The fool! How could he think to challenge his tormentor? Nadir's thoughts were frantic at the idea of any man descending to the lower floors searching for the elusive Opera Ghost. The boy next to him tugged on his coat and gave a little expectant cough. "Oh yes" Nadir said distractedly, as he tossed the boy a coin for the information he had passed on. By the time the boy looked up, the strange foreign man had vanished; although the only way to the exit known to the little spy was to walk straight down the long, half-lit corridor.
By that time, Nadir had ventured through the hidden passages adjacent to the common corridors used by the performers, stagehands, and, in the evenings, the decadently dressed Parisian opera-goers. Emerging on the Rue Scribe side of the great Opera Garnier, he hailed a cab and stepped inside, giving his address to the driver. His seemingly calm exterior was only broken by his abrupt speech.
Presently, he arrived at his building and trod up the long staircase to his apartments. His only thought was the want for a simple task he had not been able to indulge in for weeks; eating a juicy pear with a pear knife, without a thought for his friend and the opera house. His faithful man Darius opened the door and a torrent of words raged out of Nadir, "M. Palongie must be mad! He is to hire an assassin to hunt out the opera ghost-a preposterous idea! The man behind that mask would never be caught by even the most skilled assassin-for he has already been one! Employed for the Shah of Persia no less!"
Nadir, pacing the room in a fury, dared not admit that he had no idea how to keep the hired man from his impending death in the bowels of the Opera House. The few who did journey down there, save for himself, had all run into "unfortunate accidents", or the sting of the Punjab lasso. Nadir hoped to keep his friend from killing, but those innocents had almost discovered a secret worth keeping: the Opera Ghost, or the Phantom of the Opera as the ballet rats would have it, was a man. Yet M. Palongie must not be totally convinced of the Phantom's ghostly identity to hire an assassin. It seemed he would have to intervene. Tonight.
The bells of the city of Paris chimed 8 o'clock, as Nadir once again stood in front of the Opera Garnier. Hefting an iron key, he unlocked the gates on the rue scribe side of the grand structure, and descended into the darkness of the underground.
On the shores of the subterranean lake he found them, two men; one appearing quite extraordinary in a flowing black cape and a glowing white mask, the other, many knives and a pistol strapped to his dark cloths. The masked figure was dragging the assassin to the lake, but Nadir silently approached him and quietly said "This man has not seen you. Killing needlessly is not what you promised me you would do, Erik"
At the sound of his name, the Phantom ceased dragging the limp man and stared with eerily golden eyes at Nadir. He finally spoke in a beautifully captivating voice, "Long ago I gave you my conscience, Daroga. I thought I had no use of one. You dare to interfere in my business?"
The conclusion of his threat was met with a deafening silence. Water dripped from the ceiling, disturbing the pristine surface of the lake. Nadir slowly retreated and watched from a distance as the mysterious Phantom, instead of dragging the body into the lake, hefted it up and started along the corridor leading to the alley alongside the opera house.
After a pause Nadir followed. Thoughts running through his head assured him that he had succeeded in saving the assassin. Nadir hoped that the reminder of his conscience would keep the Ghost from any more killing. He did not see the illustrious Opera Ghost during his long trudge up to the surface, for even laden with such weight as a man, Erik could move faster than even Nadir, the former chief of police for the Mazanderan Court of Persia.