‘If that was indeed the case, why do you suppose that Mr. Wells did not take it to the bank?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Staines.
‘I’m afraid it isn’t,’ said Broham.
‘Because the ore was smelted, of course,’ said Staines. ‘And each one of those blocks bore the word “Aurora”—engraved into the very metal, by my Mr. Quee! He could hardly pretend he’d lifted it from the ground.’
‘Why did you not bank the bonanza against the Aurora, as you were legally obliged?’
‘Fifty percent shares on the Aurora belong to Mr. Francis Carver,’ said Staines. ‘I have a poor opinion of the man, and I did not want to see him profit.’
Broham frowned. ‘You removed the bonanza from the Aurora because you did not want to pay the fifty percent dividends legally owing to Mr. Carver. However, you intended to give fifty percent of this same bonanza to Miss Anna Wetherell. Is that right?’
‘Exactly right.’
‘You will forgive me if I consider your intentions somewhat illogical, Mr. Staines.’
‘What’s illogical about it?’ said the boy. ‘I wanted Anna to have Carver’s share.’
‘For what reason?’
‘Because she deserved to have it, and he deserved to lose it,’ said Emery Staines.
More laughter, more widespread this time. Moody was becoming anxious: he had warned Staines against speaking too fancifully, or too pertly.
When it was quiet again the justice said, ‘I do not believe that it is your prerogative, Mr. Staines, to adjudicate what a person does or does not deserve. You will kindly restrict yourself, in the future, to factual statements only.’
Staines sobered at once. ‘I understand, sir,’ he said.
The justice nodded. ‘Continue, Mr. Broham.’
Abruptly, Broham changed the subject. ‘You were absent from Hokitika for over two months,’ he said. ‘What caused your absence?’
‘I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been under the effects of opium, sir,’ said Staines. ‘I was astonished to discover, upon my return, that over two months had passed.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘I believe I have spent much of the time in the opium den at Kaniere Chinatown,’ said Staines, ‘but I couldn’t tell you for sure.’
Broham paused. ‘The opium den,’ he repeated.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Staines. ‘The proprietor was a fellow named Sook. Ah Sook.’
Broham did not want to dwell on the subject of Ah Sook. ‘You were discovered,’ he said, ‘on the twentieth of March, in the cottage that once belonged to Crosbie Wells. What were you doing there?’
‘I believe I was looking for my bonanza,’ said Staines. ‘Only I got a little muddled—I was unwell—and I couldn’t remember where I’d buried it.’
‘When did you first develop a dependency upon opium, Mr. Staines?’
‘I first touched the drug on the night of the fourteenth of January.’
‘In other words, the very night that Crosbie Wells died.’
‘So they tell me.’
‘A bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’
Moody objected to this. ‘Mr. Wells died of natural causes,’ he said. ‘I cannot see how any coincidence with a natural event can be a significant one.’
‘In fact,’ said Broham, ‘the post-mortem revealed a small quantity of laudanum in Mr. Wells’s stomach.’
‘A small quantity,’ Moody repeated.
‘Continue with your interrogation, Mr. Broham,’ said the justice. ‘Sit down, Mr. Moody.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Broham to the justice. He turned back to Staines. ‘Can you think of a reason, Mr. Staines, why Mr. Wells might have taken
‘Perhaps he was in pain.’
‘Pain of what kind?’
‘I am speculating,’ said Staines. ‘I’m afraid I can only speculate: I did not know the man’s personal habits intimately, and I was not with him that evening. I mean only that laudanum is often taken as a pain relief—or as an aid to sleep.’
‘Not on top of a bottle of whisky, it’s not.’
‘I certainly would not attempt such a combination myself. But I cannot answer for Mr. Wells.’
‘Do you take laudanum, Mr. Staines?’
‘Only when prescribed; not as a habit.’
‘Do you have a prescription currently?’
‘Currently I do,’ said Staines, ‘but it is a very recent prescription.’
‘How recent, please?’
‘It was first administered to me on the twentieth of March,’ said Staines, ‘as a pain relief, and as a method of weaning me from my addiction.’
‘Prior to the twentieth of March, have you ever purchased or otherwise obtained a phial of laudanum from Pritchard’s drug emporium on Collingwood-street?’
‘No.’
‘A phial of laudanum was discovered in Crosbie Wells’s cottage some days after his death,’ said Broham. ‘Do you know how it got there?’
‘No.’
‘Was Mr. Wells, to your knowledge, dependent upon opiates?’
‘He was a drunk,’ said Staines. ‘That’s all I know.’
Broham studied him. ‘Please tell the Court how you spent the night of the fourteenth of January, in sequence, and in your own words.’
‘I met with Anna Wetherell at the Dust and Nugget around seven,’ said Staines. ‘We had a drink together, and after that we went back to my apartment on Revell-street. I fell asleep, and when I woke—around ten-thirty, I suppose—she had gone. I couldn’t think why she might have left so suddenly, and I went out to find her. I went to the Gridiron. There was nobody at the front desk, and nobody on the landing, and the door of her room upstairs was unlocked. I entered, and saw her laid out on the floor, with her pipe and the resin and the lamp arranged around her. Well, I couldn’t rouse her, and while I was waiting for her to come to, I knelt down to take a look at the apparatus. I’d never touched opium before, but I’d always longed to try it. There’s such a mystique about it, you know, and the smoke is so lovely and thick. Her pipe was still warm, and the lamp was still burning, and everything seemed—serendipitous, somehow. I thought I might just taste it. She looked so marvellously happy; she was even smiling.’
‘What happened next?’ said Broham, when Staines did not go on.
‘I went under, of course,’ said Staines. ‘It was heavenly.’
Broham looked annoyed. ‘And after that?’
‘Well, I had a pretty decent go at her pipe, and then I lay down on her bed, and slept for a bit—or dreamed; it wasn’t sleep exactly. When I came up again, the lamp was cold, and the bowl of the pipe was empty, and Anna was gone. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t even spare her a thought. All I wanted was another taste. It was such a thirst, you see: from the first sip, I was enchanted. I knew I couldn’t rest until I tried the drug again.’
‘All this from your very first taste,’ said Broham, sceptically.
‘Yes,’ said Staines.
‘What did you do?’
‘I made for the den in Chinatown at once. It was early—just past dawn. I saw no one on the road at all.’
‘How long did you remain in Kaniere Chinatown?’
‘I think a fortnight—but it’s hard to recall exactly; each day blurred into the next. Ah Sook was ever so kind
