mon ami, grand resurrection of Hercule Poirot! At the eleventh hour I reappear, throw all into confusion, and achieve the supreme victory in my own unique manner!" I realised that Poirot's vanity was of the case-hardened variety which could withstand all attacks. I reminded him that once or twice the honours of the game had lain with our adversaries. But I might have known that it was impossible to diminish Hercule Poirot's enthusiasm for his own methods. "See you, Hastings, it is like the little trick that you play with the cards. You have seen it without doubt? You take the four knaves, you divide them, one on top of the pack, one underneath, and so on—you cut and you shuffle, and there they are all together again. That is my object. So far I have been contending, now against one of the Big Four, now against another. But let me get them all together, like the four knaves in the pack of cards, and then, with one coup, I destroy them all!" "And how do you propose to get them all together?" I asked. "By awaiting the supreme moment. By lying perdu until they are ready to strike." "That may mean a long wait," I grumbled. "Always impatient, the good Hastings! But no, it will not be so long. The one man they were afraid of—myself—is out of the way. I give them two or three months at most." His speaking of some one being got out of the way reminded me of Ingles and his tragic death, and I remembered that I had never told Poirot about the dying Chinaman in St. Giles' Hospital. He listened with keen attention to my story. "Ingles's servant, eh? And the few words he uttered were in Italian? Curious." "That's why I suspected it might have been a plant on the part of the Big Four." "Your reasoning is at fault, Hastings. Employ the little gray cells. If your enemies wished to deceive you they would assuredly have seen to it that the Chinaman spoke in intelligible pigeon English. No, the message was genuine. Tell me again all that you heard?" "First of all he made a reference to Handel's Largo, and then he said something that sounded like 'carrozzo'—that's a carriage, isn't it?" "Nothing else?" "Well, just at the end he murmured something like 'Cara' somebody or other—some woman's name. Zia, I think. But I don't suppose that that had any bearing on the rest of it." "You would not suppose so, Hastings. Cara Zia is very important, very important indeed." "I don't see—" "My dear friend, you never see—and anyway the English know no geography." "Geography?" I cried. "What has geography got to do with it?" "I dare say M. Thomas Cook would be more to the point." As usual, Poirot refused to say anything more—a most irritating trick of his. But I noticed that his manner became extremely cheerful, as though he had scored some point or other. The days went on, pleasant if a trifle monotonous. There were plenty of books in the villa, and delightful rambles all around, but I chafed sometimes at the forced inactivity of our life, and marvelled at Poirot's state of placid content. Nothing occurred to ruffle our quiet existence, and it was not until the end of June, well within the limit that Poirot had given them, that we had our news of the Big Four. A car drove up to the villa early one morning, such an unusual event in our peaceful life that I hurried down to satisfy my curiosity. I found Poirot talking to a pleasant-faced young fellow of about my own age. He introduced me. "This is Captain Harvey, Hastings, one of the most famous members of your Intelligence Service." "Not famous at all, I'm afraid," said the young man, laughing pleasantly. "Not famous except to those in the know, I should have said. Most of Captain Harvey's friends and acquaintances consider him an amiable but brainless young man—devoted only to the trot of the fox or whatever the dance is called." We both laughed. "Well, well, to business," said Poirot. "You are of opinion the time has come, then?" "We are sure of it, sir. China was isolated politically yesterday. What is going on out there, nobody knows. No news of any kind, wireless or otherwise, has come through—just a complete break—and silence!" "Li Chang Yen has shown his hand. And the others?" "Abe Ryland arrived in England a week ago, and left for the Continent yesterday." "And Madame Olivier?" "Madame Olivier left Paris last night." "For Italy?" "For Italy, sir. As far as we can judge, they are both making for the resort you indicated—though how you knew that—" "Ah, that is not the cap with the feather for me! That was the work of Hastings here. He conceals his intelligence, you comprehend, but it is profound for all that." Harvey looked at me with due appreciation, and I felt rather uncomfortable. "All is in train, then," said Poirot. He was pale now, and completely serious. "The time has come. The arrangements are all made?" "Everything you ordered has been carried out. The governments of Italy, France and England are behind you, and are all working harmoniously together." "It is, in fact, a new Entente," observed Poirot dryly. "I am glad that Desjardeaux is convinced at last. Eh bien, then, we will start—or rather, I will start. You, Hastings, will remain here—yes, I pray of you. In verity, my friend, I am serious." I believed him, but it was not likely that I should consent to being left behind in that fashion. Our argument was short but decisive. It was not until we were in the train, speeding towards Paris that he admitted that he was secretly glad of my decision. "For you have a part to play, Hastings. An important part! Without you, I might well fail. Nevertheless, I felt that it was my duty to urge you to remain behind." "There is danger, then?" "Mon ami, where there is the Big Four there is always danger." On arrival in Paris, we drove across to the Gare de l'Est, and Poirot at last announced our destination. We were bound for Bolzano and Italian Tyrol. During Harvey's absence from our carriage I took the opportunity of asking Poirot why he had said that the discovery of the rendezvous was my work. "Because it was, my friend. How Ingles managed to get hold of the information I do not know, but he did, and he sent it to us by his servant. We are bound, mon ami for Karersee, the new Italian name for which is Lago di Carezza. You see now where your 'Cara Zia' comes in and also your 'Carrozza' and 'Largo'—the Handel was supplied by your own imagination. Possibly some reference to the information coming from the 'hand' of M. Ingles started the train of association." "Karersee?" I queried. "I never heard of it." "I always tell you that the English know no geography. But as a matter of fact it is a well-known and very beautiful summer resort, four thousand feet up, in the heart of the Dolomites." "And it is in this out of the way spot that the Big Four have their rendezvous?" "Say rather their headquarters. The signal has been given and it is their intention to disappear from the world and issue orders from their mountain fastness. I have made the inquiries—a lot of quarrying of stone and mineral deposits is done there, and the company, apparently a small Italian firm, is in reality controlled by Abe Ryland. I am prepared to swear that a vast subterranean dwelling has been hollowed out in the very heart of the mountain, secret and inaccessible. From there the leaders of the organisation will issue by wireless their orders to their followers who are numbered by thousands in every country. And from that crag in the Dolomites the dictators of the world will emerge. That is to say—they would emerge were it not for Hercule Poirot." "Do you seriously believe all this, Poirot? What about the armies and general machinery of civilisation?" "What about it in Russia, Hastings? This will be Russia on an infinitely larger scale—and with this additional menace—that Madame Olivier's experiments have proceeded further than she has ever given out. I believe that she has, to a certain extent, succeeded in liberating atomic energy and harnessing it to her purpose. Her experiments with the nitrogen of the air have been very remarkable, and she has also experimented in the concentration of wireless energy, so that a beam of great intensity can be focused upon some given spot. Exactly how far she has progressed, nobody knows, but it is certain that it is much farther than has ever been given out. She is a genius, that woman—the Curies were as nothing to her. Add to her genius the powers of Ryland's almost unlimited wealth, and, with the brain of Li Chang Yen, the finest criminal brain ever known, to direct and plan—eh bien, it will not be, as you say, all jam for civilisation." His words made me very thoughtful. Although Poirot was given at times to exaggeration of language, he was not really an alarmist. For the first time I realised what a desperate struggle it was upon which we were engaged. Harvey soon rejoined us and the journey went on. We arrived at Bolzano about midday. From there the journey on was by motor. Several big blue motor-cars were waiting in the central square of the town, and we three got into one of them. Poirot, notwithstanding the heat of the day, was muffled to the eyes in greatcoat and scarf. His eyes and the tips of his ears were all that could be seen of him. I did not know whether this was due to precaution or merely his exaggerated fear of catching a chill. The motor journey took a couple of hours. It was a really wonderful drive. For the first part of the way we wound in and out of huge cliffs, with a trickling waterfall on one hand. Then we emerged into a fertile valley, which continued for some miles, and then, still winding steadily upwards, the bare rocky peaks began to show with dense clustering pine woods at their base. The whole place was wild and lovely. Finally a series of abrupt curves, with the road running through the pine woods on either side, and we came suddenly upon a big hotel and found that we had arrived. Our rooms had been reserved for us, and under Harvey's guidance we went straight up to them. They looked straight out over the rocky peaks and the long slopes of pine woods leading up to them. Poirot made a gesture towards them. "It is there?" he asked in a low voice. "Yes," replied Harvey. "There is a place called the Felsenlabyrynth—all big boulders piled about in a most fantastic way—a path winds through them. The quarrying is to the right of that, but we think that the entrance is probably in the Felsenlabyrynth." Poirot nodded. "Come, mon ami," he said to me. "Let us go down and sit upon the terrace and enjoy the sunlight." "You think that wise?" I asked. He shrugged his shoulders. The sunlight was marvellous—in fact the glare was almost too great for me. We had some creamy coffee instead of tea, then went upstairs and unpacked our few belongings. Poirot was in his most unapproachable mood, lost in a kind of reverie. Once or twice he shook his head and sighed. I had been rather intrigued by a man who had got out of our train at Bolzano, and had been met by a private car. He was a small man, and the thing about him that had attracted my attention was that he was almost as much muffled up as Poirot had been. More so, indeed, for in addition to greatcoat and muffler, he was wearing huge blue spectacles. I was convinced that here we had an emissary of the Big Four. Poirot did not seem very impressed by my idea, but when, leaning out of my bedroom window, I reported that the man in question was strolling about in the vicinity of the hotel, he admitted that there might be something in it. I urged my friend not to go down to dinner, but he insisted on doing so. We entered the dining-room rather late, and were shown to a table by the window. As we sat down, our attention was attracted by an exclamation and a crash of falling china. A dish of haricots verts had been upset over a man who was sitting at the table next to ours. The head waiter came up and was vociferous in apologies. Presently, when the offending waiter was serving us with soup, Poirot spoke to him. "An unfortunate accident, that. But it was not your fault." "Monsieur saw that? No, indeed it was not my fault. The gentleman half sprung up from his chair—I thought he was going to have an attack of some kind. I could not save the catastrophe." I saw Poirot's eyes shining with the green light I knew so well, and as the waiter departed he said to me in a low voice:— "You see, Hastings, the effect of Hercule Poirot—alive and in the flesh?" "You think—" I had not time to continue. I felt Poirot's hand on my knee, as he whispered excitedly: "Look, Hastings, look. His trick with the bread! Number Four!" Sure enough, the man at the next table to ours, his face unusually pale, was dabbing a small piece of bread mechanically about the table. I studied him carefully. His face, clean-shaven and puffily fat, was of a pasty, unhealthy sallowness, with heavy pouches under the eyes and deep lines running from his nose to the corners of his mouth. His age might have been anything from thirty-five to forty-five. In no particular did he resemble any one of the characters which Number Four had previously assumed. Indeed, had it not been for his little trick with the bread, of which he was evidently quite unaware, I would have sworn readily enough that the man sitting there was some one whom I had never seen before. "He has recognised you," I murmured. "You should not have come down." "My excellent Hastings, I have feigned death for three months for this one purpose." "To startle Number Four?" "To startle him at a moment when he must act quickly or not at all. And we have this great advantage—he does not know that we recognise him. He thinks that he is safe in his new disguise. How I bless Flossie Monro for telling us of that little habit of his." "What will happen now?" I asked. "What can happen? He recognises the only man he fears, miraculously resurrected from the dead, at the very minute when the plans of the Big Four are in the balance. Madame Olivier and Abe Ryland lunched here to-day, and it is thought that they went to Cortina. Only we know that they have retired to their hiding place. How much do we know? That is what Number Four is asking himself at this minute. He dare take no risks. I must be suppressed at all costs. Eh bien, let him try to suppress Hercule Poirot! I shall be ready for him." As he finished speaking, the man at the next table got up and went out. "He has gone to make his little arrangements," said Poirot placidly. "Shall we have our coffee on the terrace, my friend? It would be pleasanter, I think. I will just go up and get a coat." I went out on to the terrace, a little disturbed in mind. Poirot's assurance did not quite content me. However, so long as we were on our guard, nothing could happen to us. I resolved to keep thoroughly on the alert. It was quite five minutes before Poirot joined me. With his usual precautions against cold, he was muffled up to the ears. He sat down beside me and sipped his coffee appreciatively. "Only in England is the coffee so atrocious," he remarked. "On the continent they understand how important it is for the digestion that it should be properly made." As he finished speaking, the man from the next table suddenly appeared on the terrace. Without any hesitation, he came over and drew up a third chair to our table. "You do not mind my joining you, I hope," he said in English. "Not at all, monsieur," said Poirot. I felt very uneasy. It is true that we were on the terrace of the hotel, with people all round us, but nevertheless I was not satisfied. I sensed the presence of danger. Meanwhile Number Four chatted away in a perfectly natural manner. It seemed impossible to believe that he was anything but a bona fide tourist. He described excursions and motor trips, and posed as quite an authority on the neighbourhood. He took a pipe from his pocket and began to light it. Poirot drew out his case of tiny cigarettes. As he placed one between his lips, the stranger leant forward with a match. "Let me give you a light." As he spoke, without the least warning, all the lights went out. There was a chink of glass, and something pungent under my nose, suffocating me— About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2023). The Big Four. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/70114/pg70114-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

