The Luminaries

Francis Carver?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Ever seen an ex-con?’
    ‘How would I know one?’
    ‘I suppose you wouldn’t,’ said Wells.
    There was a pause; presently she said, ‘Should I tell Mrs. Wells?’
    ‘No,’ said Wells. ‘Stop a moment.’
    ‘I was only supposed to come up for these,’ said Anna, holding up the candleholders. ‘I really ought to be getting back.’
    Wells rolled the
Otago Witness
into a tube. ‘She’s a heartless woman, Anna. Not a bone of true feeling in Mrs. Lydia Wells: it’s profit or bust. She’s taken my money, and she’ll take yours, and we’ll be ruined—both of us. We’ll be ruined.’
    ‘Yes,’ Anna said, miserably. ‘I know.’
    He brandished the rolled paper. ‘Do you know what this says? Man named Carver listed as a crewman on a private charter. Leaving on to-morrow’s tide. A gentleman with a marine connexion , in other words.’
    ‘I suppose that means he’ll be at the party,’ Anna said.
    ‘And another thing: the master of the craft. Raxworthy.’
    ‘Mrs. Wells mentioned him at breakfast,’ Anna said.
    ‘Indeed she did,’ said Wells, striking the paper upon his leg. ‘Everything’s beginning to add up. Only I can’t quite see it yet. The picture.’
    ‘What’s adding up?’
    ‘All day,’ he explained, ‘I’ve been wondering one thing: what could
she
possibly want with my papers? My miner’s right. My birth certificate. I’ve no doubt she lifted them, as she lifted the bonanza too; but she wouldn’t bother with anything unless it could be put to some use, and what use for an old man’s papers could she possibly have? None at all, I thought. In that case, she must have dispatched them somehow. Passed them on. But to whom? What kind of a man might have need for another man’s papers? That’s when it struck me. A man running from his past, I thought. A man with a tarnished name, who wants to start over with a better one. A man looking to put some chapter of his life behind him.’
    Anna waited, frowning.
    ‘Here’s a d—n certainty,’ said Wells, holding up the rolled paper like a sceptre. ‘I don’t know how, and I don’t know why or what for, but I’ll tell you here and now, little Anna, that tonight I’ll be making the acquaintance of a Mr. Francis Carver.’

TIN
    In which Carver takes an alias, and Lauderback signs his name.
    ‘Wells,’ said Lauderback, coming up short.
    ‘Good evening,’ said Francis Carver. He was sitting in a chair facing the gangway. There was a pistol in his hand.
    ‘What is this?’ said Lauderback.
    ‘Do come in.’
    ‘What is this?’ he said again.
    ‘A conversation,’ said Carver.
    ‘But what’s it about?’
    ‘I recommend that you step into the cabin, Mr. Lauderback.’
    ‘Why?’
    Carver said nothing, but the muzzle of the pistol twitched a little.
    ‘I haven’t laid my eyes on her since last we spoke,’ Lauderback said. ‘Upon my honour. When you told me to step away, Mr. Wells, I stepped away. I’ve been in Akaroa these nine months past. I only just arrived back in town tonight—just now, in fact; this very moment. I’ve kept away—just as you asked of me.’
    ‘Says you,’ said Carver.
    ‘Yes, says me! Do you doubt my word?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then what do you mean—says me?’
    ‘Only that on paper it says different.’
    Lauderback faltered. ‘I have not the slightest idea what paper you’re talking about,’ he said after a moment, ‘I shall hazard to guess, however, that you are alluding in some way to the Danforth receipt.’
    ‘I am,’ said Carver.
    With a swift look over his shoulder, Lauderback stepped into the cabin and pulled the hatch closed behind him. ‘All right,’ he said, when he was inside. ‘Something’s cooking. Or cooked.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Carver.
    ‘Is this about Crosbie?’ said Lauderback. ‘Is this something to do with Crosbie?’
    ‘You know,’ said Carver, ‘I worry about old Crosbie.’
    He did not go on. After a moment Lauderback said, in a fearful voice, ‘Do you?’
    ‘Yes, I do,’ said Carver. ‘One of these days, that poor man is going to drink himself to death.’
    Lauderback had begun to sweat. ‘Where’s Raxworthy?’ he said.
    ‘Getting drunk on Cumberland-street, I believe.’
    ‘What about Danforth?’
    ‘The same,’ said Carver.
    ‘They’re in your pocket, are they?’
    ‘No,’ said Carver. ‘You are.’

TAR
    In which Carver comes to finish the deed; Crosbie Wells makes a counter-attack; and the laudanum