Chapter: Chapter XV  Christine!  Christine!


Raoul's first thought, after Christine Daae's fantastic disappearance,
was to accuse Erik.  He no longer doubted the almost supernatural
powers of the Angel of Music, in this domain of the Opera in which he
had set up his empire.  And Raoul rushed on the stage, in a mad fit of
love and despair.

"Christine!  Christine!" he moaned, calling to her as he felt that she
must be calling to him from the depths of that dark pit to which the
monster had carried her.  "Christine!  Christine!"

And he seemed to hear the girl's screams through the frail boards that
separated him from her.  He bent forward, he listened, ... he wandered
over the stage like a madman.  Ah, to descend, to descend into that pit
of darkness every entrance to which was closed to him, ... for the
stairs that led below the stage were forbidden to one and all that
night!

"Christine!  Christine! ..."

People pushed him aside, laughing.  They made fun of him.  They thought
the poor lover's brain was gone!

By what mad road, through what passages of mystery and darkness known
to him alone had Erik dragged that pure-souled child to the awful
haunt, with the Louis-Philippe room, opening out on the lake?

"Christine!  Christine! ... Why don't you answer? ... Are you alive?
..."

Hideous thoughts flashed through Raoul's congested brain.  Of course,
Erik must have discovered their secret, must have known that Christine
had played him false.  What a vengeance would be his!

And Raoul thought again of the yellow stars that had come, the night
before, and roamed over his balcony.  Why had he not put them out for
good?  There were some men's eyes that dilated in the darkness and
shone like stars or like cats' eyes.  Certainly Albinos, who seemed to
have rabbits' eyes by day, had cats' eyes at night: everybody knew
that! ... Yes, yes, he had undoubtedly fired at Erik.  Why had he not
killed him?  The monster had fled up the gutter-spout like a cat or a
convict who--everybody knew that also--would scale the very skies, with
the help of a gutter-spout ...  No doubt Erik was at that time
contemplating some decisive step against Raoul, but he had been wounded
and had escaped to turn against poor Christine instead.

Such were the cruel thoughts that haunted Raoul as he ran to the
singer's dressing-room.

"Christine!  Christine!"

Bitter tears scorched the boy's eyelids as he saw scattered over the
furniture the clothes which his beautiful bride was to have worn at the
hour of their flight.  Oh, why had she refused to leave earlier?

Why had she toyed with the threatening catastrophe?  Why toyed with the
monster's heart?  Why, in a final access of pity, had she insisted on
flinging, as a last sop to that demon's soul, her divine song:

            "Holy angel, in Heaven blessed,
            My spirit longs with thee to rest!"

Raoul, his throat filled with sobs, oaths and insults, fumbled
awkwardly at the great mirror that had opened one night, before his
eyes, to let Christine pass to the murky dwelling below.  He pushed,
pressed, groped about, but the glass apparently obeyed no one but Erik
...  Perhaps actions were not enough with a glass of the kind?  Perhaps
he was expected to utter certain words?  When he was a little boy, he
had heard that there were things that obeyed the spoken word!

Suddenly, Raoul remembered something about a gate opening into the Rue
Scribe, an underground passage running straight to the Rue Scribe from
the lake ...  Yes, Christine had told him about that...  And, when he
found that the key was no longer in the box, he nevertheless ran to the
Rue Scribe.  Outside, in the street, he passed his trembling hands over
the huge stones, felt for outlets ... met with iron bars ... were those
they? ... Or these? ...  Or could it be that air-hole? ... He plunged
his useless eyes through the bars ...  How dark it was in there! ... He
listened ...  All was silence! ... He went round the building ... and
came to bigger bars, immense gates! ... It was the entrance to the Cour
de l'Administration.

Raoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.

"I beg your pardon, madame, could you tell me where to find a gate or
door, made of bars, iron bars, opening into the Rue Scribe ...  and
leading to the lake? ... You know the lake I mean? ... Yes, the
underground lake ... under the Opera."

"Yes, sir, I know there is a lake under the Opera, but I don't know
which door leads to it.  I have never been there!"

"And the Rue Scribe, madame, the Rue Scribe?  Have you never been to
the Rue Scribe?"

The woman laughed, screamed with laughter!  Raoul darted away, roaring
with anger, ran up-stairs, four stairs at a time, down-stairs, rushed
through the whole of the business side of the opera-house, found
himself once more in the light of the stage.

He stopped, with his heart thumping in his chest:  suppose Christine
Daae had been found?  He saw a group of men and asked:

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen.  Could you tell me where Christine Daae
is?"

And somebody laughed.

At the same moment the stage buzzed with a new sound and, amid a crowd
of men in evening-dress, all talking and gesticulating together,
appeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face, all
pink and chubby-cheeked, crowned with curly hair and lit up by a pair
of wonderfully serene blue eyes.  Mercier, the acting-manager, called
the Vicomte de Chagny's attention to him and said:

"This is the gentleman to whom you should put your question, monsieur.
Let me introduce Mifroid, the commissary of police."

"Ah, M. le Vicomte de Chagny!  Delighted to meet you, monsieur," said
the commissary.  "Would you mind coming with me? ... And now where are
the managers? ... Where are the managers?"

Mercier did not answer, and Remy, the secretary, volunteered the
information that the managers were locked up in their office and that
they knew nothing as yet of what had happened.

"You don't mean to say so!  Let us go up to the office!"

And M. Mifroid, followed by an ever-increasing crowd, turned toward the
business side of the building.  Mercier took advantage of the confusion
to slip a key into Gabriel's hand:

"This is all going very badly," he whispered.  "You had better let
Mother Giry out."

And Gabriel moved away.

They soon came to the managers' door.  Mercier stormed in vain: the
door remained closed.

"Open in the name of the law!" commanded M. Mifroid, in a loud and
rather anxious voice.

At last the door was opened.  All rushed in to the office, on the
commissary's heels.

Raoul was the last to enter.  As he was about to follow the rest into
the room, a hand was laid on his shoulder and he heard these words
spoken in his ear:

"ERIK'S SECRETS CONCERN NO ONE BUT HIMSELF!"

He turned around, with a stifled exclamation.  The hand that was laid
on his shoulder was now placed on the lips of a person with an ebony
skin, with eyes of jade and with an astrakhan cap on his head: the
Persian!  The stranger kept up the gesture that recommended discretion
and then, at the moment when the astonished viscount was about to ask
the reason of his mysterious intervention, bowed and disappeared.




Chapter XVI  Mme. Giry's Astounding Revelations as to Her Personal
Relations with the Opera Ghost


Before following the commissary into the manager's office I must
describe certain extraordinary occurrences that took place in that
office which Remy and Mercier had vainly tried to enter and into which
MM. Richard and Moncharmin had locked themselves with an object which
the reader does not yet know, but which it is my duty, as an historian,
to reveal without further postponement.

I have had occasion to say that the managers' mood had undergone a
disagreeable change for some time past and to convey the fact that this
change was due not only to the fall of the chandelier on the famous
night of the gala performance.

The reader must know that the ghost had calmly been paid his first
twenty thousand francs.  Oh, there had been wailing and gnashing of
teeth, indeed!  And yet the thing had happened as simply as could be.

