The Luminaries

said,
    ‘Who has your loyalty?’
    ‘I am not sure I understand the question,’ Gascoigne said. ‘You wish me to make a list of my friends?’
    Mannering glared at him. ‘Here’s my question,’ he said. ‘Does Anna have your loyalty?’
    ‘Yes,’ Gascoigne said. ‘Up to a point, of course.’ He sat down in his striped wingback armchair, but made no gesture to offer his guest a seat.
    Mannering locked his hands behind his back. ‘So if you knew that she was mixed up in something, you wouldn’t tell me.’
    ‘Well, it would depend on the situation, of course,’ Gascoigne said. ‘What kind of “something” are you talking about?’
    ‘Are you lying on her behalf?’
    ‘I agreed to conceal a pile of money on her behalf,’ Gascoigne said. ‘I hid it underneath my bed. But you already know all about that. So I suppose the answer is no.’
    ‘Why does she have your loyalty? Up to a point?’
    Gascoigne’s wrists were limp upon the armrests; he had arranged himself casually, like a king in a throne. He explained that he had cared for Anna when she was released from gaol two weeks prior, and had thereafter courted her friendship. He pitied her, for he believed that someone was using her for ill, but he could not say that he enjoyed any special intimacy with her, and had never paid to enjoy her company. The black dress, he added, had belonged to his late wife. He had given it to the whore as a gesture of charity, for her whoring gown had been ruined during her sojourn in gaol. He had not expected that she would enter a period of mourning, upon acquiring the dress, and in truth had been rather disappointed by this eventuation, for he thought her a very fine specimen of her sex, and would have very much liked to have taken his pleasure in the conventional way.
    ‘Your story doesn’t account for that gold underneath your bed,’ Mannering said.
    Gascoigne shrugged. He felt too tired, and too angry, to lie. ‘The morning after Crosbie Wells died,’ he said, ‘Anna woke up in gaol with a great quantity of gold stashed about her person. The metal had been sewn around her corset. She had no idea how she had come to be in possession of such a sum, and was, naturally, quite frightened. She requested my help. I thought it best to hide it, for we did not know who had hidden the gold on her body, or for what purpose. We have not yet had it valued, but I would hazard its total worth at well over a hundred pounds—and in all likelihood, a great deal more. That, Mr. Mannering, is the whole truth—at least as far as
I
am concerned.’
    Mannering was quiet. This explanation did not make any sense to him at all.
    ‘I must say,’ Gascoigne added, ‘you do me a great disservice by assuming my guilt before you have queried me on the subject of my innocence. I resent very much that you have trespassed upon my time and my privacy in such a belligerent way.’
    ‘You can leave off with that kind of talk,’ Mannering said. ‘Belligerent! Have I pointed a firearm in your face? Have I threatened you with violence?’
    ‘You have not—and yet I would be happier if you were to take off your belt.’
    ‘Take it off?’ Mannering looked contemptuous. ‘And lay it down in the middle of the table, I suppose—with each of us an equal distance away—until you make a move for it, and I’m too slow! I won’t fall for it: I’ve seen
that
trick before.’
    ‘Then I will make another request,’ Gascoigne said. ‘I request that your presence in my house is of as short a duration as possible. If you have further questions, you ought to make them now—but I have told you everything I know about that gold.’
    ‘Listen,’ Mannering said firmly. (He was rather bewildered that he had so swiftly lost the upper hand.) ‘I didn’t mean for us to start on the wrong foot.’
    ‘Certainly you meant it,’ said Gascoigne. ‘Perhaps now you regret it, but you meant it.’
    Mannering swore. ‘I don’t regret anything!’ he cried. ‘I don’t regret anything at all!’
    ‘That accounts for your serenity.’
    ‘Let me tell you something,’ Mannering said—but he was prevented from saying anything further: just at that moment came a smart rap upon the door.
    Gascoigne stood immediately. Mannering, who looked suddenly alarmed, stepped back several paces and withdrew one of his pistols from its holster. He held it against his thigh, to conceal it from view, and nodded for Gascoigne to lift the latch.
    On the threshold,