NUMBER FOUR WINS A TRICK

The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . M. Giraud Finds Some Clues IX. M. Giraud Finds Some Clues In the Salon I found the examining magistrate busily interrogating the old gardener Auguste. Poirot and the commissary, who were both present, greeted me respectively with a smile and a polite bow. I slipped quietly into a seat. M. Hautet was painstaking and meticulous in the extreme, but did not succeed in eliciting anything of importance. The gardening gloves Auguste admitted to be his. He wore them when handling a certain species of primula plant which was poisonous to some people. He could not say when he had worn them last. Certainly he had not missed them. Where were they kept? Sometimes in one place, sometimes in another. The spade was usually to be found in the small tool shed. Was it locked? Of course it was locked. Where was the key kept? Parbleu, it was in the door of course! There was nothing of value to steal. Who would have expected a party of bandits, of assassins? Such things did not happen in Madame la Vicomtesse’s time. M. Hautet signifying that he had finished with him, the old man withdrew, grumbling to the last. Remembering Poirot’s unaccountable insistence on the footprints in the flower beds, I scrutinized him narrowly as he gave his evidence. Either he had nothing to do with the crime or he was a consummate actor. Suddenly, just as he was going out of the door, an idea struck me. “Pardon M. Hautet,” I cried, “but will you permit me to ask him one question?” “But certainly, monsieur.” Thus encouraged, I turned to Auguste. “Where do you keep your boots?” “Sac à papier!” growled the old man. “On my feet. Where else?” “But when you go to bed at night?” “Under my bed.” “But who cleans them?” “Nobody. Why should they be cleaned? Is it that I promenade myself on the front like a young man? On Sunday I wear the Sunday boots, bien entendu, but otherwise—!” he shrugged his shoulders. I shook my head, discouraged. “Well, well,” said the magistrate. “We do not advance very much. Undoubtedly we are held up until we get the return cable from Santiago. Has any one seen Giraud? In verity that one lacks politeness! I have a very good mind to send for him and—” “You will not have to send far, M. le juge.” The quiet voice startled us. Giraud was standing outside looking in through the open window. He leaped lightly into the room, and advanced to the table. “Here I am, M. le juge, at your service. Accept my excuses for not presenting myself sooner.” “Not at all. Not at all,” said the magistrate, rather confused. “Of course I am only a detective,” continued the other. “I know nothing of interrogatories. Were I conducting one, I should be inclined to do so without an open window. Any one standing outside can so easily hear all that passes. … But no matter.” M. Hautet flushed angrily. There was evidently going to be no love lost between the examining magistrate and the detective in charge of the case. They had fallen foul of each other at the start. Perhaps in any event it would have been much the same. To Giraud, all examining magistrates were fools, and to M. Hautet who took himself seriously, the casual manner of the Paris detective could not fail to give offence. “Eh bien, M. Giraud,” said the magistrate rather sharply. “Without doubt you have been employing your time to a marvel? You have the names of the assassins for us, have you not? And also the precise spot where they find themselves now?” Unmoved by this irony, Giraud replied: “I know at least where they have come from.” “Comment?” Giraud took two small objects from his pocket and laid them down on the table. We crowded round. The objects were very simple ones: the stub of a cigarette, and an unlighted match. The detective wheeled round on Poirot. “What do you see there?” he asked. There was something almost brutal in his tone. It made my cheeks flush. But Poirot remained unmoved. He shrugged his shoulders. “A cigarette end, and a match.” “And what does that tell you?” Poirot spread out his hands. “It tells me—nothing.” “Ah!” said Giraud, in a satisfied voice. “You haven’t made a study of these things. That’s not an ordinary match—not in this country at least. It’s common enough in South America. Luckily it’s unlighted. I mightn’t have recognized it otherwise. Evidently one of the men threw away his cigarette end, and lit another, spilling one match out of the box as he did so.” “And the other match?” asked Poirot. “Which match?” “The one he did light his cigarette with. You have found that also?” “No.” “Perhaps you didn’t search very thoroughly.” “Not search thoroughly—” For a moment it seemed as though the detective were going to break out angrily, but with an effort he controlled himself. “I see you love a joke, M. Poirot. But in any case, match or no match, the cigarette end would be sufficient. It is a South American cigarette with liquorice pectoral paper.” Poirot bowed. The commissary spoke: “The cigarette end and match might have belonged to M. Renauld. Remember, it is only two years since he returned from South America.” “No,” replied the other confidently. “I have already searched among the effects of M. Renauld. The cigarettes he smoked and the matches he used are quite different.” “You do not think it odd,” asked Poirot, “that these strangers should come unprovided with a weapon, with gloves, with a spade, and that they should so conveniently find all these things?” Giraud smiled in a rather superior manner. “Undoubtedly it is strange. Indeed, without the theory that I hold, it would be inexplicable.” “Aha!” said M. Hautet. “An accomplice. An accomplice within the house!” “Or outside it,” said Giraud with a peculiar smile. “But some one must have admitted them? We cannot allow that, by an unparalleled piece of good fortune, they found the door ajar for them to walk in?” “D’accord, M. le juge. The door was opened for them, but it could just as easily be opened from outside—by some one who possessed a key.” “But who did possess a key?” Giraud shrugged his shoulders. “As for that, no one who possesses one is going to admit the fact if they can help it. But several people might have had one. M. Jack Renauld, the son, for instance. It is true that he is on his way to South America, but he might have lost the key or had it stolen from him. Then there is the gardener—he has been here many years. One of the younger servants may have a lover. It is easy to take an impression of a key and have one cut. There are many possibilities. Then there is another person who, I should judge, is exceedingly likely to have such a thing in her keeping.” “Who is that?” “Madame Daubreuil,” said the detective dryly. “Eh, eh!” said the magistrate, his face falling a little, “so you have heard about that, have you?” “I hear everything,” said Giraud imperturbably. “There is one thing I could swear you have not heard,” said M. Hautet, delighted to be able to show superior knowledge, and without more ado, he retailed the story of the mysterious visitor the night before. He also touched on the cheque made out to “Duveen,” and finally handed Giraud the letter signed “Bella.” Giraud listened in silence, studied the letter attentively, and then handed it back. “All very interesting, M. le juge. But my theory remains unaffected.” “And your theory is?” “For the moment I prefer not to say. Remember, I am only just beginning my investigations.” “Tell me one thing, M. Giraud,” said Poirot suddenly. “Your theory allows for the door being opened. It does not explain why it was left open. When they departed, would it not have been natural for them to close it behind them. If a sergent de ville had chanced to come up to the house, as is sometimes done to see that all is well, they might have been discovered and overtaken almost at once.” “Bah! They forgot it. A mistake, I grant you.” Then, to my surprise, Poirot uttered almost the same words as he had uttered to Bex the previous evening: “I do not agree with you. The door being left open was the result of either design or necessity, and any theory that does not admit that fact is bound to prove vain.” We all regarded the little man with a good deal of astonishment. The confession of ignorance drawn from him over the match end had, I thought, been bound to humiliate him, but here he was self satisfied as ever, laying down the law to the great Giraud without a tremor. The detective twisted his moustache, eyeing my friend in a somewhat bantering fashion. “You don’t agree with me, eh? Well, what strikes you particularly about the case. Let’s hear your views.” “One thing presents itself to me as being significant. Tell me, M. Giraud, does nothing strike you as familiar about this case? Is there nothing it reminds you of?” “Familiar? Reminds me of? I can’t say off-hand. I don’t think so, though.” “You are wrong,” said Poirot quietly. “A crime almost precisely similar has been committed before.” “When? And where?” “Ah, that, unfortunately, I cannot for the moment remember—but I shall do so. I had hoped you might be able to assist me.” Giraud snorted incredulously. “There have been many affairs of masked men! I cannot remember the details of them all. These crimes all resemble each other more or less.” “There is such a thing as the individual touch.” Poirot suddenly assumed his lecturing manner, and addressed us collectively. “I am speaking to you now of the psychology of crime. M. Giraud knows quite well that each criminal has his particular method, and that the police, when called in to investigate—say a case of burglary—can often make a shrewd guess at the offender, simply by the peculiar method he has employed. (Japp would tell you the same, Hastings.) Man is an unoriginal animal. Unoriginal within the law in his daily respectable life, equally unoriginal outside the law. If a man commits a crime, any other crime he commits will resemble it closely. The English murderer who disposed of his wives in succession by drowning them in their baths was a case in point. Had he varied his methods, he might have escaped detection to this day. But he obeyed the common dictates of human nature, arguing that what had once succeeded would succeed again, and he paid the penalty of his lack of originality.” “And the point of all this?” sneered Giraud. “That when you have two crimes precisely similar in design and execution, you find the same brain behind them both. I am looking for that brain, M. Giraud—and I shall find it. Here we have a true clue—a psychological clue. You may know all about cigarettes and match ends, M. Giraud, but I, Hercule Poirot, know the mind of man!” And the ridiculous little fellow tapped his forehead with emphasis. Giraud remained singularly unimpressed. “For your guidance,” continued Poirot, “I will also advise you of one fact which might fail to be brought to your notice. The wrist watch of Madame Renauld, on the day following the tragedy, had gained two hours. It might interest you to examine it.” Giraud stared. “Perhaps it was in the habit of gaining?” “As a matter of fact, I am told it did.” “Eh bien, then!” “All the same, two hours is a good deal,” said Poirot softly. “Then there is the matter of the footprints in the flower-bed.” He nodded his head towards the open window. Giraud took two eager strides, and looked out. “This bed here?” “Yes.” “But I see no footprints?” “No,” said Poirot, straightening a little pile of books on a table. “There are none.” For a moment an almost murderous rage obscured Giraud’s face. He took two strides towards his tormentor, but at that moment the salon door was opened, and Marchaud announced. “M. Stonor, the secretary, has just arrived from England. May he enter?” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2019). The Murder on the Links. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/58866/pg58866-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