One morning, the managers found on their table an envelope addressed to
"Monsieur O. G. (private)" and accompanied by a note from O. G. himself:

The time has come to carry out the clause in the memorandum-book.
Please put twenty notes of a thousand francs each into this envelope,
seal it with your own seal and hand it to Mme. Giry, who will do what
is necessary.

The managers did not hesitate; without wasting time in asking how these
confounded communications came to be delivered in an office which they
were careful to keep locked, they seized this opportunity of laying
hands, on the mysterious blackmailer.  And, after telling the whole
story, under the promise of secrecy, to Gabriel and Mercier, they put
the twenty thousand francs into the envelope and without asking for
explanations, handed it to Mme. Giry, who had been reinstated in her
functions.  The box-keeper displayed no astonishment.  I need hardly
say that she was well watched.  She went straight to the ghost's box
and placed the precious envelope on the little shelf attached to the
ledge.  The two managers, as well as Gabriel and Mercier, were hidden
in such a way that they did not lose sight of the envelope for a second
during the performance and even afterward, for, as the envelope had not
moved, those who watched it did not move either; and Mme. Giry went
away while the managers, Gabriel and Mercier were still there.  At
last, they became tired of waiting and opened the envelope, after
ascertaining that the seals had not been broken.

At first sight, Richard and Moncharmin thought that the notes were
still there; but soon they perceived that they were not the same.  The
twenty real notes were gone and had been replaced by twenty notes, of
the "Bank of St. Farce"![1]

The managers' rage and fright were unmistakable.  Moncharmin wanted to
send for the commissary of police, but Richard objected.  He no doubt
had a plan, for he said:

"Don't let us make ourselves ridiculous!  All Paris would laugh at us.
O. G. has won the first game:  we will win the second."

He was thinking of the next month's allowance.

Nevertheless, they had been so absolutely tricked that they were bound
to suffer a certain dejection.  And, upon my word, it was not difficult
to understand.  We must not forget that the managers had an idea at the
back of their minds, all the time, that this strange incident might be
an unpleasant practical joke on the part of their predecessors and that
it would not do to divulge it prematurely.  On the other hand,
Moncharmin was sometimes troubled with a suspicion of Richard himself,
who occasionally took fanciful whims into his head.  And so they were
content to await events, while keeping an eye on Mother Giry.  Richard
would not have her spoken to.

"If she is a confederate," he said, "the notes are gone long ago.  But,
in my opinion, she is merely an idiot."

"She's not the only idiot in this business," said Moncharmin pensively.

"Well, who could have thought it?" moaned Richard.  "But don't be
afraid ... next time, I shall have taken my precautions."

The next time fell on the same day that beheld the disappearance of
Christine Daae.  In the morning, a note from the ghost reminded them
that the money was due.  It read:

Do just as you did last time.  It went very well.  Put the twenty
thousand in the envelope and hand it to our excellent Mme. Giry.

And the note was accompanied by the usual envelope.  They had only to
insert the notes.

This was done about half an hour before the curtain rose on the first
act of Faust.  Richard showed the envelope to Moncharmin.  Then he
counted the twenty thousand-franc notes in front of him and put the
notes into the envelope, but without closing it.

"And now," he said, "let's have Mother Giry in."

The old woman was sent for.  She entered with a sweeping courtesy.  She
still wore her black taffeta dress, the color of which was rapidly
turning to rust and lilac, to say nothing of the dingy bonnet.  She
seemed in a good temper.  She at once said:

"Good evening, gentlemen!  It's for the envelope, I suppose?"

"Yes, Mme. Giry," said Richard, most amiably.  "For the envelope ...
and something else besides."

"At your service, M. Richard, at your service.  And what is the
something else, please?"

"First of all, Mme. Giry, I have a little question to put to you."

"By all means, M. Richard:  Mme. Giry is here to answer you."

"Are you still on good terms with the ghost?"

"Couldn't be better, sir; couldn't be better."

"Ah, we are delighted ...  Look here, Mme. Giry," said Richard, in the
tone of making an important confidence.  "We may just as well tell you,
among ourselves ... you're no fool!"

"Why, sir," exclaimed the box-keeper, stopping the pleasant nodding of
the black feathers in her dingy bonnet, "I assure you no one has ever
doubted that!"

"We are quite agreed and we shall soon understand one another.  The
story of the ghost is all humbug, isn't it? ... Well, still between
ourselves, ... it has lasted long enough."

Mme. Giry looked at the managers as though they were talking Chinese.
She walked up to Richard's table and asked, rather anxiously:

"What do you mean?  I don't understand."

"Oh, you, understand quite well.  In any case, you've got to
understand...  And, first of all, tell us his name."

"Whose name?"

"The name of the man whose accomplice you are, Mme. Giry!"

"I am the ghost's accomplice?  I? ... His accomplice in what, pray?"

"You do all he wants."

"Oh!  He's not very troublesome, you know."

"And does he still tip you?"

"I mustn't complain."

"How much does he give you for bringing him that envelope?"

"Ten francs."

"You poor thing!  That's not much, is it?

"Why?"

"I'll tell you that presently, Mme. Giry.  Just now we should like to
know for what extraordinary reason you have given yourself body and
soul, to this ghost ... Mme. Giry's friendship and devotion are not to
be bought for five francs or ten francs."

"That's true enough ...  And I can tell you the reason, sir.  There's
no disgrace about it...  on the contrary."

"We're quite sure of that, Mme. Giry!"

"Well, it's like this ... only the ghost doesn't like me to talk about
his business."

"Indeed?" sneered Richard.

"But this is a matter that concerns myself alone ...  Well, it was in
Box Five one evening, I found a letter addressed to myself, a sort of
note written in red ink.  I needn't read the letter to you sir; I know
it by heart, and I shall never forget it if I live to be a hundred!"

And Mme. Giry, drawing herself up, recited the letter with touching
eloquence:

MADAM:

1825.  Mlle. Menetrier, leader of the ballet, became Marquise de Cussy.

1832.  Mlle. Marie Taglioni, a dancer, became Comtesse Gilbert des
Voisins.

1846.  La Sota, a dancer, married a brother of the King of Spain.

1847.  Lola Montes, a dancer, became the morganatic wife of King Louis
of Bavaria and was created Countess of Landsfeld.

1848.  Mlle. Maria, a dancer, became Baronne d'Herneville.

1870.  Theresa Hessier, a dancer, married Dom Fernando, brother to the
King of Portugal.

Richard and Moncharmin listened to the old woman, who, as she proceeded
with the enumeration of these glorious nuptials, swelled out, took
courage and, at last, in a voice bursting with pride, flung out the
last sentence of the prophetic letter:

1885.  Meg Giry, Empress!

Exhausted by this supreme effort, the box-keeper fell into a chair,
saying:

"Gentlemen, the letter was signed, 'Opera Ghost.'  I had heard much of
the ghost, but only half believed in him.  From the day when he
declared that my little Meg, the flesh of my flesh, the fruit of my
womb, would be empress, I believed in him altogether."

And really it was not necessary to make a long study of Mme. Giry's
excited features to understand what could be got out of that fine
intellect with the two words "ghost" and "empress."

But who pulled the strings of that extraordinary puppet?  That was the
question.

"You have never seen him; he speaks to you and you believe all he
says?" asked Moncharmin.

