There were three things that Crammon hated from the bottom of his
heart: newspapers, universal education, and taxes. It was especially
impossible for him to realize that he, like others, was subject to
taxation.
He had been summoned on a certain occasion to give an accounting of his
income. He declared that during the greater part of the year he lived
as a guest in the châteaux and on the estates of his friends.
The examining official replied that since he was known to live a rather
luxurious life, it was clear that he must have a fixed income from some
source.
“Undoubtedly,” Crammon lied with the utmost cynicism. “This income
consists wholly of meagre winnings at the various international
gambling resorts. Earnings of that sort are not subject to taxation.”
The official was astonished and shook his head. He left the room in
order to consult his superiors in regard to the case. Crammon was left
alone. Trembling with rage he gazed about him, took a stack of legal
documents from a shelf, and shoved them far behind a bookcase against
the wall. There, so far as one could tell, they would moulder in the
course of the years, and in their illegal hiding place save the owners
of the names they recorded from taxation.
For years he would chuckle whenever he thought of this deviltry.