The Luminaries

second time. I should have been very sorry to lose any man’s custom through an error of my own.’
    Again Carver said nothing. He had not removed his hat, and made no move to do so.
    But the newspaperman was not intimidated by Carver’s insolence . Smiling very brightly, he said, ‘But let us not talk of former days, Mr. Wells; let us talk of today! You must tell me what I can do for you.’
    A flash of irritation darkened Carver’s face at last. ‘Carver,’ he corrected. ‘My name’s not Wells.’
    Satisfied, Löwenthal folded his hands. The first two fingers of his right hand were stained very darkly with ink, which created a curiously striped effect when he laced his fingers together—as though his two hands belonged to two different creatures, one black, the other fawn.
    ‘Perhaps my memory is faulty,’ he said, ‘but I feel I do recall you very vividly. You were here nearly a year ago, were you not? You had a birth certificate. You placed an advertisement about a missing shipping crate—for which you were offering some kind of a reward. There was some confusion regarding your name, I remember. I made a mistake in the printing—omitting your middle name—and you returned the following morning, to identify the error. I believe your birth certificate was made out as Crosbie Francis Wells. But please—have I mistaken you for another man?’
    Again Carver did not reply.
    ‘I have always been told,’ Löwenthal added after a moment, ‘that I have a remarkably good memory.’
    He was taking a risk, in speaking impertinently … but perhaps Carver would be drawn. Löwenthal’s expression remained pleasantly impassive. He waited for the other man to speak.
    Löwenthal knew that Carver was lodging at the Palace Hotel, from which place he conducted the unhappy business of arranging for the wreck of the
Godspeed
to be hauled ashore. This was a project that would surely have been undertaken slyly, and with much restriction, had Carver been taking pains to conceal a murdered man aboard the foundered ship. But by all reports—including that of the shipping agent, Thomas Balfour—Carver had been mostforthcoming in his business. He had submitted a cargo inventory to the Harbourmaster; he had met with delegates from each of Hokitika’s shipping firms, in order to settle their accounts; and he had several times rowed out to the wreck himself, in the company of shipwrights, salvage vendors, and the like.
    ‘My name’s not Wells,’ Carver said at last. ‘That was on behalf of someone else. It doesn’t matter now.’
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ Löwenthal said smoothly. ‘So Mr. Crosbie Wells had lost a shipping crate—and you were helping him retrieve it.’
    A pause, then, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well then, I do hope you were successful in that project! I trust the crate was eventually returned to him?’
    Carver jerked his head in annoyance. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I told you.’
    ‘But I would be remiss,’ Löwenthal said, ‘if I did not offer my condolences to you, Mr. Carver.’
    Carver studied him.
    ‘I was very saddened to learn of Mr. Wells’s death,’ Löwenthal continued. ‘I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but by all accounts he was a decent citizen. Oh—I do hope I’m not the man to break the news to you—that your acquaintance is deceased.’
    ‘No,’ Carver said again.
    ‘I am glad of that. How did you know one another?’
    The flash of irritation returned. ‘Old friends.’
    ‘From Dunedin, perhaps? Or further back?’
    Carver did not look inclined to answer this, so Löwenthal went on, ‘Well, I expect it must be a great comfort to you, to know that he died peacefully.’
    Carver’s mouth twisted. After a moment he burst out, ‘What’s
peaceful
?’
    ‘To die in our sleep—in our own homes? I dare say it is the best that any of us can hope for.’ Löwenthal felt that he had gained some ground. He added, ‘Though it was a great pity his wife was not present at his passing.’
    Carver shrugged. Whatever sudden fire had prompted his lastoutburst had been smothered just as suddenly. ‘A marriage is a man’s own business,’ he said.
    ‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ Löwenthal said. He smiled. ‘Are you at all acquainted with Mrs. Wells?’
    Carver made an inscrutable noise.
    ‘I have had the pleasure of meeting her, but only briefly,’ Löwenthal went on, undeterred. ‘I had intended to go along to the Wayfarer’s Fortune this evening—as a