II. Your Hand at the Level of your Eyes

"And to think we expected it all to be over by yesterday morning, at the very latest." Gilles André was sitting hunched over his desk, his fists pressed to his temples. "It's horrible, it's absolutely horrible! And I can't believe the police are just doing nothing."

"Now, now", said Richard Firmin, sitting at the desk across from André's, but his expression was no less distressed than his partner's. "It's not that they're doing nothing. They just haven't found anything yet."

"Then they haven't tried hard enough", André insisted. "And have they ever been here, after that night? No! The officer responsible just claims that Ghost has been driven out, and that they'd put up his description all over the city, but that's about it! No help at all, and that Ghost is plainly here still!"

Firmin sighed. "Now look, I can fully understand your agitation, as I have just the same Ghost problem, but if you would kindly not distract me for a moment… Thank God, only two chorus members signing off. But we'll have to get a new lead tenor, and quickly. And a new chandelier. This is going to be expensive." Sighing again, he ran his hands through his black, though partially grey-flecked hair. "And the costs for all the necessary repairs… Say, do you think we could put a notice in the papers already, about the tenor?"

"Too early", André snapped. "Nobody will come to apply."

"Yes, I feared so", Firmin muttered gloomily.

"The way you're going on about finding a tenor on the spot, you might be quite ready to listen to Reyer's crazy suggestion", André said scathingly.

"Really? What did the old chap say?"

"He said we should hire this Phantom, if he wants to see any further payment, and he reckons he does. Went on about his incredible voice and all for an eternity, he did." André snorted furiously. "Even if we could find that maniac – the Ghost, I mean, not Reyer, though Reyer is coming close – who could say when he commits the next murder or damages the Opera House some more? Singers keep their hands at the level of their eyes even on stage, and I daresay they'd have every reason. And nobody will ever dare to set foot under our roof again."

Firmin tossed aside a pile of papers. "Well, tell him to go down and get that freak up to our office, then, and we'll discuss it all."

André leaned forward over his desk, fixing his partner with a flat stare. "What was that?"

"I said, tell him, that is Reyer, to go down, that is to the cellars, and get that freak, that is the Phantom, up to our office, that is where you are currently sitting, and we, that is you and me and –"

"Have you lost your wits?" André interrupted. "My dear partner, perhaps you are not aware of the fact that you are referring to the very same individual who caused our lack of a lead tenor in the first place, and by murdering the man, mind you. You want to get that lunatic under contract?"

"I must say I'm seriously considering letting Reyer have a try with him", Firmin answered, in a voice as reasonable as possible. "I won't have a quiet night until everything is arranged again, and that missing tenor, among other things, is a great worry to me. Good Heavens, André, we're hopefully re-opening before the season is over! The sooner we know what we will be giving then, the better." Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And it was Reyer's idea, so we will let him give it a try. If it works, we save the expenses of notices in the papers, and if it doesn't –"

"Then we'll additionally have the post of a conductor to fill", André finished for him. "My dear partner, you are raving. And besides, nobody would come to the performances if we put his name in the program."

"Not necessarily. You know what people are like. The worse things which occur are, the better the audience likes it. It's not that we actually write murders committed on stage on posters, but this is what people expect, why they come. I'm sure the house would be even fuller if we did write that on posters."

"We won't", André said straight away. "This is absolutely tasteless!"

Firmin shrugged. "It's business, André."

"Whatever it is, we're writing no such thing on posters, and we're certainly employing no Ghost!" André was almost spluttering with indignation. "Not with what happened, and not with what is still going on!"

"What is going on, then?" Firmin asked wearily.

"I don't know", André admitted. "But from what I have been told… People have been seen in the higher cellars, complete strangers, sneaking around."

"I'm sorry, but that says absolutely nothing about –"

"And some stagehands have gone missing", André overrode his partner. "Nobody knows where they have gotten to."

"Probably in one of the surrounding taverns, and due to turn up again someday soon", Firmin said lightly. "You can't expect them to stay here all the time, especially since there is no proper work for them currently, except for those working on repairing the stage and auditorium. Those missing stagehands of yours will turn up again soon enough."

"I wouldn't count on that", André said sceptically. "Their number includes the one whose place is up in the flies, the successor of the late Joseph Buquet, who, just to remind you, made the fatal mistake not to keep his hand at the level of his eyes. And, quite contrary to his predecessor, that missing one is a very decent, hard-working and reliable man, from what I've heard. They say he never even touches one single drop of alcohol, the crazy ascetic. And he and some of the others help with all the reconstruction work, without even receiving proper payment for it. Do you really expect a man like this to just disappear into a tavern?"

"Not quite", Firmin admitted. "But let us wait. Maybe they will turn up again soon." Yet by now he sound as if he himself did not truly believe in it anymore, and the way his right hand wandered up uncertainly before he realized what he was doing and slammed it back down onto the table firmly revealed more than words could have.

With an agonized sigh, André returned to pressing his fists to his temples. "God give they will", he muttered.