Gerard plummeted ten feet to land on stone flagging. Upon impact, he felt his wrist snap and his shoulder give way. His head bounced on the cold, hard floor and he knew no more. Raoul and Jakob peered down into the pit trying to grasp what had just happened.

Jakob muttered, "Just a plain stage trap door…a theatre trick."

He was examining the familiar hinge and support system, shaking his head at the diabolical way the innocuous theatre trick had been adapted as a potentially deadly trap. The fiend had rigged the floor of the hallway to drop an unsuspecting victim into one of the unused storage rooms on the lower level.

"A theatre trick? H-how can we get him out?" stammered Raoul, nervously eyeing the unnatural position of his former companion's right arm and the small pool of dark liquid forming around his head. The scene was hellishly lit as the spilled lamp-oil from Gerard's broken lantern caught fire from its still-burning wick.

Fortunately for the unconscious man, his lantern had flown to the far side of the little cell and he had not been splashed with oil when it broke. The room was entirely of stone –someone had walled it closed – and would not catch in the flames. Unfortunately, he was close enough to the pool of oil to be in dire danger. The flames began to leap and dance, consuming the oil and searching for more fuel. The two men above could feel the fire's growing heat. Raoul turned away, not wanting to witness the stagehand's gruesome fate.

"What are you doing Monsieur!" screeched Jakob, horrified. "He'll be burnt to death!"

"There's nothing…"

Jakob threw himself flat on the floor and swung his legs over the side of the pit furthest from the flames. If he could only get down without injuring himself and drag Gerard to the safer side, they might both survive.

"Help me, Monsieur! Please!"

Raoul took the man's rough, callused hands and strained to lower him gently as far as possible before letting him safely drop the remaining couple of feet. Gerard's left pants leg was beginning to smolder. Jakob fairly threw Gerard's limp body into the far corner and smothered the burning leg under his own weight. When those flames were out, he crouched protectively over Gerard and looked up to where Raoul still stood, staring down in dazed horror.

Jakob leaned over and checked to make sure Gerard was still breathing. His sigh of relief was audible over the crackle of the flames. "He lives! We must get him to safety, Monsieur. He is badly injured."

Raoul measured the distance from the lip of the pit to Jakob's broad shoulders. If Jakob could lift Gerard that high, it was possible that the two might be able to muscle him out of the pit. Once out, they could carry him back to the gas lit comfort of the Opera house and call a doctor. That would take a good deal of time, possibly hours, and Christine was somewhere down in these inky depths, waiting for him to rescue her.

Christine might be in danger, he thought, but Gerard will likely die without help. Jakob was a strong man; he had been tossing sandbags and moving huge pieces of scenery for years. If the two of them could get Gerard out of the pit, Jakob might be able to carry him to safety on his own. This would leave Raoul to rescue Christine – and to face the Phantom – alone. He pondered this for a moment, then lay flat, holding out his hands. "Hoist him up, Jakob."

Together, they pushed and pulled the unconscious man to safety. Jakob used a strip from his shirt to bind Gerard's bleeding head. The injury looked serious, but Raoul thought he would survive with a doctor's care. And if he dies that is one more death on this kidnapper's conscience, if he has one, thought Raoul angrily.

"Can you carry him back yourself, Jakob? I must go on. Christine is in danger." Raoul hoped the answer would be in the affirmative. If not, he would leave the two to fend for themselves and come back for them later. Christine's safety was more important.

"I believe so, Monsieur." Raoul helped Jakob drape the limp, broken, burned man over his strong shoulders.

"Fare well then, and good luck. Adieu." Raoul tossed his coat into the pit and doused his lantern. The passageway would be clearly lit for a while with light from the conflagration in the pit. There was no need to waste lamp oil. He had gone but a few strides when Jakob called after him.

"Monsieur, you fare well. I will pray and light a candle in hope of your return." Jakob was not at all unhappy to be headed back home rather than forward into the Opera Ghost's lair.

Raoul bowed to him and continued down the passageway. He no longer allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of Christine or of his opponent. The whole of his concentration was on the floor, searching for other traps. Were he to fall victim now, it was unlikely his body would be found until there was nothing left but bones and a rusted revolver. That thought brought a clammy sweat out on Raoul's palms and cheeks. His progress slowed to a creep.

Vaguely, Raoul wondered how much time had passed. The passages went on and on. There were numerous twists and turns, but the floor continually sloped downward. He prayed he had not taken a wrong turn, or missed a turn he should have taken. He felt sure that night had fallen; he was tired and famished, having missed tea and supper. Raoul relit his lantern, aware that there was only a few hours' worth of oil left.

Just as he was about to give up, Raoul turned a corner to see the first wall in the Opera Ghost's labyrinth. The labyrinth was the foyer to Erik's home. It was softly lit by the glow from the lake lanterns. Raoul extinguished his own lantern with a relieved sigh. There had been only a drop of oil left. He stared at the spectacle for a moment, took a deep breath and started walking, keeping his left hand on one wall. He thought he remembered reading once that that was the way to solve a labyrinth. He only hoped his memory was correct. The labyrinth twisted and turned tediously but the tired aristocrat doggedly carried on.

Raoul squinted. Was there something up ahead? Something that glimmered white in the lantern light? Raoul approached it cautiously until he could make out what the object was. It was a plain, undecorated white mask that 'someone' had dropped and carelessly left behind.

If Raoul had had a better understanding of the builder's mindset, he would never have touched the thing. As it was, his curiosity led him to pick it up. The mask was snagged on a little jag of stone, but one sharp tug freed it. Raoul realized his mistake only when he heard a tiny snap and a whoosh. He looked up in time to see the massive sandbag flying towards him. He had time to exclaim, "Theatre tricks!" before the bag crashed into him, knocking him unconscious and sending him flying.