Chapter 19: Erik's Secrets are Discovered

The commissioner tore off his pince-nez and turned to glare at another officer. "I don't know what it means, damn it! I don't know!"

The two men stood in the Grand Foyer of the Opera Garnier, beside one of the foyer's great windows. Lefevre had not been found, and the Sûreté had finally received permission—with some help from Mechnikov—to enter the Garnier in order to search for him. The officer whom Mifroid had just addressed had noticed an anomaly in one of the foyer's windows, and discovered a curious spring and weight contraption hidden within the casing. He then summoned the commissioner, who was on the premises overseeing the search.

But Mifroid could make neither heads nor tails of the instrument.

His daughter, he knew, would have found the answer easily. Alice had a special talent for understanding the unusual, and much of what Mifroid had found inside the Opera was so extraordinary that he now greatly missed her assistance. The mysterious window casing was only the most recent example: Each morning, the night patrol complained of eerie noises and strange lights in the upper windows when those rooms were, in fact, deserted. A team searching for Lefevre in the cellars had returned confounded by the labyrinthine passageways. And just that afternoon, a swarm of officers examining the Grand Foyer had noticed a remarkable amount of fine sand mixed with the ashes of the fireplace.

What did it all mean?

The commissioner stepped away from the tall, narrow window and massaged the bridge of his nose where the pince-nez had been. The late afternoon sunlight set the window glass ablaze in a menacing, orange hue. As Mifroid tried to relax, another officer arrived and cleared his throat.

Mifroid groaned. "Now what?"

"The managers wish to speak to you, M. Commissioner."

Muttering a string of expletives under his breath, Mifroid left the company in the foyer and marched to the managers' office. Moncharmin was absent, but Richard rose from behind his desk and offered the policeman a chair. Mifroid remained standing.

"You agreed to hold us for three weeks only, and your time is up." Richard sighed and returned to his seat. "Our gala début is tonight, when M. Ippolitov-Ivanov conducts some of his works for which we have choreographed a ballet. We cannot allow our prestige to be marred by the Sûreté's siege."

Mifroid's jaw clenched at these last words. "But Monsieur, our work is continually hampered by your interruptions! By your demand, we cannot touch anything without your written approval, which first requires a written request! And lately you have taken to interrupting my work to ask me for oral progress reports! Do you forget, Monsieur, that several men were murdered in this building, and that now an officer of the Sûreté is missing as well?" He pointed at Richard. "The very patrons you invite to your inconsequential gala may be in danger, and it is my duty to protect them!"

"Those same patrons will have me hanged if you are all still here when the gala begins."

"The investigation isn't finished! You know what oddities what we've found, Monsieur—and there was more this morning!"

"Mon Dieu." Richard's eyes swept the room to assure they weren't overheard. "What else could there be?"

Mifroid explained about the window casing and the sand in the fireplace.

"Perhaps the séance was all a fake after all! The window and the fireplace acted strange that night."

"I'm aware." The commissioner removed the small notebook from his uniform and sat. "I've questioned Mechnikov, who also attended the séance."

"And have you spoken to the others? Berthelot, the Curies?"

He skimmed his notes. "The Curies, I'm afraid, are rather convinced that something of the supernatural occurred. Mme. Giry believes the same. The judge, M. Brousseau, could not make any other observation besides what M. Mechnikov saw, except to confirm that the Persian was under his strict observation since his arrival and could not have orchestrated any of the phenomena that night. But Berthelot provided me with some interesting conclusions after conducting experiments on the ashes he'd collected."

"Yes?"

"An incendiary chemical was used, possibly in the ink of the score."

"Then there is no ghost."

"An intruder is in your Opera, Monsieur. Your staff and patrons are all in danger."

"Damnation! And there's no sign of your missing captain yet? Nor of this imposter?"

Mifroid shook his head.

"Monsieur, Ippolitov-Ivanov plans to return to Russia soon—we cannot postpone the gala!" Richard tasted bile rising in his throat.

"Then we'll have to re-negotiate our agreement, Monsieur. Let us stay. We'll be armed, but out of uniform. Your guests will suspect nothing, and neither will this 'ghost.' Perhaps the composer's performance will draw him out, and then we can make our move!"

Having accomplished a short reprieve from the Garnier managers, Mifroid returned to the foyer. His work was again interrupted, this time by Mechnikov, who had rushed into the Opera demanding to see the commissioner.

"Monsieur, I believe I have information that can help your investigation," he began after the two stepped into an empty room for the exchange.

Mifroid opened his small notebook again and motioned for Mechnikov to proceed.

"Actually, Monsieur, it concerns Mademoiselle Alice."

