‘I expected you back here at the claim well before this, boy,’ Father said, but to Henry’s surprise he didn’t seem angry. Even more surprising, he wasn’t working. He’d put down his shovel and he was standing with Alex McGregor, the big Scotsman who mined the claim next to theirs. They were talking quietly. Something must have happened – everywhere else people were standing around and talking, too. ‘Well?’ Father went on. ‘Did you make some money for us?’

Money? The four shillings and sixpence seemed to belong to another life.

‘Not really,’ Henry mumbled. ‘Father, why have people stopped working?’

Father looked across at Eliza, who was sitting on the fallen log that marked the boundary of their claim, playing cat’s cradle with a piece of string. ‘We’ve just heard that a man was murdered last night,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Do we know him?’

‘No, we don’t. I’ve seen him about, though. He’s a miner, name of James Scobie.’

‘What’s so special about James Scobie?’ Henry was puzzled. People died all the time on the diggings. They fell into mine-shafts, and they got drunk and killed each other, and no one really cared.

‘It’s an unusual case,’ Father said. ‘It appears certain that Scobie was murdered by James Bentley, who owns the Eureka Hotel.’

‘Oh.’ Henry thought of the Eureka Hotel, all new and bright and shining. He thought of the Bentleys, who drove around in a carriage like toffs. Why would a toff like Mr Bentley want to murder a miner?

‘To tell the truth, we canna be sure what happened, lad,’ said Alex McGregor. ‘Scobie was a good fellow, by and large, but he’d had a wee drink or two, d’you see, and it was past midnight. When Mr Bentley would’nae serve him, he smashed the front window of that fine new hotel. After that there was a bit of a punch-up.’

‘People are saying that Bentley and his wife and a couple of others chased Scobie down the road and beat him to death with a shovel,’ Father said. ‘There were witnesses. But the Bentleys are hand and glove with the traps, so there won’t be a fair trial. And that could be the last straw for a lot of the miners.’

‘Aye, we won’t take kindly to seeing the Bentleys get away with murder,’ said Alex McGregor. ‘Scobie is one of us, d’you see, and the Bentleys are on the other side. Our lot won’t be happy.’

‘Oh,’ Henry said again. He wasn’t very interested in James Scobie. ‘I made a friend today,’ he said to Father.

‘And who might that be?’

‘His name’s Frank Shanahan.’ He hoped Father wouldn’t stop him seeing Frank because he was Irish. ‘He works for Mr Hunter, you know, the chemist. He’s asked me to visit him tomorrow at his mother’s refreshment tent. She sells pies.’

Father didn’t say anything. He bent his head to light his long clay pipe. He puffed. Puffed again.

Henry waited.

‘That’s fine, boy,’ Father said at last. ‘Just be sure to put in a full morning’s work on the claim before you go.’