The Luminaries

management of public funds is of paramount importance given that this undeveloped region of our province is so rich in gold and therefore so sadly prey to the primitive temptations of corruption.
    I maintain a high regard for Mr. Shepherd’s intentions, &c., in the instigation of this project, as I am sure he acts in the interests of the common settler and with due respect for colonial law. I beg only to restate my belief that all private endorsements of public works must be made transparent for the benefit of all, and to assure you, Sir, and all of the province of Westland that I am
    Yours, &c.,
    Mr. ALISTAIR LAUDERBACK, PROVINCIAL COUNCILMAN, M.P.
    He sat back and read the document through aloud, and in ringing tones, as if in rehearsal for an important public address; then, satisfied, he folded the paper, slid it into an envelope, and addressed the envelope to the editor of the
West Coast Times
, marking it asboth ‘to be read upon receipt’, and ‘urgent’. When the thing was sealed he reached into his vest, and checked the time: it was almost two o’clock. If Augustus Smith rode direct for Hokitika now, he could reach Löwenthal before the Monday morning edition of the
Times
had gone to proof. Better sooner than later, Lauderback thought, and went in search of his aide.

MERCURY IN CAPRICORN
    In which Gascoigne repeats his theories, and Moody speaks of death.
    Walter Moody was finishing his luncheon at Maxwell’s dining hall when he received a message that the cargo of the
Godspeed
had at last been cleared, and his trunk had been delivered to his room at the Crown Hotel.
    ‘Well!’ he exclaimed, as he passed the messenger a twopenny bit, and the boy scampered away. ‘That puts paid to my so-called apparition at last—does it not? If Emery Staines
was
on board, they would have surely found his corpse among the cargo.’
    ‘I doubt it would have been so neat as all that,’ said Gascoigne.
    ‘You mean his corpse might not have been reported?’
    ‘I mean his corpse might not have been found,’ Gascoigne said. ‘A man—even an injured man—could fight his way towards a hatch … and the wreck was not entirely submerged. I think it far more likely that he was swept away.’
    Over the past three weeks Moody had struck up a very cordial acquaintance with Aubert Gascoigne, having discovered that the latter’s character improved very much in successive interviews—for Gascoigne was very skilled at adapting himself to every kind of social situation, and could court another man’s favour with great success if only he put his mind to the task. Gascoigne had determined that he would befriend Moody with a force of ambitionthat, if known, might have caused the latter some alarm; as it was, however, Moody thought him a very sophisticated personage, and was pleased to have an intellectual equal with whom he could comfortably converse. They took luncheon together nearly every day, and smoked cigars at the Star and Garter in the evenings, where they played partners at whist.
    ‘You are persisting with your original theory,’ Moody observed. ‘Jetsam, not flotsam.’
    ‘Either that, or his remains have been destroyed,’ Gascoigne said. ‘Perhaps he called to be rescued, only to be killed, tied to something heavy, and then dropped into the sea. Carver has rowed out to the wreck a fair few times, as you know—and there has been ample opportunity for drowning.’
    ‘That is also possible,’ Moody said, folding the delivered message into halves, and then quarters, and running his thumbnail along each fold. ‘But the problem remains that we cannot know for certain one way or another, and if you are right that Staines
has
drowned, whether by chance or by design, then we shall never know at all. What a poor crime this is—when we have no body, and no murderer!’
    ‘It is a very poor crime,’ Gascoigne agreed.
    ‘And we are very poor detectives,’ Moody said, meaning this as a closing statement of a kind, but Gascoigne was reaching for the gravy boat, and showed no sign at all of wishing to conclude their discussion.
    ‘I dare say we shall feel excessively foolish,’ he said, pouring gravy over the remainder of his meal, ‘when Staines is found in the bottom of a gully, with a broken neck, and not a sign of harm upon him.’
    Moody pushed his knife a little closer to his fork. ‘I am afraid that we all rather
want
Mr. Staines to have been murdered—even you and I, who have never met the man in our