"Yes.  To begin with, I owe it to him that my little Meg was promoted
to be the leader of a row.  I said to the ghost, 'If she is to be
empress in 1885, there is no time to lose; she must become a leader at
once.' He said, 'Look upon it as done.'  And he had only a word to say
to M. Poligny and the thing was done."

"So you see that M. Poligny saw him!"

"No, not any more than I did; but he heard him.  The ghost said a word
in his ear, you know, on the evening when he left Box Five, looking so
dreadfully pale."

Moncharmin heaved a sigh.  "What a business!" he groaned.

"Ah!" said Mme. Giry.  "I always thought there were secrets between the
ghost and M. Poligny.  Anything that the ghost asked M. Poligny to do
M. Poligny did.  M. Poligny could refuse the ghost nothing."

"You hear, Richard:  Poligny could refuse the ghost nothing."

"Yes, yes, I hear!" said Richard.  "M. Poligny is a friend of the
ghost; and, as Mme. Giry is a friend of M. Poligny, there we are!  ...
But I don't care a hang about M. Poligny," he added roughly.  "The only
person whose fate really interests me is Mme. Giry...  Mme. Giry, do
you know what is in this envelope?"

"Why, of course not," she said.

"Well, look."

Mine.  Giry looked into the envelope with a lackluster eye, which soon
recovered its brilliancy.

"Thousand-franc notes!" she cried.

"Yes, Mme. Giry, thousand-franc notes!  And you knew it!"

"I, sir?  I? ... I swear ..."

"Don't swear, Mme. Giry! ... And now I will tell you the second reason
why I sent for you.  Mme. Giry, I am going to have you arrested."

The two black feathers on the dingy bonnet, which usually affected the
attitude of two notes of interrogation, changed into two notes of
exclamation; as for the bonnet itself, it swayed in menace on the old
lady's tempestuous chignon.  Surprise, indignation, protest and dismay
were furthermore displayed by little Meg's mother in a sort of
extravagant movement of offended virtue, half bound, half slide, that
brought her right under the nose of M. Richard, who could not help
pushing back his chair.

"HAVE ME ARRESTED!"

The mouth that spoke those words seemed to spit the three teeth that
were left to it into Richard's face.

M. Richard behaved like a hero.  He retreated no farther.  His
threatening forefinger seemed already to be pointing out the keeper of
Box Five to the absent magistrates.

"I am going to have you arrested, Mme. Giry, as a thief!"

"Say that again!"

And Mme. Giry caught Mr. Manager Richard a mighty box on the ear,
before Mr. Manager Moncharmin had time to intervene.  But it was not
the withered hand of the angry old beldame that fell on the managerial
ear, but the envelope itself, the cause of all the trouble, the magic
envelope that opened with the blow, scattering the bank-notes, which
escaped in a fantastic whirl of giant butterflies.

The two managers gave a shout, and the same thought made them both go
on their knees, feverishly, picking up and hurriedly examining the
precious scraps of paper.

"Are they still genuine, Moncharmin?"

"Are they still genuine, Richard?"

"Yes, they are still genuine!"

Above their heads, Mme. Giry's three teeth were clashing in a noisy
contest, full of hideous interjections.  But all that could be clearly
distinguished was this LEIT-MOTIF:

"I, a thief! ... I, a thief, I?"

She choked with rage.  She shouted:

"I never heard of such a thing!"

And, suddenly, she darted up to Richard again.

"In any case," she yelped, "you, M. Richard, ought to know better than
I where the twenty thousand francs went to!"

"I?" asked Richard, astounded.  "And how should I know?"

Moncharmin, looking severe and dissatisfied, at once insisted that the
good lady should explain herself.

"What does this mean, Mme. Giry?" he asked.  "And why do you say that
M. Richard ought to know better than you where the twenty-thousand
francs went to?"

As for Richard, who felt himself turning red under Moncharmin's eyes,
he took Mme. Giry by the wrist and shook it violently.  In a voice
growling and rolling like thunder, he roared:

"Why should I know better than you where the twenty-thousand francs
went to?  Why?  Answer me!"

"Because they went into your pocket!" gasped the old woman, looking at
him as if he were the devil incarnate.

Richard would have rushed upon Mme. Giry, if Moncharmin had not stayed
his avenging hand and hastened to ask her, more gently:

"How can you suspect my partner, M. Richard, of putting twenty-thousand
francs in his pocket?"

"I never said that," declared Mme. Giry, "seeing that it was myself who
put the twenty-thousand francs into M. Richard's pocket." And she
added, under her voice, "There!  It's out! ... And may the ghost
forgive me!"

Richard began bellowing anew, but Moncharmin authoritatively ordered
him to be silent.

"Allow me!  Allow me!  Let the woman explain herself.  Let me question
her."  And he added:  "It is really astonishing that you should take up
such a tone! ... We are on the verge of clearing up the whole mystery.
And you're in a rage! ... You're wrong to behave like that...  I'm
enjoying myself immensely."

Mme. Giry, like the martyr that she was, raised her head, her face
beaming with faith in her own innocence.

"You tell me there were twenty-thousand francs in the envelope which I
put into M. Richard's pocket; but I tell you again that I knew nothing
about it ...  Nor M. Richard either, for that matter!"

"Aha!" said Richard, suddenly assuming a swaggering air which
Moncharmin did not like.  "I knew nothing either!  You put
twenty-thousand francs in my pocket and I knew nothing either!  I am
very glad to hear it, Mme. Giry!"

"Yes," the terrible dame agreed, "yes, it's true.  We neither of us
knew anything.  But you, you must have ended by finding out!"

Richard would certainly have swallowed Mme. Giry alive, if Moncharmin
had not been there!  But Moncharmin protected her.  He resumed his
questions:

"What sort of envelope did you put in M. Richard's pocket?  It was not
the one which we gave you, the one which you took to Box Five before
our eyes; and yet that was the one which contained the twenty-thousand
francs."

"I beg your pardon.  The envelope which M. le Directeur gave me was the
one which I slipped into M. le Directeur's pocket," explained Mme.
Giry.  "The one which I took to the ghost's box was another envelope,
just like it, which the ghost gave me beforehand and which I hid up my
sleeve."

So saying, Mme. Giry took from her sleeve an envelope ready prepared
and similarly addressed to that containing the twenty-thousand francs.
The managers took it from her.  They examined it and saw that it was
fastened with seals stamped with their own managerial seal.  They
opened it.  It contained twenty Bank of St. Farce notes like those
which had so much astounded them the month before.

"How simple!" said Richard.

"How simple!" repeated Moncharmin.  And he continued with his eyes
fixed upon Mme. Giry, as though trying to hypnotize her.

"So it was the ghost who gave you this envelope and told you to
substitute it for the one which we gave you?  And it was the ghost who
told you to put the other into M. Richard's pocket?"

"Yes, it was the ghost."

"Then would you mind giving us a specimen of your little talents?  Here
is the envelope.  Act as though we knew nothing."

"As you please, gentlemen."

Mme. Giry took the envelope with the twenty notes inside it and made
for the door.  She was on the point of going out when the two managers
rushed at her:

"Oh, no!  Oh, no!  We're not going to be 'done' a second time!  Once
bitten, twice shy!"

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said the old woman, in self-excuse,
"you told me to act as though you knew nothing ...  Well, if you knew
nothing, I should go away with your envelope!"