M. Giraud Finds Some Clues

The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . An Appeal for Help II. An Appeal for Help It was five minutes past nine when I entered our joint sitting-room for breakfast on the following morning. My friend Poirot, exact to the minute as usual, was just tapping the shell of his second egg. He beamed upon me as I entered. “You have slept well, yes? You have recovered from the crossing so terrible? It is a marvel, almost you are exact this morning. Pardon, but your tie is not symmetrical. Permit that I rearrange him.” Elsewhere, I have described Hercule Poirot. An extraordinary little man! Height, five feet four inches, egg-shaped head carried a little to one side, eyes that shone green when he was excited, stiff military moustache, air of dignity immense! He was neat and dandified in appearance. For neatness of any kind, he had an absolute passion. To see an ornament set crooked, or a speck of dust, or a slight disarray in one’s attire, was torture to the little man until he could ease his feelings by remedying the matter. “Order” and “Method” were his gods. He had a certain disdain for tangible evidence, such as footprints and cigarette ash, and would maintain that, taken by themselves, they would never enable a detective to solve a problem. Then he would tap his egg-shaped head with absurd complacency, and remark with great satisfaction: “The true work, it is done from within. The little grey cells—remember always the little grey cells, mon ami!” I slipped into my seat, and remarked idly, in answer to Poirot’s greeting, that an hour’s sea passage from Calais to Dover could hardly be dignified by the epithet “terrible.” Poirot waved his egg-spoon in vigorous refutation of my remark. “Du tout! If for an hour one experiences sensations and emotions of the most terrible, one has lived many hours! Does not one of your English poets say that time is counted, not by hours, but by heart-beats?” “I fancy Browning was referring to something more romantic than sea sickness, though.” “Because he was an Englishman, an Islander to whom la Manche was nothing. Oh, you English! With nous autres it is different. Figure to yourself that a lady of my acquaintance at the beginning of the war fled to Ostend. There she had a terrible crisis of the nerves. Impossible to escape further except by crossing the sea! And she had a horror—mais une horreur!—of the sea! What was she to do? Daily les Boches were drawing nearer. Imagine to yourself the terrible situation!” “What did she do?” I inquired curiously. “Fortunately her husband was homme pratique. He was also very calm, the crises of the nerves, they affected him not. Il l’a emportée simplement! Naturally when she reached England she was prostrate, but she still breathed.” Poirot shook his head seriously. I composed my face as best I could. Suddenly he stiffened and pointed a dramatic finger at the toast rack. “Ah, par exemple, c’est trop fort!” he cried. “What is it?” “This piece of toast. You remark him not?” He whipped the offender out of the rack, and held it up for me to examine. “Is it square? No. Is it a triangle? Again no. Is it even round? No. Is it of any shape remotely pleasing to the eye? What symmetry have we here? None.” “It’s cut from a cottage loaf,” I explained soothingly. Poirot threw me a withering glance. “What an intelligence has my friend Hastings!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “Comprehend you not that I have forbidden such a loaf—a loaf haphazard and shapeless, that no baker should permit himself to bake!” I endeavoured to distract his mind. “Anything interesting come by the post?” Poirot shook his head with a dissatisfied air. “I have not yet examined my letters, but nothing of interest arrives nowadays. The great criminals, the criminals of method, they do not exist. The cases I have been employed upon lately were banal to the last degree. In verity I am reduced to recovering lost lap-dogs for fashionable ladies! The last problem that presented any interest was that intricate little affair of the Yardly diamond, and that was—how many months ago, my friend?” He shook his head despondently, and I roared with laughter. “Cheer up, Poirot, the luck will change. Open your letters. For all you know, there may be a great Case looming on the horizon.” Poirot smiled, and taking up the neat little letter opener with which he opened his correspondence he slit the tops of the several envelopes that lay by his plate. “A bill. Another bill. It is that I grow extravagant in my old age. Aha! a note from Japp.” “Yes?” pricked up my ears. The Scotland Yard Inspector had more than once introduced us to an interesting case. “He merely thanks me (in his fashion) for a little point in the Aberystwyth Case on which I was able to set him right. I am delighted to have been of service to him.” “How does he thank you?” I asked curiously, for I knew my Japp. “He is kind enough to say that I am a wonderful sport for my age, and that he was glad to have had the chance of letting me in on the case.” This was so typical of Japp, that I could not forbear a chuckle. Poirot continued to read his correspondence placidly. “A suggestion that I should give a lecture to our local boy scouts. The Countess of Forfanock will be obliged if I will call and see her. Another lap-dog without doubt! And now for the last. Ah—” I looked up, quick to notice the change of tone. Poirot was reading attentively. In a minute he tossed the sheet over to me. “This is out of the ordinary, mon ami. Read for yourself.” The letter was written on a foreign type of paper, in a bold characteristic hand: “Villa Geneviève Merlinville-sur-Mer France “Dear Sir, “I am in need of the services of a detective and, for reasons which I will give you later, do not wish to call in the official police. I have heard of you from several quarters, and all reports go to show that you are not only a man of decided ability, but one who also knows how to be discreet. I do not wish to trust details to the post, but, on account of a secret I possess, I go in daily fear of my life. I am convinced that the danger is imminent, and therefore I beg that you will lose no time in crossing to France. I will send a car to meet you at Calais, if you will wire me when you are arriving. I shall be obliged if you will drop all cases you have on hand, and devote yourself solely to my interests. I am prepared to pay any compensation necessary. I shall probably need your services for a considerable period of time, as it may be necessary for you to go out to Santiago, where I spent several years of my life. I shall be content for you to name your own fee. “Assuring you once more that the matter is urgent, “Yours faithfully “P. T. RENAULD.” Below the signature was a hastily scrawled line, almost illegible: “For God’s sake, come!” I handed the letter back with quickened pulses. “At last!” I said. “Here is something distinctly out of the ordinary.” “Yes, indeed,” said Poirot meditatively. “You will go of course,” I continued. Poirot nodded. He was thinking deeply. Finally he seemed to make up his mind, and glanced up at the clock. His face was very grave. “See you, my friend, there is no time to lose. The Continental express leaves Victoria at 11 o’clock. Do not agitate yourself. There is plenty of time. We can allow ten minutes for discussion. You accompany me, n’est-ce pas?” “Well—” “You told me yourself that your employer needed you not for the next few weeks.” “Oh, that’s all right. But this Mr. Renauld hints strongly that his business is private.” “Ta-ta-ta. I will manage M. Renauld. By the way, I seem to know the name?” “There’s a well-known South American millionaire fellow. His name’s Renauld. I don’t know whether it could be the same.” “But without doubt. That explains the mention of Santiago. Santiago is in Chile, and Chile it is in South America! Ah, but we progress finely.” “Dear me, Poirot,” I said, my excitement rising, “I smell some goodly shekels in this. If we succeed, we shall make our fortunes!” “Do not be too sure of that, my friend. A rich man and his money are not so easily parted. Me, I have seen a well-known millionaire turn out a tramful of people to seek for a dropped halfpenny.” I acknowledged the wisdom of this. “In any case,” continued Poirot, “it is not the money which attracts me here. Certainly it will be pleasant to have carte blanche in our investigations; one can be sure that way of wasting no time, but it is something a little bizarre in this problem which arouses my interest. You remarked the postscript? How did it strike you?” I considered. “Clearly he wrote the letter keeping himself well in hand, but at the end his self-control snapped and, on the impulse of the moment, he scrawled those four desperate words.” But my friend shook his head energetically. “You are in error. See you not that while the ink of the signature is nearly black, that of the postscript is quite pale?” “Well?” I said puzzled. “Mon Dieu, mon ami, but use your little grey cells! Is it not obvious? M. Renauld wrote his letter. Without blotting it, he reread it carefully. Then, not on impulse, but deliberately, he added those last words, and blotted the sheet.” “But why?” “Parbleu! so that it should produce the effect upon me that it has upon you.” “What?” “Mais, oui—to make sure of my coming! He reread the letter and was dissatisfied. It was not strong enough!” He paused, and then added softly, his eyes shining with that green light that always betokened inward excitement: “And so, mon ami, since that postscript was added, not on impulse, but soberly, in cold blood, the urgency is very great, and we must reach him as soon as possible.” “Merlinville,” I murmured thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of it, I think.” Poirot nodded. “It is a quiet little place—but chic! It lies about midway between Bolougne and Calais. It is rapidly becoming the fashion. Rich English people who wish to be quiet are taking it up. M. Renauld has a house in England, I suppose?” “Yes, in Rutland Gate, as far as I remember. Also a big place in the country, somewhere in Hertfordshire. But I really know very little about him, he doesn’t do much in a social way. I believe he has large South American interests in the City, and has spent most of his life out in Chile and the Argentino.” “Well, we shall hear all details from the man himself. Come, let us pack. A small suit-case each, and then a taxi to Victoria.” “And the Countess?” I inquired with a smile. “Ah! je m’en fiche! Her case was certainly not interesting.” “Why so sure of that?” “Because in that case she would have come, not written. A woman cannot wait—always remember that, Hastings.” Eleven o’clock saw our departure from Victoria on our way to Dover. Before starting Poirot had despatched a telegram to Mr. Renauld giving the time of our arrival at Calais. “I’m surprised you haven’t invested in a few bottles of some sea sick remedy, Poirot,” I observed maliciously, as I recalled our conversation at breakfast. My friend, who was anxiously scanning the weather, turned a reproachful face upon me. “Is it that you have forgotten the method most excellent of Laverguier? His system, I practise it always. One balances oneself, if you remember, turning the head from left to right, breathing in and out, counting six between each breath.” “H’m,” I demurred. “You’ll be rather tired of balancing yourself and counting six by the time you get to Santiago, or Buenos Ayres, or wherever it is you land.” “Quelle idée! You do not figure to yourself that I shall go to Santiago?” “Mr. Renauld suggests it in his letter.” “He did not know the methods of Hercule Poirot. I do not run to and fro, making journeys, and agitating myself. My work is done from within—here—” he tapped his forehead significantly. As usual, this remark roused my argumentative faculty. “It’s all very well, Poirot, but I think you are falling into the habit of despising certain things too much. A finger-print has led sometimes to the arrest and conviction of a murderer.” “And has, without doubt, hanged more than one innocent man,” remarked Poirot dryly. “But surely the study of finger-prints and footprints, cigarette ash, different kinds of mud, and other clues that comprise the minute observation of details—all these are of vital importance?” “But certainly. I have never said otherwise. The trained observer, the expert, without doubt he is useful! But the others, the Hercules Poirots, they are above the experts! To them the experts bring the facts, their business is the method of the crime, its logical deduction, the proper sequence and order of the facts; above all, the true psychology of the case. You have hunted the fox, yes?” “I have hunted a bit, now and again,” I said, rather bewildered by this abrupt change of subject. “Why?” “Eh bien, this hunting of the fox, you need the dogs, no?” “Hounds,” I corrected gently. “Yes, of course.” “But yet,” Poirot wagged his finger at me. “You did not descend from your horse and run along the ground smelling with your nose and uttering loud Ow Ows?” In spite of myself I laughed immoderately. Poirot nodded in a satisfied manner. “So. You leave the work of the d— hounds to the hounds. Yet you demand that I, Hercule Poirot, should make myself ridiculous by lying down (possibly on damp grass) to study hypothetical footprints, and should scoop up cigarette ash when I do not know one kind from the other. Remember the Plymouth Express mystery. The good Japp departed to make a survey of the railway line. When he returned, I, without having moved from my apartments, was able to tell him exactly what he had found.” “So you are of the opinion that Japp wasted his time.” “Not at all, since his evidence confirmed my theory. But I should have wasted my time if I had gone. It is the same with so called ‘experts.’ Remember the handwriting testimony in the Cavendish Case. One counsel’s questioning brings out testimony as to the resemblances, the defence brings evidence to show dissimilarity. All the language is very technical. And the result? What we all knew in the first place. The writing was very like that of John Cavendish. And the psychological mind is faced with the question ‘Why?’ Because it was actually his? Or because some one wished us to think it was his? I answered that question, mon ami, and answered it correctly.” And Poirot, having effectually silenced, if not convinced me, leaned back with a satisfied air. On the boat, I knew better than to disturb my friend’s solitude. The weather was gorgeous, and the sea as smooth as the proverbial mill-pond, so I was hardly surprised to hear that Laverguier’s method had once more justified itself when a smiling Poirot joined me on disembarking at Calais. A disappointment was in store for us, as no car had been sent to meet us, but Poirot put this down to his telegram having been delayed in transit. “Since it is carte blanche, we will hire a car,” he said cheerfully. And a few minutes later saw us creaking and jolting along, in the most ramshackle of automobiles that ever plied for hire, in the direction of Merlinville. My spirits were at their highest. “What gorgeous air!” I exclaimed. “This promises to be a delightful trip.” “For you, yes. For me, I have work to do, remember, at our journey’s end.” “Bah!” I said cheerfully. “You will discover all, ensure this Mr. Renauld’s safety, run the would-be assassins to earth, and all will finish in a blaze of glory.” “You are sanguine, my friend.” “Yes, I feel absolutely assured of success. Are you not the one and only Hercule Poirot?” But my little friend did not rise to the bait. He was observing me gravely. “You are what the Scotch people call ‘fey,’ Hastings. It presages disaster.” “Nonsense. At any rate, you do not share my feelings.” “No, but I am afraid.” “Afraid of what?” “I do not know. But I have a premonition—a je ne sais quoi!” He spoke so gravely, that I was impressed in spite of myself. “I have a feeling,” he said slowly, “that this is going to be a big affair—a long, troublesome problem that will not be easy to work out.” I would have questioned him further, but we were just coming into the little town of Merlinville, and we slowed up to inquire the way to the Villa Geneviève. “Straight on, monsieur, through the town. The Villa Geneviève is about half a mile the other side. You cannot miss it. A big Villa, overlooking the sea.” We thanked our informant, and drove on, leaving the town behind. A fork in the road brought us to a second halt. A peasant was trudging towards us, and we waited for him to come up to us in order to ask the way again. There was a tiny Villa standing right by the road, but it was too small and dilapidated to be the one we wanted. As we waited, the gate of it swung open and a girl came out. The peasant was passing us now, and the driver leaned forward from his seat and asked for direction. “The Villa Geneviève? Just a few steps up this road to the right, monsieur. You could see it if it were not for the curve.” The chauffeur thanked him, and started the car again. My eyes were fascinated by the girl who still stood, with one hand on the gate, watching us. I am an admirer of beauty, and here was one whom nobody could have passed without remark. Very tall, with the proportions of a young goddess, her uncovered golden head gleaming in the sunlight, I swore to myself that she was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. As we swung up the rough road, I turned my head to look after her. “By Jove, Poirot,” I exclaimed, “did you see that young goddess.” Poirot raised his eyebrows. “Ça commence!” he murmured. “Already you have seen a goddess!” “But, hang it all, wasn’t she?” “Possibly. I did not remark the fact.” “Surely you noticed her?” “Mon ami, two people rarely see the same thing. You, for instance, saw a goddess. I—” he hesitated. “Yes?” “I saw only a girl with anxious eyes,” said Poirot gravely. But at that moment we drew up at a big green gate, and, simultaneously, we both uttered an exclamation. Before it stood an imposing sergent de ville. He held up his hand to bar our way. “You cannot pass, monsieurs.” “But we wish to see Mr. Renauld,” I cried. “We have an appointment. This is his Villa, isn’t it?” “Yes, monsieur, but—” Poirot leaned forward. “But what?” “M. Renauld was murdered this morning.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2019). The Murder on the Links. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/58866/pg58866-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

