The Phantom of the Opera (Oxford World's Classics)

by Gaston Leroux

  Moreover, it became quite clear Mifroid was increasingly inclined to share their view of Raoul and he would certainly have cut short his wild ramblings (of matters outlined earlier in our narrative) if circumstances had not taken a hand.

  The door opened and in stepped a man strangely dressed in an immense black greatcoat and a shiny yet scuffed top hat which was held up by his ears. He hurried to the Inspector and spoke to him in a whisper. He was doubtless some plain clothes man reporting.

  While they conferred, Mifroid did not take his eyes off Raoul. Finally, he spoke:

  ‘M. de Chagny, that’s quite enough about your Phantom. Now, if you have no objection, I’d like to talk about you. Were you planning to run away with Mlle Christine Daaé tonight?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector.’

  ‘When the performance was over?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector.’

  ‘And the arrangements were all made?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector.’

  ‘The carriage you came in was also to whisk the both of you away, the driver had his instructions, and his route had been given to him in advance. Not just that, but there would be fresh horses waiting at every staging post?…’

  ‘All true, Inspector.’

  ‘Yet your carriage is still there, waiting your orders, outside the Rotonde?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector.’

  ‘Were you aware that there were three other carriages next to yours?’

  ‘I really didn’t notice.’

  ‘One was Mlle Sorelli’s, which hadn’t found room in the courtyard, the others belonged to Mlle Carlotta and your brother, Count de Chagny.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘But it is quite certain that… put it this way, your carriage, La Sorelli’s and La Carlotta’s are still where they were, at the kerbside outside the Rotonde… but the Count’s has gone…’

  ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything, Inspector.’

  ‘Excuse me! Wasn’t the Count opposed to your marriage with Mlle Daaé?’

  ‘That is a matter for the family.’

  ‘That answers my question… You said that he was against it… and that’s why you were planning to elope with Christine Daaé, to put some distance between the two of you and what the Count might do… Well, sir, let me inform you that your brother has moved faster than you!… He’s the one who abducted Christine Daaé!’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Raoul, hand on heart, ‘that can’t be!… Are you sure?’

  ‘Immediately after his abduction of the singer in which he was aided and abetted by persons and means we have yet to identify, he jumped into his carriage and drove off furiously through Paris.’

  ‘Through Paris?’ asked Raoul. ‘What do you mean, “through” Paris?’

  ‘Across and out of Paris.’

  ‘Out of Paris… which road did he take?’

  ‘The road to Brussels.’

  A groan of dismay escaped from the Viscount’s lips.

  ‘I’ll go after them!’ he cried. ‘I’ll catch them, I swear!’

  And with one bound, he was out of the door.

  ‘And bring her back to us!’ the Inspector called after him gleefully. ‘How about that for a lead! Much better than your guff about the Angel of Music!’

  Turning to his stunned audience, he gave them a short course in grown-up police methods.

  ‘Actually, I have no idea if it was really the Count de Chagny who abducted Christine Daaé… But I need to know, and at this moment I can think of no one better than the Viscount to tell me… As we speak, he’s going at it hell for leather!… He’s my main informant!… Now that, gentlemen, is the secret of successful policing. People make out it’s very complicated. In fact, it’s all very simple once you’ve realized that it’s all about getting the work of the police done by people who are not members of the force!’

  Still, perhaps Inspector Mifroid would not have been quite so pleased with himself if he’d known that his fleet-footed errand boy had been halted in his tracks in the first corridor he came to. It was empty, the inquisitive crowd now having dispersed, and appeared deserted.

  But Raoul found his path suddenly blocked by a tall, shadowy figure.

  ‘Where are you rushing off to like that, M. de Chagny?’ it said.

  Raoul, resenting the delay, looked up and recognized the astrakhan fez he’d seen earlier. He stopped.

  ‘You again!’ he cried impatiently. ‘You know all Erik’s secrets but you never want me to talk about them. Who are you exactly?’