"And then how would you slip it into my pocket?" argued Richard, whom
Moncharmin fixed with his left eye, while keeping his right on Mme.
Giry:  a proceeding likely to strain his sight, but Moncharmin was
prepared to go to any length to discover the truth.

"I am to slip it into your pocket when you least expect it, sir.  You
know that I always take a little turn behind the scenes, in the course
of the evening, and I often go with my daughter to the ballet-foyer,
which I am entitled to do, as her mother; I bring her her shoes, when
the ballet is about to begin ... in fact, I come and go as I please ...
The subscribers come and go too...  So do you, sir ...  There are lots
of people about ...  I go behind you and slip the envelope into the
tail-pocket of your dress-coat ...  There's no witchcraft about that!"

"No witchcraft!" growled Richard, rolling his eyes like Jupiter Tonans.
"No witchcraft!  Why, I've just caught you in a lie, you old witch!"

Mme. Giry bristled, with her three teeth sticking out of her mouth.

"And why, may I ask?"

"Because I spent that evening watching Box Five and the sham envelope
which you put there.  I did not go to the ballet-foyer for a second."

"No, sir, and I did not give you the envelope that evening, but at the
next performance ... on the evening when the under-secretary of state
for fine arts ..."

At these words, M. Richard suddenly interrupted Mme. Giry:

"Yes, that's true, I remember now!  The under-secretary went behind the
scenes.  He asked for me.  I went down to the ballet-foyer for a
moment.  I was on the foyer steps ...  The under-secretary and his
chief clerk were in the foyer itself.  I suddenly turned around ... you
had passed behind me, Mme. Giry ...  You seemed to push against me ...
Oh, I can see you still, I can see you still!"

"Yes, that's it, sir, that's it.  I had just finished my little
business.  That pocket of yours, sir, is very handy!"

And Mme. Giry once more suited the action to the word, She passed
behind M. Richard and, so nimbly that Moncharmin himself was impressed
by it, slipped the envelope into the pocket of one of the tails of M.
Richard's dress-coat.

"Of course!" exclaimed Richard, looking a little pale.  "It's very
clever of O. G.  The problem which he had to solve was this: how to do
away with any dangerous intermediary between the man who gives the
twenty-thousand francs and the man who receives it.  And by far the
best thing he could hit upon was to come and take the money from my
pocket without my noticing it, as I myself did not know that it was
there.  It's wonderful!"

"Oh, wonderful, no doubt!"  Moncharmin agreed.  "Only, you forget,
Richard, that I provided ten-thousand francs of the twenty and that
nobody put anything in my pocket!"



[1] Flash notes drawn on the "Bank of St. Farce" in France correspond
with those drawn on the "Bank of Engraving" in England.--Translator's
Note.





Chapter XVII  The Safety-Pin Again


Moncharmin's last phrase so dearly expressed the suspicion in which he
now held his partner that it was bound to cause a stormy explanation,
at the end of which it was agreed that Richard should yield to all
Moncharmin's wishes, with the object of helping him to discover the
miscreant who was victimizing them.

This brings us to the interval after the Garden Act, with the strange
conduct observed by M. Remy and those curious lapses from the dignity
that might be expected of the managers.  It was arranged between
Richard and Moncharmin, first, that Richard should repeat the exact
movements which he had made on the night of the disappearance of the
first twenty-thousand francs; and, second, that Moncharmin should not
for an instant lose sight of Richard's coat-tail pocket, into which
Mme. Giry was to slip the twenty-thousand francs.

M. Richard went and placed himself at the identical spot where he had
stood when he bowed to the under-secretary for fine arts.  M.
Moncharmin took up his position a few steps behind him.

Mme. Giry passed, rubbed up against M. Richard, got rid of her
twenty-thousand francs in the manager's coat-tail pocket and
disappeared ...  Or rather she was conjured away.  In accordance with
the instructions received from Moncharmin a few minutes earlier,
Mercier took the good lady to the acting-manager's office and turned
the key on her, thus making it impossible for her to communicate with
her ghost.

Meanwhile, M. Richard was bending and bowing and scraping and walking
backward, just as if he had that high and mighty minister, the
under-secretary for fine arts, before him.  Only, though these marks of
politeness would have created no astonishment if the under-secretary of
state had really been in front of M. Richard, they caused an easily
comprehensible amazement to the spectators of this very natural but
quite inexplicable scene when M. Richard had no body in front of him.

M. Richard bowed ... to nobody; bent his back ... before nobody; and
walked backward ... before nobody ...  And, a few steps behind him, M.
Moncharmin did the same thing that he was doing in addition to pushing
away M. Remy and begging M. de La Borderie, the ambassador, and the
manager of the Credit Central "not to touch M. le Directeur."

Moncharmin, who had his own ideas, did not want Richard to come to him
presently, when the twenty-thousand francs were gone, and say:

"Perhaps it was the ambassador ... or the manager of the Credit Central
... or Remy."

The more so as, at the time of the first scene, as Richard himself
admitted, Richard had met nobody in that part of the theater after Mme.
Giry had brushed up against him...

Having begun by walking backward in order to bow, Richard continued to
do so from prudence, until he reached the passage leading to the
offices of the management.  In this way, he was constantly watched by
Moncharmin from behind and himself kept an eye on any one approaching
from the front.  Once more, this novel method of walking behind the
scenes, adopted by the managers of our National Academy of Music,
attracted attention; but the managers themselves thought of nothing but
their twenty-thousand francs.

On reaching the half-dark passage, Richard said to Moncharmin, in a low
voice:

"I am sure that nobody has touched me ...  You had now better keep at
some distance from me and watch me till I come to door of the office:
it is better not to arouse suspicion and we can see anything that
happens."

But Moncharmin replied.  "No, Richard, no!  You walk ahead and I'll
walk immediately behind you!  I won't leave you by a step!"

"But, in that case," exclaimed Richard, "they will never steal our
twenty-thousand francs!"

"I should hope not, indeed!" declared Moncharmin.

"Then what we are doing is absurd!"

"We are doing exactly what we did last time ...  Last time, I joined
you as you were leaving the stage and followed close behind you down
this passage."

"That's true!" sighed Richard, shaking his head and passively obeying
Moncharmin.

Two minutes later, the joint managers locked themselves into their
office.  Moncharmin himself put the key in his pocket:

"We remained locked up like this, last time," he said, "until you left
the Opera to go home."

"That's so.  No one came and disturbed us, I suppose?"

"No one."

"Then," said Richard, who was trying to collect his memory, "then I
must certainly have been robbed on my way home from the Opera."

"No," said Moncharmin in a drier tone than ever, "no, that's
impossible.  For I dropped you in my cab.  The twenty-thousand francs
disappeared at your place:  there's not a shadow of a doubt about that."

"It's incredible!" protested Richard.  "I am sure of my servants ...
and if one of them had done it, he would have disappeared since."

Moncharmin shrugged his shoulders, as though to say that he did not
wish to enter into details, and Richard began to think that Moncharmin
was treating him in a very insupportable fashion.

"Moncharmin, I've had enough of this!"

"Richard, I've had too much of it!"

"Do you dare to suspect me?"

"Yes, of a silly joke."

"One doesn't joke with twenty-thousand francs."

"That's what I think," declared Moncharmin, unfolding a newspaper and
ostentatiously studying its contents.

