The Luminaries

Staines said again. ‘I really think I ought to know. I can keep a secret.’
    Carver shook his head. ‘The less you know, the better.’
    ‘It’s not a matter of knowing less; it’s a matter of knowing nothing at all! Am I some kind of an accomplice? Is this some kind of a heist? Truly, Mr. Carver, I can keep a secret.’
    ‘There’s another thing,’ said Carver. ‘Just for today, my name isn’t Carver. It’s Wells. Francis Wells. If anyone comes asking, I’m Francis Wells. Never mind why.’
    ‘Good Lord,’ said the boy.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Only that you’re being dreadfully mysterious.’
    Carver rounded on him suddenly. ‘If you run off, it’ll be a breach of our contract. I’ll have grounds to seek recompense in whatever way I see fit.’
    ‘I won’t run off,’ said the boy.
    ‘You keep your eye on that trunk until I get back, and you’ll walk away with a pound coin. What’s my name?’
    ‘Mr. Wells,’ said the boy.
    ‘Mind you remember it. I’ll be three hours.’
    Once Carver had gone, Staines set the pistol on the bureau, the muzzle faced away, and knelt to look at the trunk. The hasp had been padlocked. He lifted the padlock to examine the profile of the keyhole—observing, to his satisfaction, that the lock was of a very simple design. Smiling suddenly, he took out his clasp knife, unfolded the blade, and fitted the point of his knife into the keyhole . He jimmied it for nearly a minute before the mechanism clicked.

COPPER
    In which Wells’s suspicion deepens; Anna becomes alarmed; and a package arrives at the House of Many Wishes, addressed to Mrs. Wells.
    Crosbie Wells read the
Otago Witness
from top to bottom, and in perfect silence. When he was done, he shook out the paper, folded it crisply along the seam, and rose from his chair. Mrs. Wells was sitting opposite him. Her expression was cold. He advanced upon her, tossed the paper into her lap—she flinched slightly—and then placed his hands on his hips, surveying her.
    ‘Arrivals caught my eye,’ he said.
    She said nothing.
    ‘One name in particular.
Active
is the name of the steamer. Arriving at the top of the tide. When’s that? Sundown.’
    Still she said nothing.
    ‘Seems odd you didn’t tell me,’ said Wells. ‘I’ve only been waiting —what—twelve years? Twelve years, and no reply. All these years I’ve been in the highlands, digging for gold. Now the man himself arrives in town, and you knew about it, and you made no mention. No: it’s worse than keeping quiet. You set out to deceive me. You burned the paper in the bloody stove. That’s a black deceit, Mrs. Wells. That’s a cold deceit.’
    She kept composure. ‘You are quite right,’ she said. ‘I should never have deceived you.’
    ‘Why did you burn it?’
    ‘I didn’t want the news to spoil the party,’ she said. ‘If you’d discovered he was arriving tonight, you might have gone down to the quay—and he might have spurned you—and you might have become upset.’
    ‘But that is just what has me confounded, Mrs. Wells.’
    ‘What?’ she said.
    ‘The party.’
    ‘It’s only a party.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Crosbie,’ she said, ‘don’t be foolish. If you go looking for a conspiracy , you will find a conspiracy. It’s a party, and that’s all.’
    ‘“Gentlemen with marine connexions”,’ said Wells. ‘Naval types. What do you care about naval types?’
    ‘I care that they are men of considerable rank and influence, because I care about my business, and the party will do my business good. Everybody loves a theme. It lends a flavour to an evening.’
    ‘Does Mr. Alistair Lauderback get an invite, I wonder?’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Mrs. Wells. ‘Why should I invite
him
? I’ve never set eyes upon the man in my life. And anyway—as I told you—it was precisely because I didn’t want you to get upset that I burned this morning’s paper. You’re very right: I shouldn’t have, and I’m very sorry to have deceived you. But the party, I assure you, is only a party.’
    ‘What about the bonanza?’ said Wells. ‘And my papers? How do they fit in?’
    ‘I’m afraid they don’t,’ said Mrs. Wells.
    ‘I have half a mind to take a stroll down to Port Chalmers,’ said Wells. ‘Around sundown. Nice night for it. Bit chilly, perhaps.’
    ‘By all means do so,’ said Mrs. Wells.
    ‘I’d miss the party, of course.’
    ‘That would be a shame.’
    ‘Would it?’
    She sighed. ‘Crosbie,’ she said, ‘you are