  ‘I think you know who I am,’ said the shadow. ‘I am the Persian!’

  CHAPTER 20

  The Viscount and the Persian

  RAOUL recalled that one evening, during a performance, his brother had pointed out an inscrutable individual about whom nothing was known, except that once somebody had said he was Persian and that he lived in a small apartment in the Rue de Rivoli.

  The man with the ebony skin, jade-green eyes and an astrakhan fez craned confidentially over Raoul.

  ‘I hope, M. de Chagny, that you haven’t given Erik’s secret away?’

  ‘Why would I hesitate for one moment to betray a monster like him?’ replied Raoul curtly as if trying to shake off a nuisance. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘I sincerely hope you didn’t say anything about Erik, sir, because his secret is also Christine Daaé’s! When you talk about one you also talk about the other!’

  ‘Look here,’ said Raoul, growing increasingly impatient, ‘you seem to know a lot about matters which concern me. Unfortunately, I haven’t got time to hear you out.’

  ‘I ask you again, M. de Chagny: where are you going in such a hurry?’

  ‘Can’t you guess? To rescue Christine Daaé!’

  ‘In that case, stay, for Christine Daaé is here!’

  ‘With Erik?’

  ‘Yes, with Erik!’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I was in the audience tonight. Only Erik could plan and carry out such an abduction! Ah!’ he said with a deep sigh, ‘I recognized the monster’s handiwork!’

  ‘So you know him?’

  The Persian did not answer but Raoul heard him sigh again.

  ‘Monsieur,’ said Raoul, ‘I don’t know what you want… but can you do anything to help me?… I mean, to help Christine Daaé?’

  ‘I think so, M. de Chagny. That’s why I have waylaid you.’

  ‘What can you do?’

  ‘I can try to take you to her… and to him!’

  ‘That’s something I’ve already tried myself this evening and got nowhere… But if you could do such a thing for me, I would be eternally in your debt!… But there’s one thing I should mention. Inspector Mifroid told me that Christine Daaé was kidnapped by my brother Philippe…’

  ‘I don’t believe that for one minute, M. de Chagny.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s possible?’

  ‘I couldn’t say if it’s possible or not. But there’s the manner of the abduction. As far as I’m aware, Count Philippe de Chagny is not a man who has ever dabbled in theatrical effects.’

  ‘What you say is very shrewd, sir. I’ve been a fool!… But let’s not waste any more time! We must hurry! I place myself entirely in your hands… Why would I not believe you when no one else is prepared to believe me, when you are the only one who doesn’t laugh when the name of Erik is mentioned?’

  As he spoke, Raoul, with a spontaneous movement of his fever-hot hands, grasped the Persian’s wrists. They were like ice.

  ‘Be quiet!’ ordered the Persian, stopping suddenly. With one ear he listened to the faint sounds coming from the theatre and, with the other, for any creaks or grating sounds in the walls and corridors above and around them. ‘And never say that name aloud again! We’ll say: he or him! That way there’ll be less risk of attracting his attention.’

  ‘Do you think he isn’t too far away?’

  ‘We can’t rule anything out, sir, unless at this moment he’s in his retreat by the
lake with his victim!’

  ‘So you know about his lair too!’

  ‘If he’s not there, he could be inside this wall, under our feet, or over our heads in the ceiling!… There’s no telling!… An eye at a keyhole!… An ear behind a beam!…’

  Cautioning him to muffle the sound of his footsteps, the Persian led Raoul along passages he’d never seen before, even during those weeks when Christine was showing him around this labyrinth.

  ‘Pray God,’ said the Persian to himself, ‘pray God Darius has come!’

  ‘Who’s Darius?’ asked Raoul as he ran to keep up.

  ‘Darius is my servant.’

  They were now in the middle of what looked like a regular Paris square. It was a large area dimly lit by one feeble lamp and was deserted. The Persian brought Raoul to a halt and in a low whisper, so low that he could hardly be heard, asked:

  ‘What did you tell the Inspector?’