"What are you doing?" asked Richard.  "Are you going to read the paper
next?"

"Yes, Richard, until I take you home."

"Like last time?"

"Yes, like last time."

Richard snatched the paper from Moncharmin's hands.  Moncharmin stood
up, more irritated than ever, and found himself faced by an exasperated
Richard, who, crossing his arms on his chest, said:

"Look here, I'm thinking of this, I'M THINKING OF WHAT I MIGHT THINK
if, like last time, after my spending the evening alone with you, you
brought me home and if, at the moment of parting, I perceived that
twenty-thousand francs had disappeared from my coat-pocket ... like
last time."

"And what might you think?" asked Moncharmin, crimson with rage.

"I might think that, as you hadn't left me by a foot's breadth and as,
by your own wish, you were the only one to approach me, like last time,
I might think that, if that twenty-thousand francs was no longer in my
pocket, it stood a very good chance of being in yours!"

Moncharmin leaped up at the suggestion.

"Oh!" he shouted.  "A safety-pin!"

"What do you want a safety-pin for?"

"To fasten you up with! ... A safety-pin! ... A safety-pin!"

"You want to fasten me with a safety-pin?"

"Yes, to fasten you to the twenty-thousand francs!  Then, whether it's
here, or on the drive from here to your place, or at your place, you
will feel the hand that pulls at your pocket and you will see if it's
mine!  Oh, so you're suspecting me now, are you?  A safety-pin!"

And that was the moment when Moncharmin opened the door on the passage
and shouted:

"A safety-pin! ... somebody give me a safety-pin!"

And we also know how, at the same moment, Remy, who had no safety-pin,
was received by Moncharmin, while a boy procured the pin so eagerly
longed for.  And what happened was this:  Moncharmin first locked the
door again.  Then he knelt down behind Richard's back.

"I hope," he said, "that the notes are still there?"

"So do I," said Richard.

"The real ones?" asked Moncharmin, resolved not to be "had" this time.

"Look for yourself," said Richard.  "I refuse to touch them."

Moncharmin took the envelope from Richard's pocket and drew out the
bank-notes with a trembling hand, for, this time, in order frequently
to make sure of the presence of the notes, he had not sealed the
envelope nor even fastened it.  He felt reassured on finding that they
were all there and quite genuine.  He put them back in the tail-pocket
and pinned them with great care.  Then he sat down behind Richard's
coat-tails and kept his eyes fixed on them, while Richard, sitting at
his writing-table, did not stir.

"A little patience, Richard," said Moncharmin.  "We have only a few
minutes to wait ...  The clock will soon strike twelve.  Last time, we
left at the last stroke of twelve."

"Oh, I shall have all the patience necessary!"

The time passed, slow, heavy, mysterious, stifling.  Richard tried to
laugh.

"I shall end by believing in the omnipotence of the ghost," he said.
"Just now, don't you find something uncomfortable, disquieting,
alarming in the atmosphere of this room?"

"You're quite right," said Moncharmin, who was really impressed.

"The ghost!" continued Richard, in a low voice, as though fearing lest
he should be overheard by invisible ears.  "The ghost!  Suppose, all
the same, it were a ghost who puts the magic envelopes on the table ...
who talks in Box Five ... who killed Joseph Buquet ...  who unhooked
the chandelier ... and who robs us!  For, after all, after all, after
all, there is no one here except you and me, and, if the notes
disappear and neither you nor I have anything to do with it, well, we
shall have to believe in the ghost ... in the ghost."

At that moment, the clock on the mantlepiece gave its warning click and
the first stroke of twelve struck.

The two managers shuddered.  The perspiration streamed from their
foreheads.  The twelfth stroke sounded strangely in their ears.

When the clock stopped, they gave a sigh and rose from their chairs.

"I think we can go now," said Moncharmin.

"I think so," Richard a agreed.

"Before we go, do you mind if I look in your pocket?"

"But, of course, Moncharmin, YOU MUST! ... Well?" he asked, as
Moncharmin was feeling at the pocket.

"Well, I can feel the pin."

"Of course, as you said, we can't be robbed without noticing it."

But Moncharmin, whose hands were still fumbling, bellowed:

"I can feel the pin, but I can't feel the notes!"

"Come, no joking, Moncharmin! ... This isn't the time for it."

"Well, feel for yourself."

Richard tore off his coat.  The two managers turned the pocket inside
out.  THE POCKET WAS EMPTY.  And the curious thing was that the pin
remained, stuck in the same place.

Richard and Moncharmin turned pale.  There was no longer any doubt
about the witchcraft.

"The ghost!" muttered Moncharmin.

But Richard suddenly sprang upon his partner.

"No one but you has touched my pocket!  Give me back my twenty-thousand
francs! ... Give me back my twenty-thousand francs! ..."

"On my soul," sighed Moncharmin, who was ready to swoon, "on my soul, I
swear that I haven't got it!"

Then somebody knocked at the door.  Moncharmin opened it automatically,
seemed hardly to recognize Mercier, his business-manager, exchanged a
few words with him, without knowing what he was saying and, with an
unconscious movement, put the safety-pin, for which he had no further
use, into the hands of his bewildered subordinate ...




Chapter XVIII  The Commissary, The Viscount and the Persian


The first words of the commissary of police, on entering the managers'
office, were to ask after the missing prima donna.

"Is Christine Daae here?"

"Christine Daae here?" echoed Richard.  "No. Why?"

As for Moncharmin, he had not the strength left to utter a word.

Richard repeated, for the commissary and the compact crowd which had
followed him into the office observed an impressive silence.

"Why do you ask if Christine Daae is here, M. LE COMMISSAIRE?"

"Because she has to be found," declared the commissary of police
solemnly.

"What do you mean, she has to be found?  Has she disappeared?"

"In the middle of the performance!"

"In the middle of the performance?  This is extraordinary!"

"Isn't it?  And what is quite as extraordinary is that you should first
learn it from me!"

"Yes," said Richard, taking his head in his hands and muttering.  "What
is this new business?  Oh, it's enough to make a man send in his
resignation!"

And he pulled a few hairs out of his mustache without even knowing what
he was doing.

"So she ... so she disappeared in the middle of the performance?" he
repeated.

"Yes, she was carried off in the Prison Act, at the moment when she was
invoking the aid of the angels; but I doubt if she was carried off by
an angel."

"And I am sure that she was!"

Everybody looked round.  A young man, pale and trembling with
excitement, repeated:

"I am sure of it!"

"Sure of what?" asked Mifroid.

"That Christine Daae was carried off by an angel, M. LE COMMISSAIRE and
I can tell you his name."

"Aha, M. le Vicomte de Chagny!  So you maintain that Christine Daae was
carried off by an angel:  an angel of the Opera, no doubt?"

"Yes, monsieur, by an angel of the Opera; and I will tell you where he
lives ... when we are alone."

"You are right, monsieur."

And the commissary of police, inviting Raoul to take a chair, cleared
the room of all the rest, excepting the managers.

Then Raoul spoke:

"M. le Commissaire, the angel is called Erik, he lives in the Opera and
he is the Angel of Music!"

"The Angel of Music!  Really!  That is very curious! ... The Angel of
Music!"  And, turning to the managers, M. Mifroid asked, "Have you an
Angel of Music on the premises, gentlemen?"

