Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [67]
She wouldn’t give in, no, he couldn’t get anywhere with her. She stuck to her point: either he took the chair for a trifle, a krone or two, or he could forget about it. Since her stubbornness resisted all appeals, to save face he finally said, “All right, we’ll let the matter rest for now. But promise me that you won’t sell the chair to anyone else without informing me, will you? I won’t give it up, just so you know, even if I should have to pay some more. At any rate, I’m willing to match anybody’s offer, and I did come first.”
When Nagel got outside, he started walking down the street with long, agitated strides. What a stiff-necked woman, and how poor and suspicious she was! Did you see that bed? he said to himself; not even straw on the bottom, not even a sheet on top, only two petticoats, both of which she probably had to wear in the daytime when the weather was cold. And yet so afraid to get involved in something unfamiliar that she turned down the best of offers!10 But damn it all, what concern was it of his anyway? None, really. She was a helluva woman, though, wasn’t she? Suppose he sent a man over to make a bid on the chair, drive up the price, would that also arouse her suspicion? What an idiot, a real idiot! But why did he have to go there, only to be so crushingly refused?
Immersed in his chagrin, he had reached the hotel before he knew it. He stopped short, turned around as steamed up as ever and went back down the street to J. Hansen’s tailor shop, where he entered. He saw the proprietor behind closed doors, ordered a coat in strict confidence, a coat of such and such a type, and en-joined the tailor to keep the order secret from everybody. When the coat was ready, it was to be sent to Miniman without delay, to Grøgaard, the crooked coal carrier, who—
Was the coat for Miniman?
Well, what of it? No nosiness! What sort of snooping was this?
Hm, how about the measurements?
So that was it! Yes, the coat was for Miniman. All right, Miniman could come and have his measurements taken, why not? But not an unnecessary word, not a wink—was that clear? And when would the coat be ready? In a couple of days, fine!
Nagel counted out the money at once, said goodbye and left. His annoyance gone, he rubbed his hands and sang. Yes, indeed, he would still—still! Just you wait! When he got back to the hotel he ran up to his room and rang the bell; his hands were shaking with impatience, and no sooner was the door opened than he called, “Sara, some telegram blanks!”
He had just opened his violin case as Sara came in, and to her great amazement she saw that this case, which she had always handled so gingerly, contained only dirty laundry and some papers and writing materials, but no violin. For a moment she couldn’t tear herself away, but stood there staring at it.
“Telegram blanks!” he repeated more loudly, “I asked for some telegram blanks.”
When he finally got the blanks he wrote out an order to an acquaintance in Kristiania to send, anonymously and secretly, two hundred kroner to a certain Miss Martha Gude, a local resident, two hundred kroner, without a word in writing. “Command the utmost silence. Johan Nagel.”
But it wouldn’t work. No, on second thought he had to discard the plan. Hadn’t he better give a few more particulars, and enclose the money to ensure that it would be sent? He tore up the telegram, burned it at once and dashed off a letter. Yes, that was better; a letter, however brief, was more complete, it might really do. Oh, he would show her, give her to understand....
But after he had put the money in the envelope and closed it, he still sat awhile thinking it over. She might still smell a rat, he said to himself; two hundred kroner