An Appeal for Help

Poirot Investigates by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Million Dollar Bond Robbery V. The Million Dollar Bond Robbery “What a number of bond robberies there have been lately!” I observed one morning, laying aside the newspaper. “Poirot, let us forsake the science of detection, and take to crime instead!” “You are on the—how do you say it?—get-rich-quick tack, eh, mon ami?” “Well, look at this last coup, the million dollars’ worth of Liberty Bonds which the London and Scottish Bank were sending to New York, and which disappeared in such a remarkable manner on board the Olympia.” “If it were not for the mal de mer, and the difficulty of practising the so excellent method of Laverguier for a longer time than the few hours of crossing the channel, I should delight to voyage myself on one of these big liners,” murmured Poirot dreamily. “Yes, indeed,” I said enthusiastically. “Some of them must be perfect palaces; the swimming-baths, the lounges, the restaurant, the palm courts—really, it must be hard to believe that one is on the sea.” “Me, I always know when I am on the sea,” said Poirot sadly. “And all those bagatelles that you enumerate, they say nothing to me; but, my friend, consider for a moment the geniuses that travel as it were incognito! On board these floating palaces, as you so justly call them, one would meet the élite, the haute noblesse of the criminal world!” I laughed. “So that’s the way your enthusiasm runs! You would have liked to cross swords with the man who sneaked the Liberty Bonds?” The landlady interrupted us. “A young lady as wants to see you, Mr. Poirot. Here’s her card.” The card bore the inscription: Miss Esmée Farquhar, and Poirot, after diving under the table to retrieve a stray crumb, and putting it carefully in the waste-paper-basket, nodded to the landlady to admit her. In another minute one of the most charming girls I have ever seen was ushered into the room. She was perhaps about five-and-twenty, with big brown eyes and a perfect figure. She was well-dressed and perfectly composed in manner. “Sit down, I beg of you, mademoiselle. This is my friend, Captain Hastings, who aids me in my little problems.” “I am afraid it is a big problem I have brought you to-day, Monsieur Poirot,” said the girl, giving me a pleasant bow as she seated herself. “I dare say you have read about it in the papers. I am referring to the theft of Liberty Bonds on the Olympia.” Some astonishment must have shown itself in Poirot’s face, for she continued quickly: “You are doubtless asking yourself what I have to do with a grave institution like the London and Scottish Bank. In one sense nothing, in another sense everything. You see, Monsieur Poirot, I am engaged to Mr. Philip Ridgeway.” “Aha! and Mr. Philip Ridgeway——” “Was in charge of the bonds when they were stolen. Of course no actual blame can attach to him, it was not his fault in any way. Nevertheless, he is half distraught over the matter, and his uncle, I know, insists that he must carelessly have mentioned having them in his possession. It is a terrible set-back in his career.” “Who is his uncle?” “Mr. Vavasour, joint general manager of the London and Scottish Bank.” “Suppose, Miss Farquhar, that you recount to me the whole story?” “Very well. As you know, the Bank wished to extend their credits in America, and for this purpose decided to send over a million dollars in Liberty Bonds. Mr. Vavasour selected his nephew, who had occupied a position of trust in the Bank for many years and who was conversant with all the details of the Bank’s dealings in New York, to make the trip. The Olympia sailed from Liverpool on the 23rd, and the bonds were handed over to Philip on the morning of that day by Mr. Vavasour and Mr. Shaw, the two joint general managers of the London and Scottish Bank. They were counted, enclosed in a package, and sealed in his presence, and he then locked the package at once in his portmanteau.” “A portmanteau with an ordinary lock?” “No, Mr. Shaw insisted on a special lock being fitted to it by Hubbs’s. Philip, as I say, placed the package at the bottom of the trunk. It was stolen just a few hours before reaching New York. A rigorous search of the whole ship was made, but without result. The bonds seemed literally to have vanished into thin air.” Poirot made a grimace. “But they did not vanish absolutely, since I gather that they were sold in small parcels within half an hour of the docking of the Olympia! Well, undoubtedly the next thing is for me to see Mr. Ridgeway.” “I was about to suggest that you should lunch with me at the ‘Cheshire Cheese.’ Philip will be there. He is meeting me, but does not yet know that I have been consulting you on his behalf.” We agreed to this suggestion readily enough, and drove there in a taxi. Mr. Philip Ridgeway was there before us, and looked somewhat surprised to see his fiancée arriving with two complete strangers. He was a nice-looking young fellow, tall and spruce, with a touch of greying hair at the temples, though he could not have been much over thirty. Miss Farquhar went up to him and laid her hand on his arm. “You must forgive my acting without consulting you, Philip,” she said. “Let me introduce you to Monsieur Hercule Poirot, of whom you must often have heard, and his friend, Captain Hastings.” Ridgeway looked very astonished. “Of course I have heard of you, Monsieur Poirot,” he said, as he shook hands. “But I had no idea that Esmée was thinking of consulting you about my—our trouble.” “I was afraid you would not let me do it, Philip,” said Miss Farquhar meekly. “So you took care to be on the safe side,” he observed, with a smile. “I hope Monsieur Poirot will be able to throw some light on this extraordinary puzzle, for I confess frankly that I am nearly out of my mind with worry and anxiety about it.” Indeed, his face looked drawn and haggard and showed only too clearly the strain under which he was labouring. “Well, well,” said Poirot. “Let us lunch, and over lunch we will put our heads together and see what can be done. I want to hear Mr. Ridgeway’s story from his own lips.” Whilst we discussed the excellent steak and kidney pudding of the establishment, Philip Ridgeway narrated the circumstances leading to the disappearance of the bonds. His story agreed with that of Miss Farquhar in every particular. When he had finished, Poirot took up the thread with a question. “What exactly led you to discover that the bonds had been stolen, Mr. Ridgeway?” He laughed rather bitterly. “The thing stared me in the face, Monsieur Poirot. I couldn’t have missed it. My cabin trunk was half out from under the bunk and all scratched and cut about where they’d tried to force the lock.” “But I understood that it had been opened with a key?” “That’s so. They tried to force it, but couldn’t. And, in the end, they must have got it unlocked somehow or other.” “Curious,” said Poirot, his eyes beginning to flicker with the green light I knew so well. “Very curious! They waste much, much time trying to prise it open, and then—sapristi! they find that they have the key all the time—for each of Hubbs’s locks are unique.” “That’s just why they couldn’t have had the key. It never left me day or night.” “You are sure of that?” “I can swear to it, and besides, if they had had the key or a duplicate, why should they waste time trying to force an obviously unforceable lock?” “Ah! there is exactly the question we are asking ourselves! I venture to prophesy that the solution, if we ever find it, will hinge on that curious fact. I beg of you not to assault me if I ask you one more question: Are you perfectly certain you did not leave the trunk unlocked?” Philip Ridgeway merely looked at him, and Poirot gesticulated apologetically. “Ah, but these things can happen, I assure you! Very well, the bonds were stolen from the trunk. What did the thief do with them? How did he manage to get ashore with them?” “Ah!” cried Ridgeway. “That’s just it. How? Word was passed to the Customs authorities, and every soul that left the ship was gone over with a toothcomb!” “And the bonds, I gather, made a bulky package?” “Certainly they did. They could hardly have been hidden on board—and anyway we know they weren’t because they were offered for sale within half an hour of the Olympia’s arrival, long before I got the cables going and the numbers sent out. One broker swears he bought some of them even before the Olympia got in. But you can’t send bonds by wireless.” “Not by wireless, but did any tug come alongside?” “Only the official ones, and that was after the alarm was given when every one was on the look-out. I was watching out myself for their being passed over to some one that way. My God, Monsieur Poirot, this thing will drive me mad! People are beginning to say I stole them myself.” “But you also were searched on landing, weren’t you?” asked Poirot gently. “Yes.” The young man stared at him in a puzzled manner. “You do not catch my meaning, I see,” said Poirot, smiling enigmatically. “Now I should like to make a few inquiries at the Bank.” Ridgeway produced a card and scribbled a few words on it. “Send this in and my uncle will see you at once.” Poirot thanked him, bade farewell to Miss Farquhar, and together we started out for Threadneedle Street and the head office of the London and Scottish Bank. On