  ‘I told him that the man who kidnapped Christine was the Angel of Music, also known as the Phantom of the Opera, and that his real name was…’

  ‘Sh!… And did he believe you?

  ‘No.’

  ‘And how much importance did he attach to what you were saying?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘He thought you were mad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good!’

  Then they set off again at a run.

  They went up and down several flights of stairs unfamiliar to Raoul. Then they came to a door which the Persian unlocked with a small pass key which he took from his waistcoat pocket. Like Raoul, the Persian was, of course, in evening dress. But whereas Raoul had a top hat, the Persian was wearing, as I have already said, a kind of fez made of astrakhan. It was a departure from the strict dress code observed backstage where a topper is de rigueur. But in France, extreme latitude is allowed to foreigners: an Englishman may keep his travelling hat and a Persian his astrakhan fez.

  ‘You’ll find, sir, that your top hat will be a nuisance on the next part of our mission… It would be best if you leave it in the dressing room.’

  ‘What dressing room?’ asked Raoul.

  ‘Why, Mademoiselle Daaé’s.’

  Ushering Raoul through the door he had just opened, the Persian gestured to her dressing room which was exactly opposite.

  Raoul had not known it was possible to get to Christine’s dressing room by any other route than the one he normally took. He now found himself at the far end of the long corridor he usually walked along from end to end before knocking on her door.

  ‘Oh!’ said Raoul. ‘I see that you know your way round the Opera!’

  ‘Not as well as he does!’ the Persian said modestly.

  And he pushed Raoul into Christine’s dressing room.

  It was as Raoul had left it only a short time before.

  The Persian closed the door behind them and made for the flimsy partition wall separating the dressing room from a large lumber room which was its continuation. He listened and then coughed loudly.

  Immediately there came the sound of someone moving in the lumber room and moments later there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in!’ said the Persian.

  A man entered. He too wore an astrakhan fez and a long overcoat. He bowed and from under his coat produced a richly carved case which he put on the dressing table, bowed again and was about to leave.

  ‘Did anyone see you come in, Darius?’

  ‘No, master.’

  ‘Make sure no one sees you as you go.’

  The servant glanced warily up and down the corridor and was suddenly gone.

  ‘Listen,’ said Raoul, ‘I’ve just thought of something. We could easily be found here and that would not be helpful. It won’t be long before Inspector Mifroid comes and searches Christine’s dressing room.’

  ‘It’s not the Inspector we have to be afraid of!’

  The Persian opened the case. Inside was a pair of long pistols. The design and decoration were superb.

  ‘The moment Christine Daaé was abducted, Viscount, I told my servant he was to be ready to bring me these pistols. I have had them a long time. There are none more reliable and accurate.’

  ‘You intend to fight a duel?’ asked Raoul, rather taken aback by the sudden appearance of this weaponry.

  ‘We are indeed heading for a duel, sir,’ replied the Persian as he inspected the priming in the pistols. ‘And what a duel it will be!’

  And so saying, he handed one pistol to Raoul and went on:

  ‘In the line up, there will be two of us against one of him. But be prepared for anything!… I won’t disguise the fact that we are going up against as formidable an opponent as can be imagined. But you love Christine Daaé, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do! But what about you, sir? You do not love her, so will you explain why it’s quite clear that you are prepared to risk your life for her?… You must really hate Erik!’

  ‘No, Viscount,’ the Persian said sadly, ‘I don’t hate him. If I did, he would have stopped being able to hurt people a long time ago.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘I have forgiven him for what he did to me.’

  ‘It really is extraordinary listening to you talk about him,’ said Raoul. ‘You call him a monster, you talk about his crimes, you say he wronged you and yet I sense in you the same unaccountable pity which made me despair when I saw it in Christine!…’

  The Persian did not answer. Instead, he fetched a stool and set it down against the wall facing the large mirror which filled one entire side of the room. He climbed on to the stool and peered closely at the paper covering the wall, as if he was looking for something.

