The Luminaries

formal reply.’
    Nilssen tried again. ‘May I read it?’
    ‘You may read it to-morrow in the paper, along with every other man in Westland.’ Shepard uttered the phrase with a dangerous emphasis.
    ‘All right,’ Nilssen said. He withdrew his hand. ‘I take your meaning.’
    Shepard paused before adding, ‘Unless, of course, there’s something that you’d like to tell me.’
    In a voice of loathsome dejection, Nilssen said, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Yes—there’s something.’
    Poor Harald Nilssen! Thinking that he might regain the gaoler’strust by means of a second transgression, as though by committing a second disloyalty, he might reverse the fact of the first! He had conceded in a panic—for it crushed Nilssen’s spirit to be held in low esteem by other men. He could not bear to know that he was disliked, for to him there was no real difference between being disliked , and being dislikeable; every injury he sustained was an injury to his very selfhood. It was for reasons of self-protection that Nilssen dressed in the latest fashions, and spoke with affectation, and placed himself as the central character of every tale: he built his persona as a shield around his person, because he knew very well how little his person could withstand.
    ‘Pray continue,’ Shepard said.
    ‘It’s about—’ (Nilssen cast about wildly) ‘—Mrs. Wells.’
    ‘Indeed,’ Shepard said. ‘How so?’
    ‘She was Lauderback’s mistress.’
    Shepard raised his eyebrows. ‘Alistair Lauderback was cuckolding Crosbie Wells?’
    Nilssen thought about it. ‘Yes, I suppose he was. Well, it would depend on when Crosbie and Lydia got married, of course.’
    ‘Go on,’ Shepard said.
    ‘The thing is—the thing is—he was blackmailed—Lauderback, I mean—and Crosbie Wells took home the ransom. That’s the fortune , you see—in Crosbie’s cottage.’
    ‘How did this blackmail happen? And how do you know about it?’
    Nilssen hesitated. He did not trust the gaoler’s expression, which had suddenly become very greedy and intense.
    ‘How do you know about it?’ Shepard demanded.
    ‘Somebody told me.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Mr. Staines,’ said Nilssen—settling upon the man to whom he could do the least damage, in the short term at least.
    ‘Was he the blackmailer—Staines?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Nilssen, momentarily confused. ‘I mean, yes, maybe.’
    ‘Are you with him, or against him?’
    ‘I—I don’t know.’
    Shepard looked annoyed. ‘What have you got on him, then?’ he said. ‘You must have something on the man, if you’re not sure about your allegiance.’
    ‘There was a deed of gift,’ Nilssen said miserably. ‘In Crosbie Wells’s stove—partly burned, as though someone tried to destroy it. The chaplain found it. When he went to the cottage to collect the body, the day after his death. He didn’t tell you about it; he kept it for himself. He didn’t tell Dr. Gillies either.’
    Shepard betrayed no flicker of emotion at all. ‘What kind of a deed of gift?’
    Nilssen briefly detailed the particulars of the contract. He kept his eyes upon a spot some three feet to the left of the gaoler’s face, and squinted oddly—for a bubble of despair was growing in his chest, pushing out against his breastbone. He had meant to reassure the gaoler of his loyalty by betraying this secret; now he saw that he had only confirmed his disloyalty, and his worthlessness. And yet—despite his misery—there was something terribly relieving about speaking of the Crown conspiracy aloud. He felt that a great weight was being lifted off his shoulders, just as he felt that a terrible weightlessness was settling in its place. He glanced at the gaoler quickly, and then away.
    ‘Is Devlin your man?’ Shepard said. ‘Did you tell Devlin about this investment—and did he tell Lauderback?’
    ‘Yes,’ Nilssen said. ‘That’s right.’ (What kind of wretched man was he—to accuse a
clergyman
? But of course it was only half a lie … and better to accuse one man than all twelve.) ‘I mean,’ he added, ‘I only suppose he told Lauderback. I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to Lauderback about anything at all—as I told you.’
    ‘So Devlin is Lauderback’s man,’ Shepard said.
    ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Nilssen. ‘I don’t know about that at all.’
    Shepard nodded. ‘Well, Mr. Nilssen,’ he said, rising from the table. ‘That concludes our discussion, I think.’
    It panicked