The Luminaries

earshot of the parlour, Nilssen stopped abruptly. ‘I’ll get right to it,’ he said, turning on his heel.
    ‘Yes,’ said Balfour. ‘Get right to it. That’s always best. How do you like the party?’
    From the sitting room came a roar of laughter, and a woman’s indignant squeal.
    ‘I like it very well,’ said Nilssen.
    ‘No sign of Anna, though.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And three shillings,’ said Balfour. ‘That’s a price! We’ll be drinking our money’s worth—won’t we?’ He looked into his glass.
    ‘I’ll get right to it,’ Nilssen said again.
    ‘Yes,’ said Balfour. ‘Do.’
    ‘Somehow,’ Nilssen began, ‘Mr. Lauderback knows about my commission. He’s publishing a letter in the paper about it, t o-morrow . Lambasting Shepard’s character and so forth. I haven’t seen it yet.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ Balfour said. ‘Oh dear—yes, I see. I see.’ He nodded vigorously, though not at Nilssen. They were standing almost side-by -side. Nilssen was directing his speech at a framed print upon the wall, and Balfour, at the wainscot.
    ‘Governor Shepard penned a reply,’ Nilssen went on, still addressing the print, ‘which is to appear directly underneath Lauderback’s, in to-morrow’s paper. I’ve seen the reply: Shepard sent me a copy this afternoon.’
    He gave a brief account of Shepard’s response—causing Balfour’s anxiety to dissolve, in a moment, into pure astonishment.
    ‘Well,’ he said, looking squarely at Nilssen for the first time, ‘I’m blowed. That’s a shark in shallow water, all right. Fancy Gov. Shepard coming up with something like
that
. Saying it’s all
your
instigation—the investment—as a donation! I’m blowed! He’s got you in a corner, hasn’t he? What a confident devil that man is! What a snake!’
    ‘Did you tell Mr. Lauderback about my commission?’ Nilssen said.
    ‘No!’ said Balfour.
    ‘You didn’t even mention it—off-hand?’
    ‘No!’ said Balfour. ‘Not a bit!’
    ‘All right,’ Nilssen said heavily. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry to have troubled you. I suppose it has to be one of the others.’
    Balfour started. ‘One of the others? You mean—one of the fellows from the Crown?’
    ‘Yes,’ Nilssen said. ‘Somebody must have broken his oath.
I
certainly didn’t tell Mr. Lauderback anything—and I’m certain that nobody else knows about the investment, beyond the twelve who swore.’
    Balfour was looking panicked. ‘What about your boy?’ he said.
    Nilssen shook his head. ‘He doesn’t know.’
    ‘Someone at the bank, maybe.’
    ‘No: it was a private agreement—and Shepard has the only copy of the deed.’ Nilssen sighed. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for having sprung it on you—for having asked, you know—and doubted you. But I knew you were Lauderback’s man—and, well, I had to make sure.’
    ‘Naturally you did…! Of course!’
    Nilssen nodded gloomily. He looked through the drawing-room doorway to the crowd beyond—to Pritchard, who stood a clear head taller than any other man in the room—to Devlin, who stood in conversation with Clinch—to Löwenthal, who was talking to Frost—to Mannering, who was refilling his glass from the decanter on the sideboard, and laughing very freely at another man’s joke.
    ‘Hang tight,’ said Balfour suddenly. ‘You said that Shepard’s letter mentioned Lauderback and Lydia Wells.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Nilssen, uncomfortably. ‘He’s made their affair all but public knowledge—saying that Lauderback must come clean about her. That’s the—’
    Balfour interrupted him. ‘But how in all heaven does Shepard know about the affair in the first place? I hardly think that Lauderback would have—’
    ‘I told him,’ Nilssen burst out. ‘I broke my oath. Oh, Mr. Balfour—he had me in a corner—and he knew I was hiding something —and I buckled. I couldn’t think fast enough. You’ve every right to be furious with me. You’ve every right. I don’t mind.’
    ‘Not at all,’ said Balfour—to whom this confession had come as a strange relief.
    ‘Now Lauderback will know you didn’t keep his confidence,’Nilssen went on, miserably, ‘and by to-morrow morning all of Westland will know that he took a mistress in Mrs. Wells, and perhaps he’ll lose the seat in Parliament, and it’s all my fault. I’m ever so sorry—truly, I am.’
    ‘What else did you tell him?’ Balfour said. ‘About Anna—and the blackmail—and the gowns?’
    ‘No!’ said