The Kill - Emile Zola [124]
He got up to light a cigar on the candelabra that Laure had left on the table and then returned to stretch out casually at one end of the love seat.
“I told my wife that you were completely ruined,” he went on. “That you’d gambled on the Bourse, squandered your money on whores, and gotten mixed up in shady speculations. And finally, that you were about to go bust in the most awful fashion. . . . I even insinuated that I had doubts about your honesty. . . . I then explained to her that the Charonne business was going to be tangled up in your collapse and that the best thing to do would be to accept your proposition to buy her out—for a pittance, to be sure.”
“That wasn’t very intelligent,” the expropriation agent murmured. “You really think your wife is going to believe such a tall tale?”
Saccard smiled. He was in an expansive mood.
“How naïve you are, my dear fellow,” he continued. “The substance of the story is of no account. It’s all in the details, the gestures, and the accent. Call Rozan in here and I’ll bet I can convince him that it’s broad daylight outside. And my wife isn’t much smarter than Rozan. . . . I let her peer into the abyss. She has no inkling that expropriation is imminent. Since she was surprised that in the middle of such a catastrophe you would be willing to take on a still heavier burden, I told her that she was probably getting in the way of some trick you were about to play on your creditors. . . . In the end, I advised her to sell as the only way to avoid getting mixed up in interminable law-suits and to get some money out of her land.”
Larsonneau still thought the story somewhat crude. He preferred less dramatic methods. Each of his operations was plotted and brought to a resolution with the elegance of a drawing-room comedy.
“In your place I would have come up with something else,” he said. “But then each of us has his own system. . . . In any case, all that remains now is to pay the piper.”
“That’s precisely what I wanted to settle with you,” Saccard replied. “Tomorrow, I will give my wife the purchase-and-sale agreement, and in exchange for returning the signed papers to you, the amount agreed upon should be remitted to her. . . . I prefer to avoid any discussion between you.”
In fact, he had never cared to allow Larsonneau into his home on a footing of intimacy. He never invited him and had accompanied him to Renée’s apartment on days when it was essential that the two partners meet in person. There had been three such occasions. Most of the time he had made use of his wife’s power of attorney on the assumption that there was no point in letting her get too close a look at what he was up to.
He opened his briefcase and added, “Here are the 200,000 francs’ worth of notes signed by my wife. You will return these to her as payment, and to this amount you will add 100,000 francs that I shall deliver to you tomorrow morning. . . . I’m bleeding myself dry, my good friend. This business is costing me my own two eyes.”
“But that comes to only 300,000 francs,” the expropriation agent pointed out. “Will the receipt indicate that amount?”
“A receipt for 300,000 francs!” Saccard chortled. “Lord, we’d be in a hell of a fix later on! According to our inventories, the property must be worth two and a half million francs today. The receipt will naturally be for half that amount.”
“Your wife will never sign it.”
“Oh, yes she will. I’m telling you it’s all settled. . . . I told her it was your first condition, damn it! Your bankruptcy has forced you to put a pistol to our heads, don’t you see? That was when I let it be known that I had doubts about your honesty and accused you of intending to dupe your creditors. . . . Do you think my wife understands anything about all that?”
Larsonneau shook his head and murmured, “You still should have come up with something simpler.”
“But my story is simplicity itself,” Saccard replied in astonishment. “What the