Chapter XIV

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?”

“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!”

“So she,” said Richard, “ so she disappeared in the middle of the performance?” he repeated.

“Yes, she was carried off, 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 heard about the Angel of Music, 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!”

Mifroid he looked at the managers and at Raoul and wondered whether he had strayed into a lunatic asylum.

“A ghost,” he said, “very well. 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”.

“Yes. Monsieur,” said Raoul, “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, they were soon compelled to accept the fact that M. Raoul de Chagny had completely lost his head. His story 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.

The door opened and a man entered, curiously dressed in an enormous frock-coat and a tall hat. He went up to the commissary and spoke to him in a whisper. It was doubtless a detective.

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 tonight?”

“Yes, M. le Commissaire.”

“After the performance?”

“Yes, M. le Commissaire.”

“All your arrangements were made?”

“Yes, M. le Commissaire. That is true.”

“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. 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, 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 commissary gaily. “Ah, that’s a trick worth two of the Angel of Music’s!”

But 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 stopped:

“It’s you!” he cried. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am! I am the Persian!”

Chapter XV

“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 do 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…! 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 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, I place myself entirely in your hands! Where is Erik?”

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 led Raoul 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 an immense apartment. The Persian stopped Raoul and asked:

“What did you say to the commissary?”

“I said that Christine Daae’s abductor was the Angel of Music, the Opera ghost, and that the real name was…”

“Hush! And did he believe you?”

“No.”

“He took you for 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 key.

“Sir,” said the Persian, “it’s better to leave your tall hat in the dressing-room.”

“What dressing-room?” asked Raoul.

“Christine Daae’s.”

And the Persian 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. 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. 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. They can be relied upon. 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!”

The Persian did not reply. He fetched a stool and set it against the wall facing the great mirror. 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.

“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 a mad dream.”

“Look out!” said the Persian. “And be ready to fire.”

With his free arm, the Persian drew the young man to his chest and, suddenly, the mirror turned, carrying Raoul and the Persian with it and suddenly hurling them from the full light into the deepest darkness.