production of Ridgeway’s card, we were led through the labyrinth of counters and desks, skirting paying-in clerks and paying-out clerks and up to a small office on the first floor where the joint general managers received us. They were two grave gentlemen, who had grown grey in the service of the Bank. Mr. Vavasour had a short white beard, Mr. Shaw was clean shaven. “I understand you are strictly a private inquiry agent?” said Mr. Vavasour. “Quite so, quite so. We have, of course, placed ourselves in the hands of Scotland Yard. Inspector McNeil has charge of the case. A very able officer, I believe.” “I am sure of it,” said Poirot politely. “You will permit a few questions, on your nephew’s behalf? About this lock, who ordered it from Hubbs’s?” “I ordered it myself,” said Mr. Shaw. “I would not trust to any clerk in the matter. As to the keys, Mr. Ridgeway had one, and the other two are held by my colleague and myself.” “And no clerk has had access to them?” Mr. Shaw turned inquiringly to Mr. Vavasour. “I think I am correct in saying that they have remained in the safe where we placed them on the 23rd,” said Mr. Vavasour. “My colleague was unfortunately taken ill a fortnight ago—in fact on the very day that Philip left us. He has only just recovered.” “Severe bronchitis is no joke to a man of my age,” said Mr. Shaw ruefully. “But I am afraid Mr. Vavasour has suffered from the hard work entailed by my absence, especially with this unexpected worry coming on top of everything.” Poirot asked a few more questions. I judged that he was endeavouring to gauge the exact amount of intimacy between uncle and nephew. Mr. Vavasour’s answers were brief and punctilious. His nephew was a trusted official of the Bank, and had no debts or money difficulties that he knew of. He had been entrusted with similar missions in the past. Finally we were politely bowed out. “I am disappointed,” said Poirot, as we emerged into the street. “You hoped to discover more? They are such stodgy old men.” “It is not their stodginess which disappoints me, mon ami. I do not expect to find in a Bank manager a ‘keen financier with an eagle glance’ as your favourite works of fiction put it. No, I am disappointed in the case—it is too easy!” “Easy?” “Yes, do you not find it almost childishly simple?” “You know who stole the bonds?” “I do.” “But then—we must—why——” “Do not confuse and fluster yourself, Hastings. We are not going to do anything at present.” “But why? What are you waiting for?” “For the Olympia. She is due on her return trip from New York on Tuesday.” “But if you know who stole the bonds, why wait? He may escape.” “To a South Sea island where there is no extradition? No, mon ami, he would find life very uncongenial there. As to why I wait—eh bien to the intelligence of Hercule Poirot the case is perfectly clear, but for the benefit of others, not so greatly gifted by the good God—the Inspector McNeil, for instance—it would be as well to make a few inquiries to establish the facts. One must have consideration for those less gifted than oneself.” “Good Lord, Poirot! Do you know, I’d give a considerable sum of money to see you make a thorough ass of yourself—just for once. You’re so confoundedly conceited!” “Do not enrage yourself, Hastings. In verity, I observe that there are times when you almost detest me! Alas, I suffer the penalties of greatness!” The little man puffed out his chest, and sighed so comically that I was forced to laugh. Tuesday saw us speeding to Liverpool in a first-class carriage of the L. & N.W.R. Poirot had obstinately refused to enlighten me as to his suspicions—or certainties. He contented himself with expressing surprise that I, too, was not equally au fait with the situation. I disdained to argue, and entrenched my curiosity behind a rampart of pretended indifference. Once arrived at the quay alongside which lay the big transatlantic liner, Poirot became brisk and alert. Our proceedings consisted in interviewing four successive stewards and inquiring after a friend of Poirot’s who had crossed to New York on the 23rd. “An elderly gentleman, wearing glasses. A great invalid, hardly moved out of his cabin.” The description appeared to tally with one Mr. Ventnor who had occupied the cabin C 24 which was next to that of Philip Ridgeway. Although unable to see how Poirot had deduced Mr. Ventnor’s existence and personal appearance, I was keenly excited. “Tell me,” I cried, “was this gentleman one of the first to land when you got to New York?” The steward shook his head. “No, indeed, sir, he was one of the last off the boat.” I retired crestfallen, and observed Poirot grinning at me. He thanked the steward, a note changed hands, and we took our departure. “It’s all very well,” I remarked heatedly, “but that last answer must have damped your precious theory, grin as you please!” “As usual, you see nothing, Hastings. That last answer is, on the contrary, the coping-stone of my theory.” I flung up my hands in despair. “I give it up.” • • • • • • • When we were in the train, speeding towards London, Poirot wrote busily for a few minutes, sealing up the result in an envelope. “This is for the good Inspector McNeil. We will leave it at Scotland Yard in passing, and then to the Rendezvous Restaurant, where I have asked Miss Esmée Farquhar to do us the honour of dining with us.” “What about Ridgeway?” “What about him?” asked Poirot with a twinkle. “Why, you surely don’t think—you can’t——” “The habit of incoherence is growing upon you, Hastings. As a matter of fact I did think. If Ridgeway had been the thief—which was perfectly possible—the case would have been charming; a piece of neat methodical work.” “But not so charming for Miss Farquhar.” “Possibly you are right. Therefore all is for the best. Now, Hastings, let us review the case. I can see that you are dying to do so. The sealed package is removed from the trunk and vanishes, as Miss Farquhar puts it, into thin air. We will dismiss the thin air theory, which is not practicable at the present stage of science, and consider what is likely to have become of it. Every one asserts the incredibility of its being smuggled ashore——” “Yes, but we know——” “You may know, Hastings. I do not. I take the view that, since it seemed incredible, it was incredible. Two possibilities remain: it was hidden on board—also rather difficult—or it was thrown overboard.” “With a cork on it, do you mean?” “Without a cork.” I stared. “But if the bonds were thrown overboard, they couldn’t have been sold in New York.” “I admire your logical mind, Hastings. The bonds were sold in New York, therefore they were not thrown overboard. You see where that leads us?” “Where we were when we started.” “Jamais de la vie! If the package was thrown overboard, and the bonds were sold in New York, the package could not have contained the bonds. Is there any evidence that the package did contain the bonds? Remember, Mr. Ridgeway never opened it from the time it was placed in his hands in London.” “Yes, but then——” Poirot waved an impatient hand. “Permit me to continue. The last moment that the bonds are seen as bonds is in the office of the London and Scottish Bank on the morning of the 23rd. They reappear in New York half an hour after the Olympia gets in, and according to one man, whom nobody listens to, actually before she gets in. Supposing then, that they have never been on the Olympia at all? Is there any other way they could get to New York? Yes. The Gigantic leaves Southampton on the same day as the Olympia, and she holds the record for the Atlantic. Mailed by the Gigantic, the bonds would be in New York the day before the Olympia arrived. All is clear, the case begins to explain itself. The sealed packet is only a dummy, and the moment of its substitution must be in the office in the Bank. It would be an easy matter for any of the three men present to have prepared a duplicate package which could be substituted for the genuine one. Très bien, the bonds are mailed to a confederate in New York, with instructions to sell as soon as the Olympia is in, but some one must travel on the Olympia to engineer the supposed moment of the robbery.” “But why?” “Because if Ridgeway merely opens the packet and finds it a dummy, suspicion flies at once to London. No, the man on board in the cabin next door does his work, pretends to force the lock in an obvious manner so as to draw immediate attention to the theft, really unlocks the trunk with a duplicate key, throws the package overboard and waits until the last to leave the boat. Naturally he wears glasses to conceal his eyes, and is an invalid since he does not want to run the risk of meeting Ridgeway. He steps ashore in New York and returns by the first boat available.” “But who—which was he?” “The man who had a duplicate key, the man who ordered the lock, the man who has not been severely ill with bronchitis at his home in the country—enfin, that ‘stodgy’ old man, Mr. Shaw! There are criminals in high places sometimes, my friend. Ah, here we are. Mademoiselle, I have succeeded! You permit?” And, beaming, Poirot kissed the astonished girl lightly on either cheek! About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2020). Poirot Investigates. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/61262/pg61262-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

