Chapter Thirty-eight
Raoul was caught off guard by the low fury he heard in Erik's voice. And when Erik finally faced him, he saw the almost demonic hate in the masked man's eyes.
"Monsieur, if that is the only way to obtain those letters, yes. It is not an offer I make lightly. But, in these times, there are prices we must pay…"
"Don't talk to me of prices to be paid," Erik sneered at him, "tell me, is this the first time you've made such a bargain? Is that why you married her? To use her as a whore? Is that why you married my Christine?"
"Yes, Monsieur. This is the first time I have made that offer…the first time I felt it necessary. And I can assure you, Monsieur, that is not why I married Christine. You forget, Monsieur, you let her think you had died in Paris. And she has mourned for you every day since…do you think it is easy to marry a woman knowing her heart was left in another man's grave?"
"Enough," Erik shouted, slamming one hand down on the desk so that more papers scattered to the floor.
"De Chagny, you assume that I have the letters. And, perhaps I do. But you are the last man I would sell them to."
"If you won't sell the letters to me…for money or for Christine…then give them to me."
Erik reached into his jacket and Raoul took a defensive step back towards the door. Erik drew the letters of transit from the interior pocket and held them up.
"Give them to you? I have already made it clear I will not sell them. What makes you think I would simply give these to you? Why should I help you?"
"Because I work as a liaison between His Majesty's government and certain resistance groups in Paris…and elsewhere. By helping me, you would be striking a blow to those who…well, I assume that you wear that mask on account of the Nazis…forgive me if it is something you would rather nor speak of."
Erik did not answer him. Major Hetzner was here in Casablanca. Turning the letters over to Raoul de Chagny would do that bastard no harm.
"Where would you go if you had these? Where would you take her?"
"I would take Christine to London. I have family there. She would be safe with them. I would find some way to go back to my work in Paris."
And I would never see her again…if they stay in Casablanca, at least she will be near me…and this fool might be killed…
He folded the letters and put them back in his pocket.
"Monsieur de Chagny, I have given you my answer. I will neither give nor sell you the letters."
Raoul's hand was on the door handle, but he made one last effort.
"Erik, at least let me have one letter of transit. For her."
"For Christine?"
"Yes. I don't know what you feel for her now, but I realized that you loved her in Paris. Let me send her to London. Casablanca is no place for her."
Christine looked up from her now-cold café-au-lait when her husband took the seat across the little table from her.
"He would not sell them to me. For any price."
Christine caught the odd, tense tone of Raoul's voice and wondered just what sort of payment he had offered to Erik for those letters of transit.
"I knew he would refuse. Raoul, he's changed very much since Paris."
"Evidently. Christine, I am so sorry. But I am afraid that you will have to appeal to Inspector Giry. That is our final chance."