Richard and Moncharmin shook their heads, without even speaking.

"Oh," said the viscount, "those gentlemen have heard of the Opera
ghost.  Well, I am in a position to state that the Opera ghost and the
Angel of Music are one and the same person; and his real name is Erik."

M. Mifroid rose and looked at Raoul attentively.

"I beg your pardon, monsieur but is it your intention to make fun of
the law?  And, if not, what is all this about the Opera ghost?"

"I say that these gentlemen have heard of him."

"Gentlemen, it appears that you know the Opera ghost?"

Richard rose, with the remaining hairs of his mustache in his hand.

"No, M. Commissary, no, we do not know him, but we wish that we did,
for this very evening he has robbed us of twenty-thousand francs!"

And Richard turned a terrible look on Moncharmin, which seemed to say:

"Give me back the twenty-thousand francs, or I'll tell the whole story."

Moncharmin understood what he meant, for, with a distracted gesture, he
said:

"Oh, tell everything and have done with it!"

As for Mifroid, he looked at the managers and at Raoul by turns and
wondered whether he had strayed into a lunatic asylum.  He passed his
hand through his hair.

"A ghost," he said, "who, on the same evening, carries off an
opera-singer and steals twenty-thousand francs is a ghost who must have
his hands very full!  If you don't mind, we will take the questions in
order.  The singer first, the twenty-thousand francs after.  Come, M.
de Chagny, let us try to talk seriously.  You believe that Mlle.
Christine Daae has been carried off by an individual called Erik.  Do
you know this person?  Have you seen him?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In a church yard."

M. Mifroid gave a start, began to scrutinize Raoul again and said:

"Of course! ... That's where ghosts usually hang out! ... And what were
you doing in that churchyard?"

"Monsieur," said Raoul, "I can quite understand how absurd my replies
must seem to you.  But I beg you to believe that I am in full
possession of my faculties.  The safety of the person dearest to me in
the world is at stake.  I should like to convince you in a few words,
for time is pressing and every minute is valuable.  Unfortunately, if I
do not tell you the strangest story that ever was from the beginning,
you will not believe me.  I will tell you all I know about the Opera
ghost, M. Commissary.  Alas, I do not know much! ..."

"Never mind, go on, go on!" exclaimed Richard and Moncharmin, suddenly
greatly interested.

Unfortunately for their hopes of learning some detail that could put
them on the track of their hoaxer, they were soon compelled to accept
the fact that M. Raoul de Chagny had completely lost his head.  All
that story about Perros-Guirec, death's heads and enchanted violins,
could only have taken birth in the disordered brain of a youth mad with
love.  It was evident, also, that Mr. Commissary Mifroid shared their
view; and the magistrate would certainly have cut short the incoherent
narrative if circumstances had not taken it upon themselves to
interrupt it.

The door opened and a man entered, curiously dressed in an enormous
frock-coat and a tall hat, at once shabby and shiny, that came down to
his ears.  He went up to the commissary and spoke to him in a whisper.
It was doubtless a detective come to deliver an important communication.

During this conversation, M. Mifroid did not take his eyes off Raoul.
At last, addressing him, he said:

"Monsieur, we have talked enough about the ghost.  We will now talk
about yourself a little, if you have no objection: you were to carry
off Mlle. Christine Daae to-night?"

"Yes, M. le Commissaire."

"After the performance?"

"Yes, M. le Commissaire."

"All your arrangements were made?"

"Yes, M. le Commissaire."

"The carriage that brought you was to take you both away...  There were
fresh horses in readiness at every stage ..."

"That is true, M. le Commissaire."

"And nevertheless your carriage is still outside the Rotunda awaiting
your orders, is it not?"

"Yes, M. le Commissaire."

"Did you know that there were three other carriages there, in addition
to yours?"

"I did not pay the least attention."

"They were the carriages of Mlle. Sorelli, which could not find room in
the Cour de l'Administration; of Carlotta; and of your brother, M. le
Comte de Chagny..."

"Very likely..."

"What is certain is that, though your carriage and Sorelli's and
Carlotta's are still there, by the Rotunda pavement, M. le Comte de
Chagny's carriage is gone."

"This has nothing to say to ..."

"I beg your pardon.  Was not M. le Comte opposed to your marriage with
Mlle. Daae?"

"That is a matter that only concerns the family."

"You have answered my question:  he was opposed to it ... and that was
why you were carrying Christine Daae out of your brother's reach...
Well, M. de Chagny, allow me to inform you that your brother has been
smarter than you!  It is he who has carried off Christine Daae!"

"Oh, impossible!" moaned Raoul, pressing his hand to his heart.  "Are
you sure?"

"Immediately after the artist's disappearance, which was procured by
means which we have still to ascertain, he flung into his carriage,
which drove right across Paris at a furious pace."

"Across Paris?" asked poor Raoul, in a hoarse voice.  "What do you mean
by across Paris?"

"Across Paris and out of Paris ... by the Brussels road."

"Oh," cried the young man, "I shall catch them!"  And he rushed out of
the office.

"And bring her back to us!" cried the commisary gaily ...  "Ah, that's
a trick worth two of the Angel of Music's!"

And, turning to his audience, M. Mifroid delivered a little lecture on
police methods.

"I don't know for a moment whether M. le Comte de Chagny has really
carried Christine Daae off or not ... but I want to know and I believe
that, at this moment, no one is more anxious to inform us than his
brother ...  And now he is flying in pursuit of him!  He is my chief
auxiliary!  This, gentlemen, is the art of the police, which is
believed to be so complicated and which, nevertheless appears so simple
as soon its you see that it consists in getting your work done by
people who have nothing to do with the police."

But M. le Commissaire de Police Mifroid would not have been quite so
satisfied with himself if he had known that the rush of his rapid
emissary was stopped at the entrance to the very first corridor.  A
tall figure blocked Raoul's way.

"Where are you going so fast, M. de Chagny?" asked a voice.

Raoul impatiently raised his eyes and recognized the astrakhan cap of
an hour ago.  He stopped:

"It's you!" he cried, in a feverish voice.  "You, who know Erik's
secrets and don't want me to speak of them.  Who are you?"

"You know who I am! ... I am the Persian!"




Chapter XIX  The Viscount and the Persian


Raoul now remembered that his brother had once shown him that
mysterious person, of whom nothing was known except that he was a
Persian and that he lived in a little old-fashioned flat in the Rue de
Rivoli.

The man with the ebony skin, the eyes of jade and the astrakhan cap
bent over Raoul.

"I hope, M. de Chagny," he said, "that you have not betrayed Erik's
secret?"

"And why should I hesitate to betray that monster, sir?" Raoul rejoined
haughtily, trying to shake off the intruder.  "Is he your friend, by
any chance?"

"I hope that you said nothing about Erik, sir, because Erik's secret is
also Christine Daae's and to talk about one is to talk about the other!"

"Oh, sir," said Raoul, becoming more and more impatient, "you seem to
know about many things that interest me; and yet I have no time to
listen to you!"

"Once more, M. de Chagny, where are you going so fast?"

"Can not you guess?  To Christine Daae's assistance..."

"Then, sir, stay here, for Christine Daae is here!"

"With Erik?"

"With Erik."

"How do you know?"