The Million Dollar Bond Robbery

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . URSULA’S STORY CHAPTER XXII. URSULA’S STORY For a moment or two the girl looked mutely at Poirot. Then, her reserve breaking down completely, she nodded her head once, and burst into an outburst of sobs. Caroline pushed past me, and putting her arm round the girl, patted her on the shoulder. “There, there, my dear,” she said soothingly, “it will be all right. You’ll see—everything will be all right.” Buried under curiosity and scandal-mongering there is a lot of kindness in Caroline. For the moment, even the interest of Poirot’s revelation was lost in the sight of the girl’s distress. Presently Ursula sat up and wiped her eyes. “This is very weak and silly of me,” she said. “No, no, my child,” said Poirot kindly. “We can all realize the strain of this last week.” “It must have been a terrible ordeal,” I said. “And then to find that you knew,” continued Ursula. “How did you know? Was it Ralph who told you?” Poirot shook his head. “You know what brought me to you to-night,” went on the girl. “ ——” This She held out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and I recognized the paragraph that Poirot had had inserted. “It says that Ralph has been arrested. So everything is useless. I need not pretend any longer.” “Newspaper paragraphs are not always true, mademoiselle,” murmured Poirot, having the grace to look ashamed of himself. “All the same, I think you will do well to make a clean breast of things. The truth is what we need now.” The girl hesitated, looking at him doubtfully. “You do not trust me,” said Poirot gently. “Yet all the same you came here to find me, did you not? Why was that?” “Because I don’t believe that Ralph did it,” said the girl in a very low voice. “And I think that you are clever, and will find out the truth. And also——” “Yes?” “I think you are kind.” Poirot nodded his head several times. “It is very good that—yes, it is very good. Listen, I do in verity believe that this husband of yours is innocent—but the affair marches badly. If I am to save him, I must know all there is to know—even if it should seem to make the case against him blacker than before.” “How well you understand,” said Ursula. “So you will tell me the whole story, will you not? From the beginning.” “You’re not going to send away, I hope,” said Caroline, settling herself comfortably in an arm-chair. “What I want to know,” she continued, “is why this child was masquerading as a parlormaid?” me “Masquerading?” I queried. “That’s what I said. Why did you do it, child? For a wager?” “For a living,” said Ursula dryly. And encouraged, she began the story which I reproduce here in my own words. Ursula Bourne, it seemed, was one of a family of seven—impoverished Irish gentlefolk. On the death of her father, most of the girls were cast out into the world to earn their own living. Ursula’s eldest sister was married to Captain Folliott. It was she whom I had seen that Sunday, and the cause of her embarrassment was clear enough now. Determined to earn her living and not attracted to the idea of being a nursery governess—the one profession open to an untrained girl, Ursula preferred the job of parlormaid. She scorned to label herself a “lady parlormaid.” She would be the real thing, her reference being supplied by her sister. At Fernly, despite an aloofness which, as has been seen, caused some comment, she was a success at her job—quick, competent, and thorough. “I enjoyed the work,” she explained. “And I had plenty of time to myself.” And then came her meeting with Ralph Paton, and the love affair which culminated in a secret marriage. Ralph had persuaded her into that, somewhat against her will. He had declared that his stepfather would not hear of his marrying a penniless girl. Better to be married secretly, and break the news to him at some later and more favorable minute. And so the deed was done, and Ursula Bourne became Ursula Paton. Ralph had declared that he meant to pay off his debts, find a job, and then, when he was in a position to support her, and independent of his adopted father, they would break the news to him. But to people like Ralph Paton, turning over a new leaf is easier in theory than in practice. He hoped that his stepfather, whilst still in ignorance of the marriage, might be persuaded to pay his debts and put him on his feet again. But the revelation of the amount of Ralph’s liabilities merely enraged Roger Ackroyd, and he refused to do anything at all. Some months passed, and then Ralph was bidden once more to Fernly. Roger Ackroyd did not beat about the bush. It was the desire of his heart that Ralph should marry Flora, and he put the matter plainly before the young man. And here it was that the innate weakness of Ralph Paton showed itself. As always, he grasped at the easy, the immediate solution. As far as I could make out, neither Flora nor Ralph made any pretence of love. It was, on both sides, a business arrangement. Roger Ackroyd dictated his wishes—they agreed to them. Flora accepted a chance of liberty, money, and an enlarged horizon, Ralph, of course, was playing a different game. But he was in a very awkward hole financially. He seized at the chance. His debts would be paid. He could start again with a clean sheet. His was not a nature to envisage the future, but I gather that he saw vaguely the engagement with Flora being broken off after a decent interval had elapsed. Both Flora and he stipulated that it should be kept a secret for the present. He was anxious to conceal it from Ursula. He felt instinctively that her nature, strong and resolute, with an inherent distaste for duplicity, was not one to welcome such a course. Then came the crucial moment when Roger Ackroyd, always high-handed, decided to announce the engagement. He said no word of his intention to Ralph—only to Flora, and Flora, apathetic, raised no objection. On Ursula, the news fell like a bombshell. Summoned by her, Ralph came hurriedly down from town. They met in the wood, where part of their conversation was overheard by my sister. Ralph implored her to keep silent for a little while longer, Ursula was equally determined to have done with concealments. She would tell Mr. Ackroyd the truth without any further delay. Husband and wife parted acrimoniously. Ursula, steadfast in her purpose, sought an interview with Roger Ackroyd that very afternoon, and revealed the truth to him. Their interview was a stormy one—it might have been even more stormy had not Roger Ackroyd been already obsessed with his own troubles. It was bad enough, however. Ackroyd was not the kind of man to forgive the deceit that had been practiced upon him. His rancor was mainly directed to Ralph, but Ursula came in for her share, since he regarded her as a girl who had deliberately tried to “entrap” the adopted son of a very wealthy man. Unforgivable things were said on both sides. That same evening Ursula met Ralph by appointment in the small summer-house, stealing out from the house by the side door in order to do so. Their interview was made up of reproaches on both sides. Ralph charged Ursula with having irretrievably ruined his prospects by her ill-timed revelation. Ursula reproached Ralph with his duplicity. They parted at last. A little over half an hour later came the discovery of Roger Ackroyd’s body. Since that night Ursula had neither seen nor heard from Ralph. As the story unfolded itself, I realized more and more what a damning series of facts it was. Alive, Ackroyd could hardly have failed to alter his will—I knew him well enough to realize that to do so would be his first thought. His death came in the nick of time for Ralph and Ursula Paton. Small wonder the girl had held her tongue, and played her part so consistently. My meditations were interrupted. It was Poirot’s voice speaking, and I knew from the gravity of his tone that he, too, was fully alive to the implications of the position. “Mademoiselle, I must ask you one question, and you must answer it truthfully, for on it everything may hang: What time was it when you parted from Captain Ralph Paton in the summer-house? Now, take a little minute so that your answer may be very exact.” The girl gave a half laugh, bitter enough in all conscience. “Do you think I haven’t gone over that again and again in my own mind? It was just half-past nine when I went out to meet him. Major Blunt was walking up and down the terrace, so I had to go round through the bushes to avoid him. It must have been about twenty-seven minutes to ten when I reached the summer-house. Ralph was waiting for me. I was with him ten minutes—not longer, for it was just a quarter to ten when I got back to the house.” I saw now the insistence of her question the other day. If only Ackroyd could have been proved to have been killed before a quarter to ten, and not after. I saw the reflection of that thought in Poirot’s next question. “Who left the summer-house first?” “I did.” “Leaving Ralph Paton in the summer-house?” “Yes—but you don’t think——” “Mademoiselle, it is of no importance what I think. What did you do when you got back to the house?” “I went up to my room.” “And stayed there until when?” “Until about ten o’clock.” “Is there any one who can prove that?” “Prove? That I was in my room, you mean? Oh! no. But surely—oh! I see, they might think—they might think——” I saw the dawning horror in her eyes. Poirot finished the sentence for her. “That it was who entered by the window and stabbed Mr. Ackroyd as he sat in his chair? Yes, they might think just that.” you “Nobody but a fool would think any such thing,” said Caroline indignantly. She patted Ursula on the shoulder. The girl had her face hidden in her hands. “Horrible,” she was murmuring. “Horrible.” Caroline gave her a friendly shake. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “M. Poirot doesn’t think that really. As for that husband of yours, I don’t think much of him, and I tell you so candidly. Running away and leaving you to face the music.” But Ursula shook her head energetically. “Oh, no,” she cried. “It wasn’t like that at all. Ralph would not run away on his own account. I see now. If he heard of his stepfather’s murder, he might think himself that I had done it.” “He wouldn’t think any such thing,” said Caroline. “I was so cruel to him that night—so hard and bitter. I wouldn’t listen to what he was trying to say—wouldn’t believe that he really cared. I just stood there telling him what I thought of him, and saying the coldest, cruelest things that came into my mind—trying my best to hurt him.” “Do him no harm,” said Caroline. “Never worry about what you say to a man. They’re so conceited that they never believe you mean it if it’s unflattering.” Ursula went on, nervously twisting and untwisting her hands. “When the murder was discovered and he didn’t come forward, I was terribly upset. Just for a moment I wondered—but then I knew he couldn’t—he couldn’t.... But I wished he would come forward and say openly that he’d had nothing to do with it. I knew that he was very fond of Dr. Sheppard, and I fancied that perhaps Dr. Sheppard might know where he was hiding.” She turned to me. “That’s why I said what I did to you that day. I thought, if you knew where he was, you might pass on the message to him.” “I?” I exclaimed. “Why should James know where he was?” demanded Caroline sharply. “It was very unlikely, I know,” admitted Ursula, “but Ralph had often spoken of Dr. Sheppard, and I knew that he would be likely to consider him as his best friend in King’s Abbot.” “My dear child,” I said, “I have not the least idea where Ralph Paton is at the present moment.” “That is true enough,” said Poirot. “But——” Ursula held out the newspaper cutting in a puzzled fashion. “Ah! that,” said Poirot, slightly embarrassed; “a bagatelle, mademoiselle. A rien du tout. Not for a moment do I believe that Ralph Paton has been arrested.” “But then——” began the girl slowly. Poirot went on quickly:— “There is one thing I should like to know—did Captain Paton wear shoes or boots that night?” Ursula shook her head. “I can’t remember.” “A pity! But how should you? Now, madame,” he smiled at her, his head on one side, his forefinger wagging eloquently, “no questions. And do not torment yourself. Be of good courage, and place your faith in Hercule Poirot.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2006). The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/69087/pg69087-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

