In the next instant, the burly policeman fired as well, and Erik gasped, clapped a hand to his shoulder and glanced up at Gerard in horror—just before he fell off the ledge onto the lower level, three metres down.
Philippe, having made his way stealthily down the back of the statue, leaped down off the base. "Christine!" he called.
She turned swiftly, as Gerard ran down the roof to where Erik had fallen. "Oh, Philippe! They shot him!"
"Hush!" he hissed. "Do you want them to arrest you too, for collusion with him?"
"They can't!" she insisted. "He's been exonerated! Ledoux arrested Choletti for those murders and recalled his policemen!"
"You mean Gerard was telling the truth?" Philippe grabbed her shoulders urgently.
"Yes! Erik is in the clear!" She stifled a sob. "I have to go to him. Philippe, can you help us? Please?" She took his hand.
Philippe hesitated only a bare instant, and then nodded. Christine ran with him down the roof to where Erik lay.
Gerard was sitting on the roof next to Erik, who was very pale under his black mask. He was pressing hard on Erik's shoulder wound and trying to keep the slender cop from removing Erik's mask. "No!" he said. "Get back! Leave him some room!"
"Get back!" Christine cried, running over to them and falling to her knees beside Erik.
"What did you do, sir?" Philippe confronted the policeman who had shot Erik. "This man's been cleared! You have killed an innocent man!"
"But monsieur! He was threatening the lady!"
Christine shook her head. "I was in no danger, sir, except from you!"
"What—?" the other officer asked.
Philippe didn't want to give them time to realize exactly what had happened, that Gerard had shot the phantom first. He decided to trade on his title and try to bluff their way out. He rounded on the officer. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded angrily. "I'm the Comte de Chagny, one of the opera's biggest patrons. I'm telling you now, your best course of action is to get back down those stairs, order my carriage brought round, and then hie yourselves back to the station and tell Ledoux what you've done this night! Because you can rest assured that I shall be talking to him tomorrow!"
The two gendarmes looked at each other. Neither one of them earned as much in a year as Philippe spent on a new suit—they both knew that to cross the comte, even in a case like this, would probably cost them both their jobs, if not more.
The heavier one tried one last time. "Now, look here, monsieur—"
"Did you hear what I said?" Philippe asked quietly.
The officer subsided. "Yes, sir." They both got up and left, stopping to take one last puzzled look at the tableau at the edge of the roof, before disappearing though the door.
"Don't forget to call my carriage!" Philippe shouted. He glanced down at Gerard. "We'll take him to my city flat," he explained dispassionately. "My family doctor is very good. If your son's life can be saved, he'll save it."
Gerard glanced up. "Thank you, Philippe," he said humbly, before gathering his semi-conscious son into his arms. "It's only a shoulder wound; I think he'll be all right."
"What on earth made you shoot him? Your own son!" Christine demanded as her hand went down to stroke Erik's hair gently.
Erik's eyelids fluttered open. "He--he didn't,"he said. "But Christine, I… I'm… sorry… about that." He indicated with his eyes the place where he had grabbed her, over near the door. "Are you... all right?"
She nodded to him and glanced questioningly at Gerard.
"I didn't shoot him," Gerard replied wearily. He reached down with his free hand and opened up Erik's red-stained shirt. He took out a small bag, dripping with a sticky, red substance. "We talked about it earlier and decided the phantom had to die. We planned it all out this afternoon. My pistol was loaded with blanks. Erik had a packet of stage blood." His mouth twisted wryly. "Neither of us anticipated the second shooting."
"Oh!" Christine exclaimed. "So there's only one gunshot wound then?" She smiled in relief at Gerard's nod of confirmation.
"Yes, but—one is bad enough," he said grimly. "Especially since the bullet is still lodged in there. I hope he hasn't lost too much blood, though it's hard to tell the real from the fake." He looked up at Philippe. "Come on, help me get him downstairs.
Between the two of them, with Christine fluttering anxiously around behind them, they managed to get the wounded man back down the stairs and out the door of the Rotunda. The Chagny coach was there waiting for them. Philippe dispatched a quick message to his family doctor, while his footmen jumped down to help Erik get into the closed coach and lie down across the seat. Then Philippe, Christine, and Gerard squeezed together on the opposite bench and Philippe called to his coachman. "Take us back to the flat," he called. As the coach lurched into motion, he added, "But gently!"