"I was at the performance and no one in the world but Erik could
contrive an abduction like that! ... Oh," he said, with a deep sigh, "I
recognized the monster's touch! ..."

"You know him then?"

The Persian did not reply, but heaved a fresh sigh.

"Sir," said Raoul, "I do not know what your intentions are, but can you
do anything to help me?  I mean, to help Christine Daae?"

"I think so, M. de Chagny, and that is why I spoke to you."

"What can you do?"

"Try to take you to her ... and to him."

"If you can do me that service, sir, my life is yours! ... One word
more:  the commissary of police tells me that Christine Daae has been
carried off by my brother, Count Philippe."

"Oh, M. de Chagny, I don't believe a word of it."

"It's not possible, is it?"

"I don't know if it is possible or not; but there are ways and ways of
carrying people off; and M. le Comte Philippe has never, as far as I
know, had anything to do with witchcraft."

"Your arguments are convincing, sir, and I am a fool! ... Oh, let us
make haste!  I place myself entirely in your hands! ...  How should I
not believe you, when you are the only one to believe me ... when you
are the only one not to smile when Erik's name is mentioned?"

And the young man impetuously seized the Persian's hands.  They were
ice-cold.

"Silence!" said the Persian, stopping and listening to the distant
sounds of the theater.  "We must not mention that name here.  Let us
say 'he' and 'him;' then there will be less danger of attracting his
attention."

"Do you think he is near us?"

"It is quite possible, Sir, if he is not, at this moment, with his
victim, IN THE HOUSE ON THE LAKE."

"Ah, so you know that house too?"

"If he is not there, he may be here, in this wall, in this floor, in
this ceiling! ... Come!"

And the Persian, asking Raoul to deaden the sound of his footsteps, led
him down passages which Raoul had never seen before, even at the time
when Christine used to take him for walks through that labyrinth.

"If only Darius has come!" said the Persian.

"Who is Darius?"

"Darius?  My servant."

They were now in the center of a real deserted square, an immense
apartment ill-lit by a small lamp.  The Persian stopped Raoul and, in
the softest of whispers, asked:

"What did you say to the commissary?"

"I said that Christine Daae's abductor was the Angel of Music, ALIAS
the Opera ghost, and that the real name was ..."

"Hush! ... And did he believe you?"

"No."

"He attached no importance to what you said?"

"No."

"He took you for a bit of a madman?"

"Yes."

"So much the better!" sighed the Persian.

And they continued their road.  After going up and down several
staircases which Raoul had never seen before, the two men found
themselves in front of a door which the Persian opened with a
master-key. The Persian and Raoul were both, of course, in
dress-clothes; but, whereas Raoul had a tall hat, the Persian wore the
astrakhan cap which I have already mentioned.  It was an infringement
of the rule which insists upon the tall hat behind the scenes; but in
France foreigners are allowed every license: the Englishman his
traveling-cap, the Persian his cap of astrakhan.

"Sir," said the Persian, "your tall hat will be in your way: you would
do well to leave it in the dressing-room."

"What dressing-room?" asked Raoul.

"Christine Daae's."

And the Persian, letting Raoul through the door which he had just
opened, showed him the actress' room opposite.  They were at the end of
the passage the whole length of which Raoul had been accustomed to
traverse before knocking at Christine's door.

"How well you know the Opera, sir!"

"Not so well as 'he' does!" said the Persian modestly.

And he pushed the young man into Christine's dressing-room, which was
as Raoul had left it a few minutes earlier.

Closing the door, the Persian went to a very thin partition that
separated the dressing-room from a big lumber-room next to it.  He
listened and then coughed loudly.

There was a sound of some one stirring in the lumber-room; and, a few
seconds later, a finger tapped at the door.

"Come in," said the Persian.

A man entered, also wearing an astrakhan cap and dressed in a long
overcoat.  He bowed and took a richly carved case from under his coat,
put it on the dressing-table, bowed once again and went to the door.

"Did no one see you come in, Darius?"

"No, master."

"Let no one see you go out."

The servant glanced down the passage and swiftly disappeared.

The Persian opened the case.  It contained a pair of long pistols.

"When Christine Daae was carried off, sir, I sent word to my servant to
bring me these pistols.  I have had them a long time and they can be
relied upon."

"Do you mean to fight a duel?" asked the young man.

"It will certainly be a duel which we shall have to fight," said the
other, examining the priming of his pistols.  "And what a duel!"
Handing one of the pistols to Raoul, he added, "In this duel, we shall
be two to one; but you must be prepared for everything, for we shall be
fighting the most terrible adversary that you can imagine.  But you
love Christine Daae, do you not?"

"I worship the ground she stands on!  But you, sir, who do not love
her, tell me why I find you ready to risk your life for her!  You must
certainly hate Erik!"

"No, sir," said the Persian sadly, "I do not hate him.  If I hated him,
he would long ago have ceased doing harm."

"Has he done you harm?"

"I have forgiven him the harm which he has done me."

"I do not understand you.  You treat him as a monster, you speak of his
crime, he has done you harm and I find in you the same inexplicable
pity that drove me to despair when I saw it in Christine!"

The Persian did not reply.  He fetched a stool and set it against the
wall facing the great mirror that filled the whole of the wall-space
opposite.  Then he climbed on the stool and, with his nose to the
wallpaper, seemed to be looking for something.

"Ah," he said, after a long search, "I have it!"  And, raising his
finger above his head, he pressed against a corner in the pattern of
the paper.  Then he turned round and jumped off the stool:

"In half a minute," he said, "he shall be ON HIS ROAD!" and crossing
the whole of the dressing-room he felt the great mirror.

"No, it is not yielding yet," he muttered.

"Oh, are we going out by the mirror?" asked Raoul.  "Like Christine
Daae."

"So you knew that Christine Daae went out by that mirror?"

"She did so before my eyes, sir!  I was hidden behind the curtain of
the inner room and I saw her vanish not by the glass, but in the glass!"

"And what did you do?"

"I thought it was an aberration of my senses, a mad dream.

"Or some new fancy of the ghost's!" chuckled the Persian.  "Ah, M. de
Chagny," he continued, still with his hand on the mirror, "would that
we had to do with a ghost!  We could then leave our pistols in their
case ...  Put down your hat, please ... there ... and now cover your
shirt-front as much as you can with your coat ... as I am doing ...
Bring the lapels forward ... turn up the collar ...  We must make
ourselves as invisible as possible."

Bearing against the mirror, after a short silence, he said:

"It takes some time to release the counterbalance, when you press on
the spring from the inside of the room.  It is different when you are
behind the wall and can act directly on the counterbalance.  Then the
mirror turns at once and is moved with incredible rapidity."

"What counterbalance?" asked Raoul.

"Why, the counterbalance that lifts the whole of this wall on to its
pivot.  You surely don't expect it to move of itself, by enchantment!
If you watch, you will see the mirror first rise an inch or two and
then shift an inch or two from left to right.  It will then be on a
pivot and will swing round."

"It's not turning!" said Raoul impatiently.

"Oh, wait!  You have time enough to be impatient, sir!  The mechanism
has obviously become rusty, or else the spring isn't working... Unless
it is something else," added the Persian, anxiously.

"What?"

"He may simply have cut the cord of the counterbalance and blocked the
whole apparatus."