  ‘Well?’ cried Raoul, who was burning with impatience, ‘I’m waiting for you. Let’s go!’

  ‘Go where?’ asked the Persian without looking round.

  ‘Go looking for the monster! Let’s go down and find him! Didn’t you say you knew a way?’

  ‘I’m looking for it,’ said the Persian, and he continued to peer at the wall from close range.

  ‘Ah!’ the man in the hat said suddenly. ‘Here it is!’

  Reaching up above his head with one finger, he pressed on a part of the patterned wallpaper. He turned and got down off the stool.

  ‘In half a minute, he said, ‘we shall be on his trail!’

  He strode across the room and felt all round the large mirror.

  ‘No, it’s not ready to give yet…’, he muttered.

  ‘So we’re going out by the mirror,’ said Raoul, ‘just like Christine?’

  ‘You knew that Christine left this room via this mirror?’

  ‘I saw her with my own eyes!… I was hidden just there, behind the curtain of her inner cubicle and I saw her vanish not via the mirror but through it!’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I thought my senses were playing tricks on me, turning my wits, making me believe it was a dream!…’

  ‘Or making you think it was another of the Phantom’s stage effects!’ said the Persian with a bitter laugh. ‘Oh! M. de Chagny,’ he went on, keeping his hand still pressed against the glass, ‘if it was only a ghost we were dealing with, we could leave the pistols to sleep in their case!… But now, if you please, take off your hat and put it down… just there… and button up your coat over your shirt front as tight as you can… like me… fold the lapels over… turn up your collar… we must make ourselves as invisible as possible.’

  There was a brief silence. Then pushing against the mirror once more, he said:

  ‘There’s a delay in the release of the counterweight if the spring is operated from here. This does not happen if you’re on the other side of the wall, for then you activate the counterweight directly. The mirror swivels instantly and very fast.’

  ‘What counterweight?’ asked Raoul.

  ‘It’s what lifts this whole section of wall on to its pivot. You don’t think it moves on its own, by magic!’

  The P
ersian grabbed Raoul and pulled him close with one hand. With the other (which held his pistol), he kept pushing against the mirror.

  ‘Watch closely. Any moment now you’ll see the mirror rise a few millimetres. It will move a few millimetres to the left, then a few millimetres to the right. It will then be on a pivot and free to swivel. You can do anything with a counterweight! A child could make a house turn using its little finger!… When a section of wall, no matter how much it weighs, is hoisted on to a pivot by a carefully balanced counter-weight, it is no heavier than a top spinning on its point.’

  ‘But it’s not turning!’ said Raoul impatiently.

  ‘Wait! There may be a delay! The mechanism must be rusty, though maybe the spring isn’t working.’

  Then he frowned anxiously.

  ‘But it could be something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s cut the rope that raises the counterweight and immobilized the whole system.’

  ‘Why would he do that? He has no idea that we’re going down after him?’

  ‘Maybe he suspects we might. He is aware that I know how it works.’

  ‘Did he show you?’

  ‘No! I watched him from a distance, I investigated his mysterious disappearances and eventually I discovered it for myself. It’s the simplest type of secret door! The mechanism is as old as the sacred palace of Thebes with its hundred doors, or the throne room of Ecbatana, or the chamber at Delphi* where the Sybil sat on her stool…’

  ‘It’s still not moving!… Christine!… What about Christine?’

  The Persian said coolly:

  ‘We will do whatever it is humanly possible to do!… But he has the power to stop us in our tracks at any time!’

  ‘So what is he then, the master who commands these walls?’

  ‘He commands not just the walls but the portals, doors and secret hatches as well. In my country, we called him by a name which means: King of the Traps!’

  ‘That’s how Christine spoke of him when she told me about him… with the same air of mystery and granting him the same irresistible powers!… But I find all this too much to take!… Why should these walls only obey him? I mean, he didn’t build them himself!’

  ‘But he did, sir!’