The Opera House was famous, and the directors of the Opera House were very important men. It was the first week of work for the two new directors, Mr Arthur Kirkland (England) and Monsieur Francis Bonnefoy (France). In the directors' office the next day, the two men talked about Joseph Buquet.

'It was an accident,' Mr Arthur grumbled. 'Or Buquet killed himself.'

'An accident? Killed himself?' Monsieur Francis said in a serious tone, but kept on his face a soft smile. 'Which story do you want, mon ami? Or do you want the story of the ghost?'

'Don't talk to me about ghosts!' Mr Arthur said. 'We have 1,500 people working for us in this Opera House, and everybody is talking about the ghost. This is madness! I don't want to hear about the ghost, OK?'

Monsieur Francis looked at a letter on the table next to him. 'And what are we going to do about this letter, Arthur?'

'Do?' said Mr Arthur sarcastically. 'Why, do nothing, of course! What can we do?'

The two men read the letter again. It wasn't very long.

To the new directors.

Because you are new in the Opera House, I am writing to tell you some important things. Never sell tickets for Box 5; that is my box for every opera night. Madame Zwingli, the doorkeeper, knows all about it. Also, I need money for my work in the Opera House. I am not expensive, and I am happy to take only 20,000 euros a month. That is all. But please remember, I can be a good friend, but a bad enemy.

O.G.

'Don't sell tickets for Box 5! 20,000 euros a month!' Mr Arthur was losing his patience. 'That's the best box in the Opera House, and we need the money, Francis. And who is this O.G., huh? Tell me that.'

'Opera ghost, of course,' Monsieur Francis said. 'But you're right, Arthur. We can do nothing about this letter. It's a joke, a bad joke. Somebody thinks we are fools, because we are new here. There are no ghosts in the Opera House.'

The two men then talked about the opera for that night. It was Faust, and usually Chiara Vargas (Nyo!Romano) sang Margarita. Chiara was an Italian, and the best singer in Europe. But today, Chiara was ill.

'Everybody in Europe is going to be at the opera tonight,' said Mr Arthur, 'and our best singer is ill. Suddenly! She writes a letter to us just this morning - she is ill, she cannot sing tonight.'

'Don't get angry again, Arthur,' Monsieur Francis said quickly. 'We have Elizabeta Héderváry (Hungary), that young singer from Hungary. She can sing Margarita tonight. She has a good voice.'

'But she's so young, and nobody knows her! Nobody wants to listen to a new singer.'

'Wait and see. Perhaps Héderváry can sing better than Vargas. Who knows?'