URSULA’S STORY

The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . PROPHECIES CHAPTER XXX. PROPHECIES “Here’s a letter for you from father,” said Felix, tossing it to me as he came through the orchard gate. We had been picking apples all day, but were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the well, with a cup of its sparkling cold water to refresh us. I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all his excellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his letters were usually very brief and very unimportant. This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message of weighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had read it until Felix exclaimed, “Bev, what’s the matter with you? What’s in that letter?” “Father is coming home,” I said dazedly. “He is to leave South America in a fortnight and will be here in November to take us back to Toronto.” Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which aggravated me unreasonably. “Well,” said Felix, when he got his second wind, “I’ll be awful glad to see father again, but I tell you I don’t like the thought of leaving here.” I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray’s tears, admit it I would not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues wagged. “If I were not going away myself I’d feel just terrible,” said the Story Girl. “Even as it is I’m real sorry. I’d like to be able to think of you as all here together when I’m gone, having good times and writing me about them.” “It’ll be awfully dull when you fellows go,” muttered Dan. “I’m sure I don’t know what we’re ever going to do here this winter,” said Felicity, with the calmness of despair. “Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back,” breathed Cecily with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in the midst of our dismay. We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not until we assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits recovered something like their wonted level. It was clear and slightly frosty; the sun had declined behind a birch on a distant hill and it seemed a tree with a blazing heart of fire. The great golden willow at the lane gate was laughter-shaken in the wind of evening. Even amid all the changes of our shifting world we could not be hopelessly low-spirited—except Sara Ray, who was often so, and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had been sorely vexed in spirit for several days. The time was approaching for the October issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction ready for it. He had taken so much to heart Felicity’s taunt that his stories were all true that he had determined to have a really-truly false one in the next number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to write it. He had asked the Story Girl to do it, but she refused; then he appealed to me and I shirked. Finally Peter determined to write a story himself. “It oughtn’t to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed that,” he said dolefully. He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest of us forebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently disliked talking about his literary efforts. But this evening I had to ask him if he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make up the paper. “It’s done,” said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. “It don’t amount to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not one word of it was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say there was.” “Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I’ll have Our Magazine ready to read by tomorrow night,” I said. “I s’pose it will be the last one we’ll have,” sighed Cecily. “We can’t carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun.” “Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day,” declared the Story Girl, on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that night. She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson shawl wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with roguish fire. “How do you know he will?” asked Felicity. “Oh, I can tell futures,” answered the Story Girl mysteriously. “I know what’s going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?” “Do, just for the fun of it,” I said. “Then some day we’ll know just how near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?” “You’ll write books, too, and travel all over the world,” continued the Story Girl. “Felix will be fat to the end of his life, and he will be a grandfather before he is fifty, and he will wear a long black beard.” “I won’t,” cried Felix disgustedly. “I hate whiskers. Maybe I can’t help the grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard.” “You can’t. It’s written in the stars.” “‘Tain’t. The stars can’t prevent me from shaving.” “Won’t Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?” reflected Felicity. “Peter will be a minister,” went on the Story Girl. “Well, I might be something worse,” remarked Peter, in a not ungratified tone. “Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with K and he will have eleven children. And he’ll vote Grit.” “I won’t,” cried scandalized Dan. “You don’t know a thing about it. Catch ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it—I don’t care. Farming’s well enough, though I’d rather be a sailor.” “Don’t talk such nonsense,” protested Felicity sharply. “What on earth do you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?” “All sailors aren’t drowned,” said Dan. “Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen.” “You ain’t sure he was drowned.” “Well, he disappeared, and that is worse.” “How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy.” “It’s not very easy for your family.” “Hush, let’s hear the rest of the predictions,” said Cecily. “Felicity,” resumed the Story Girl gravely, “will marry a minister.” Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to look too self-consciously delighted. “She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School class and be very happy all her life.” “Will her husband be happy?” queried Dan solemnly. “I guess he’ll be as happy as your wife,” retorted Felicity reddening. “He’ll be the happiest man in the world,” declared Peter warmly. “What about me?” asked Sara Ray. The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine Sara Ray as having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly anxious to have her fortune told and must be gratified. “You’ll be married,” said the Story Girl recklessly, “and you’ll live to be nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of funerals and have a great many sick spells. You will learn not to cry after you are seventy; but your husband will never go to church.” “I’m glad you warned me,” said Sara Ray solemnly, “because now I know I’ll make him promise before I marry him that he will go.” “He won’t keep the promise,” said the Story Girl, shaking her head. “But it is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go in.” “You haven’t told my fortune,” protested Cecily disappointedly. The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily—at the smooth little brown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that were often over-rosy after slight exertion, at the little sunburned hands that were always busy doing faithful work or quiet kindnesses. A very strange look came over the Story Girl’s face; her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, as if of a verity they pierced beyond the mists of hidden years. “I couldn’t tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest,” she said, slipping her arm round Cecily. “You deserve everything good and lovely. But you know I’ve only been in fun—of course I don’t know anything about what’s going to happen to us.” “Perhaps you know more than you think for,” said Sara Ray, who seemed much pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, despite the husband who wouldn’t go to church. “But I’d like to be told my fortune, even in fun,” persisted Cecily. “Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live.” said the Story Girl. “There that’s the very nicest fortune I can tell you, and it will come true whether the others do or not, and now we must go in.” We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I often wondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that night. Did some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment across her mirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience that there was no earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her were to be the lengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end was to come while the rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, ere a single petal had fallen from her rose of joy. Long life was before all the others who trysted that night in the old homestead orchard; but Cecily’s maiden feet were never to leave the golden road. 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. L. M. Montgomery (2008). The Golden Road. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/316/pg316-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