"Why should he?  He does not know that we are coming this way!"

"I dare say he suspects it, for he knows that I understand the system."

"It's not turning! ... And Christine, sir, Christine?"

The Persian said coldly:

"We shall do all that it is humanly possible to do! ... But he may stop
us at the first step! ... He commands the walls, the doors and the
trapdoors.  In my country, he was known by a name which means the
'trap-door lover.'"

"But why do these walls obey him alone?  He did not build them!"

"Yes, sir, that is just what he did!"

Raoul looked at him in amazement; but the Persian made a sign to him to
be silent and pointed to the glass ...  There was a sort of shivering
reflection.  Their image was troubled as in a rippling sheet of water
and then all became stationary again.

"You see, sir, that it is not turning!  Let us take another road!"

"To-night, there is no other!" declared the Persian, in a singularly
mournful voice.  "And now, look out!  And be ready to fire."

He himself raised his pistol opposite the glass.  Raoul imitated his
movement.  With his free arm, the Persian drew the young man to his
chest and, suddenly, the mirror turned, in a blinding daze of
cross-lights: it turned like one of those revolving doors which have
lately been fixed to the entrances of most restaurants, it turned,
carrying Raoul and the Persian with it and suddenly hurling them from
the full light into the deepest darkness.

 There is a backstory to the managers' odd behavior that goes beyond the events of the night the chandelier fell. The ghost was calmly paid his first 20,000 francs. One morning, the managers found on their table a note from the Opera Ghost that asked for the first month's payment. The managers did not hesitate and put the money into the envelope and give it to Mme. Giry, who placed it on the little shelf attached to the ledge by Box Five. The two managers, Gabriel, and Mercier were hidden in such a way that they did not lose sight of the envelope for a second during the performance and even afterward, because, as the envelope had not moved, those who watched it did not move either. At last, they opened the envelope after ascertaining that the seals had not been broken, but found that the notes had disappeared . The second time around, the managers ask Mme. Giry why she has given herself to the ghost. She says that, one day in Box Five, she found a letter addressed to her , which said that her daughter, Meg Giry, was going to be an Empress one day. Richard says that he is going to have Mme. Giry arrested for thievery. Mme. Giry is flabbergasted and enraged as a result of this accusation, and in response Mme. Giry tells Richard that he should know better about where the money is - because it went into her pocket. Mme. Giry tells them that the envelope she took to the ghost's box was another one , which the ghost gave to her beforehand and which she hid up her sleeve. She shows the managers the other envelope that she received for the second month's payment, and they see that it is stamped with their own managerial seal. The envelope is filled with fake notes. Mme. Giry shows them how she does it: she slips the envelope into Richard's pocket when he least expects it . That Richard does not even know the money is in his pocket makes it an opportune way to retrieve the money while removing any trail that Mme. Giry might be able to follow. They decide to repeat the exact same movements as last time, but cannot figure out when the money is taken. Moncharmin suggests fastening Richard's pocket to the money by using a safety pin, so that he will feel the hand that pulls at his pocket. When the clock strikes midnight, they decide to leave for their home. When Moncharmin checks Richard's pocket, he finds the pin intact but the envelope missing. Richard accuses Moncharmin of taking the money, but Moncharmin says he hasn't got it. Mercier knocks at the door, and Moncharmin quietly exchanges a few words with him. The commissary of police enters the managers' office, and he asks the managers if Christine is in the office. Both managers respond no, and are bewildered at Christine's disappearance. Raoul says that Christine was carried off by an angel, and reveals that angel's name to be Erik. He says that the Opera Ghost and the Angel of Music are one and the same. Raoul attempts to tell the entire group of people present in the office about the ghost and his interactions with him, but they soon come to the conclusion that he has completely lost his mind. A detective interrupts the conversation and tells the commissary that Philippe immediately flung into his carriage and drove across Paris at a furiously fast pace. The commissary cannot confirm if Philippe has carried off Christine for sure, but Raoul decides to go after him. He is stopped at the entrance to a corridor by the Persian, who suddenly appears, apparently out of nowhere. The Persian asks Raoul if he has betrayed Erik's secret. Raoul becomes impatient with the Persian's questions and wants to leave. But the Persian says that Christine is in the Opera House with Erik. Raoul asks the Persian to take him to Christine - and the Persian resolves to do so. He asks Raoul to take off his tall hat, but he keeps on his own astrakhan cap. They find themselves in Christine's dressing room, and after closing the door, the Persian goes to a very thin partition that separated the dressing room from a big lumber room next to it. He listens and then coughs loudly. A finger taps at the door and in comes Darius, the Persian's servant, who gives both of them pistols. The Persian shows Raoul how the mirror in Christine's dressing room made her "disappear": one needs to apply a counterbalance that lifts the whole of the wall onto its pivot. The mirror first rises an inch or two and then shifts an inch or two from left to right. It is then on a pivot and swings round. With his free arm, the Persian draws Raoul to his chest and suddenly the mirror turns like a revolving door, carrying Raoul and the Persian and hurling them into a deep darkness. Raoul and the Persian are completely hidden behind a partition, and near them a small staircase leads to a little room in which the commissary appears to be walking up and down, asking questions. The faint light is enough for Raoul to see three corpses in the little room: the chief gas-man and his two assistants were actually fast asleep. Raoul and the Persian watch the removal of the three bodies by a number of scene shifters, who were followed by the commissary and all the people with him. When they are alone, the Persian makes a sign to Raoul to stand up. Raoul stands up, but he does not lift his hands in front of his eyes, ready to fire; the Persian tells him to resume that position and continue to do so, regardless of what happens. Raoul follows the Persian into the third cellar . Once in the fifth cellar, the Persian draws his breath. He seems to enjoy a greater sense of security than he displays when they both stopped in the third cellar. They narrowly avoid many of the Opera's employees who work and live in the depths of the cellars. They see a fiery face in the cellar - the rat-catcher - coming towards them, and narrowly avoid him too. Raoul slowly loses hope, but the Persian reassures him that Christine can only be saved if they enter Erik's house unperceived. The place of entrance is between a set piece and a discarded scene from the play Roi de Lahore, and so they gradually arrive beneath the huge cellars below the stage. The Persian tries to enter through a partition wall but is unsuccessful, and then leads Raoul up a staircase by which they came down earlier. They come to a discarded scene from the Roi de Lahore in the third cellar, and close to this scene was a set piece. Between the scene and the set piece there is just enough room for a body . The Persian slips between the set piece and the scene from the Roi de Lahore, and with his free hand the Persian feels the wall. Raoul watches him bear heavily upon the wall. Then a stone gives way, leaving a hole in the wall. This time, the Persian takes his pistol from his picket, makes a sign to Raoul to do as he did, and cocks the pistol. He and Raoul wiggle through the hole - which is narrow - and the Persian takes out the lantern again. He examines something beneath him and immediately extinguishes his lantern. They drop a few yards and stand motionless, listening. The darkness around them is thick, and the Persian sees that the stone has closed itself off. The Persian turns on the lantern again and picks something off the ground, a sort of cord, which he examines for a second and then flings away with horror. He calls the cord the Punjab lasso. He notices the trunk of a tree next to it nothing at all; the ray of light that seems to reflect itself. The wall is a looking-glass, and the Persian says that they have fallen into Erik's torture-chamber.