THE PROPHECIES

My youthful meditations owe some happy moments

THE CAPRICORN

Father Zossima And His Visitors

THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMEN IN RELATION TO ROMANTIC LOVE

A DISCOURSE

The Outlaw of Torn by Edgar Rice Burroughs is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Chapter VIII The Outlaw of Torn Chapter VIII As Norman of Torn rode out from the castle of De Stutevill, Father Claude dismounted from his sleek donkey within the ballium of Torn. The austere stronghold, notwithstanding its repellent exterior and unsavory reputation, always extended a warm welcome to the kindly, genial priest; not alone because of the deep friendship which the master of Torn felt for the good father, but through the personal charm, and lovableness of the holy man’s nature, which shone alike on saint and sinner. It was doubtless due to his unremitting labors with the youthful Norman, during the period that the boy’s character was most amenable to strong impressions, that the policy of the mighty outlaw was in many respects pure and lofty. It was this same influence, though, which won for Father Claude his only enemy in Torn; the little, grim, gray, old man whose sole aim in life seemed to have been to smother every finer instinct of chivalry and manhood in the boy, to whose training he had devoted the past nineteen years of his life. As Father Claude climbed down from his donkey—fat people do not “dismount”—a half dozen young squires ran forward to assist him, and to lead the animal to the stables. The good priest called each of his willing helpers by name, asking a question here, passing a merry joke there with the ease and familiarity that bespoke mutual affection and old acquaintance. As he passed in through the great gate, the men-at-arms threw him laughing, though respectful, welcomes and within the great court, beautified with smooth lawn, beds of gorgeous plants, fountains, statues and small shrubs and bushes, he came upon the giant, Red Shandy, now the principal lieutenant of Norman of Torn. “Good morrow, Saint Claude!” cried the burly ruffian. “Hast come to save our souls, or damn us? What manner of sacrilege have we committed now, or have we merited the blessings of Holy Church? Dost come to scold, or praise?” “Neither, thou unregenerate villain,” cried the priest, laughing. “Though methinks ye merit chiding for the grievous poor courtesy with which thou didst treat the great Bishop of Norwich the past week.” “Tut, tut, Father,” replied Red Shandy. “We did but aid him to adhere more closely to the injunctions and precepts of Him whose servant and disciple he claims to be. Were it not better for an Archbishop of His Church to walk in humility and poverty among His people, than to be ever surrounded with the temptations of fine clothing, jewels and much gold, to say nothing of two sumpter beasts heavy laden with runlets of wine?” “I warrant his temptations were less by at least as many runlets of wine as may be borne by two sumpter beasts when thou, red robber, had finished with him,” exclaimed Father Claude. “Yes, Father,” laughed the great fellow, “for the sake of Holy Church, I did indeed confiscate that temptation completely, and if you must needs have proof in order to absolve me from my sins, come with me now and you shall sample the excellent discrimination which the Bishop of Norwich displays in the selection of his temptations.” “They tell me you left the great man quite destitute of finery, Red Shandy,” continued Father Claude, as he locked his arm in that of the outlaw and proceeded toward the castle. “One garment was all that Norman of Torn would permit him, and as the sun was hot overhead, he selected for the Bishop a bassinet for that single article of apparel, to protect his tonsured pate from the rays of old sol. Then, fearing that it might be stolen from him by some vandals of the road, he had One Eye Kanty rivet it at each side of the gorget so that it could not be removed by other than a smithy, and thus, strapped face to tail upon a donkey, he sent the great Bishop of Norwich rattling down the dusty road with his head, at least, protected from the idle gaze of whomsoever he might chance to meet. Forty stripes he gave to each of the Bishop’s retinue for being abroad in bad company; but come, here we are where you shall have the wine as proof of my tale.” As the two sat sipping the Bishop’s good Canary, the little old man of Torn entered. He spoke to Father Claude in a surly tone, asking him if he knew aught of the whereabouts of Norman of Torn. “We have seen nothing of him since, some three days gone, he rode out in the direction of your cottage,” he concluded. “Why, yes,” said the priest, “I saw him that day. He had an adventure with several knights from the castle of Peter of Colfax, from whom he rescued a damsel whom I suspect from the trappings of her palfrey to be of the house of Montfort. Together they rode north, but thy son did not say whither or for what purpose. His only remark, as he donned his armor, while the girl waited without, was that I should now behold the falcon guarding the dove. Has he not returned?” “No,” said the old man, “and doubtless his adventure is of a nature in line with thy puerile and effeminate teachings. Had he followed my training, without thy accurst priestly interference, he had made an iron-barred nest in Torn for many of the doves of thy damned English nobility. An’ thou leave him not alone, he will soon be seeking service in the household of the King.” “Where, perchance, he might be more at home than here,” said the priest quietly. “Why say you that?” snapped the little old man, eyeing Father Claude narrowly. “Oh,” laughed the priest, “because he whose power and mien be even more kingly than the King’s would rightly grace the royal palace,” but he had not failed to note the perturbation his remark had caused, nor did his off-hand reply entirely deceive the old man. At this juncture, a squire entered to say that Shandy’s presence was required at the gates, and that worthy, with a sorrowing and regretful glance at the unemptied flagon, left the room. For a few moments, the two men sat in meditative silence, which was presently broken by the old man of Torn. “Priest,” he said, “thy ways with my son are, as you know, not to my liking. It were needless that he should have wasted so much precious time from swordplay to learn the useless art of letters. Of what benefit may a knowledge of Latin be to one whose doom looms large before him. It may be years and again it may be but months, but as sure as there be a devil in hell, Norman of Torn will swing from a king’s gibbet. And thou knowst it, and he too, as well as I. The things which thou hast taught him be above his station, and the hopes and ambitions they inspire will but make his end the bitterer for him. Of late I have noted that he rides upon the highway with less enthusiasm than was his wont, but he has gone too far ever to go back now; nor is there where to go back to. What has he ever been other than outcast and outlaw? What hopes could you have engendered in his breast greater than to be hated and feared among his blood enemies?” “I know not thy reasons, old man,” replied the priest, “for devoting thy life to the ruining of his, and what I guess at be such as I dare not voice; but let us understand each other once and for all. For all thou dost and hast done to blight and curse the nobleness of his nature, I have done and shall continue to do all in my power to controvert. As thou hast been his bad angel, so shall I try to be his good angel, and when all is said and done and Norman of Torn swings from the King’s gibbet, as I only too well fear he must, there will be more to mourn his loss than there be to curse him. “His friends are from the ranks of the lowly, but so too were the friends and followers of our Dear Lord Jesus; so that shall be more greatly to his honor than had he preyed upon the already unfortunate. “Women have never been his prey; that also will be spoken of to his honor when he is gone, and that he has been cruel to men will be forgotten in the greater glory of his mercy to the weak. “Whatever be thy object: whether revenge or the natural bent of a cruel and degraded mind, I know not; but if any be curst because of the Outlaw of Torn, it will be thou—I had almost said, unnatural father; but I do not believe a single drop of thy debased blood flows in the veins of him thou callest son.” The grim old man of Torn had sat motionless throughout this indictment, his face, somewhat pale, was drawn into lines of malevolent hatred and rage, but he permitted Father Claude to finish without interruption. “Thou hast made thyself and thy opinions quite clear,” he said bitterly, “but I be glad to know just how thou standeth. In the past there has been peace between us, though no love; now let us both understand that it be war and hate. My life work is cut out for me. Others, like thyself, have stood in my path, yet today I am here, but where are they? Dost understand me, priest?” And the old man leaned far across the table so that his eyes, burning with an insane fire of venom, blazed but a few inches from those of the priest. Father Claude returned the look with calm level gaze. “I understand,” he said, and, rising, left the castle. Shortly after he had reached his cottage, a loud knock sounded at the door, which immediately swung open without waiting the formality of permission. Father Claude looked up to see the tall figure of Norman of Torn, and his face lighted with a pleased smile of welcome. “Greetings, my son,” said the priest. “And to thee, Father,” replied the outlaw. “And what may be the news of Torn. I have been absent for several days. Is all well at the castle?” “All be well at the castle,” replied Father Claude, “if by that you mean have none been captured or hanged for their murders. Ah, my boy, why wilt thou not give up this wicked life of thine? It has never been my way to scold or chide thee, yet always has my heart ached for each crime laid at the door of Norman of Torn.” “Come, come, Father,” replied the outlaw, “what do I that I have not good example for from the barons, and the King, and Holy Church. Murder, theft, rapine! Passeth a day over England which sees not one or all perpetrated in the name of some of these? “Be it wicked for Norman of Torn to prey upon the wolf, yet righteous for the wolf to tear the sheep? Methinks not. Only do I collect from those who have more than they need, from my natural enemies; while they prey upon those who have naught. “Yet,” and his manner suddenly changed, “I do not love it, Father. That thou know. I would that there might be some way out of it, but there is none. “If I told you why I wished it, you would be surprised indeed, nor can I myself understand; but, of a verity, my greatest wish to be out of this life is due to the fact that I crave the association of those very enemies I have been taught to hate. But it is too late, Father, there can be but one end and that the lower end of a hempen rope.” “No, my son, there is another way, an honorable way,” replied the good Father. “In some foreign clime there be opportunities abundant for such as thee. France offers a magnificent future to such a soldier as Norman of Torn. In the court of Louis, you would take your place among the highest of the land. You be rich and brave and handsome. Nay do not raise your hand. You be all these and more, for you have learning far beyond the majority of nobles, and you have a good heart and a true chivalry of character. With such wondrous gifts, naught could bar your way to the highest pinnacles of power and glory, while here you have no future beyond the halter. Canst thou hesitate, Norman of Torn?” The young man stood silent for a moment, then he drew his hand across his eyes as though to brush away a vision. “There be a reason, Father, why I must remain in England for a time at least, though the picture you put is indeed wondrous alluring.” And the reason was Bertrade de Montfort. 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 (1995). The Outlaw of Torn. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/369/pg369-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 .

Stories, News & Mentions about VERITY

Verity’s Stories on HackerNoon

Verity's News & Mentions