At this, Mifroid looked up from his notebook. "What do you mean?"

"It was something that Ippolitov-Ivanov said, that started me thinking. We visited him after the séance, and he described a circus boy with no nose or ears, who directed him to learn music in Tblisi. Before, Mademoiselle had asked me about the causes of malformations involving lack of cartilage. I didn't make the connection until I discovered a page of her notes in one of my treatises, which she had replaced on the wrong shelf. I believe she is searching for a cure for some deformity, although she's not even sure exactly what causes it. These are her notes. The first thing she wrote was a description: no nose, withered ears, a corpse-like appearance."

Mifroid groaned and rolled his eyes. "Monsieur, my daughter has always been interested in the grotesque. I fail to see what connection it has to the search for Lefevre."

"The 'ghost' is the one who recommended Ippolitov-Ivanov in the first place, during that séance. Perhaps this ghost is actually the circus freak from the man's past? I myself would not have thought more of it, except that I also found this key." In his hand was a heavy, iron key with three teeth.

"Well, well," whispered Mifroid. "Alice knows more than I thought. Has she met the criminal? What could it mean?"

"You said before that she lied to me about where she was going, when she really went to the Garnier. Perhaps she uses this key! And it would seem that she is assisting him, to cure his deformity, at least."

"Lefevre said that his men saw her enter the Garnier from a door on the Rue Scribe. Alice once took me by a sewer gate on the Scribe with a lock on it. This may be the key that opens that door!" The commissioner flew out of the room and out of the Opera through the Grand Foyer. In his wake, the officers investigating the foyer looked up in confusion. Only a few minutes later, Mifroid returned, red-faced and sweating from the exercise.

"There's a lake!" he cried. "We need a damned boat!"

That night, Darius ushered Alice into the Persian's drawing room. She knew that Lefevre hadn't been found, and her father had already left for the opera with his service revolver hidden in his swallowtail suit. She feared for Erik's safety, and came to solicit the Persian's advice. Yet he had even more bad news for her.

"It is a most crucial time, Mademoiselle! I overheard some of the police talking in the Opera earlier this evening. They have Erik's key, and are planning to cross the lake tonight, during intermission! Mademoiselle, if you have any persuasion with him, you must convince him to leave forever. His life is in danger tonight!"

Alice turned pale. "Oh God! They have his key? If only I hadn't been so careless with it when I left Dr. Mechnikov's house! Monsieur, without that key, how are we to find Erik?"

"I will take you to him. Come with me."

He hailed a cab, and they rushed into the same foyer the commissioner had investigated that afternoon. The début was beginning as scheduled, and the foyer was nearly deserted as patrons were already settled in the theater.

The Persian led Alice into a dark back corridor and took her deeper into the Opera. As they passed, listening for the clipping footsteps of the Sûreté, a thunderous applause erupted in the theater as Ippolitov-Ivanov rose from his seat inside the orchestra pit and bowed. Inside the isolated corridor where Alice and the Persian hurried their pace, the noise roared like a waterfall. Then the sound died down and the performance began—a chorus of violins, soon accompanied by other instruments, until the walls shook with the orchestra's full force.

Alice and the Persian had reached the end of the hallway, where he opened a door and led her into the gas-lit room beyond. He closed the door quietly behind them as she studied the room, which she concluded was an abandoned dressing room. A large mirror dominated one wall, and comfortable furniture allowed for lounging. In the corner opposite the mirror was a wardrobe, beside which stood a little vanity table.

Wasting no time, the Persian strode to the wardrobe and pulled it away from the wall. Alice looked behind the furniture, and the Persian pointed to a pinhead, barely noticeable in the wall. He pushed the pin and returned the wardrobe to its place.

"You have seen the consequences of Erik's skill with the Punjab lasso," he cautioned. "Keep your hand like this, between your eyes, as though you held a revolver for a duel. The Sûreté are everywhere, and Erik might not recognize us before it is too late. Be on your guard! Now, follow me without a sound!"

While he spoke, the mirror had suddenly begun to turn like the revolving doors at the Magasin Printemps. Behind the mirror was a very dark hallway, which they entered just as the mirror swung shut behind them, closing off all light.

Alice listened to the sounds in the walls. A few rats scampered at their sudden entrance, and the orchestra continued playing in the theatre, that was all. Their movement had not attracted the notice of the police.

Beside her, the Persian released a sigh of relief. "There is another pin on the floor, very close to the entrance. It will open a trapdoor leading to the first cellar beneath us."

She knelt with him in the blackness, feeling the rough wooden boards beneath their feet. After some time, the Persian uttered a quiet cry of triumph, took her hand, and guided her to a hole in the floor. "I'll go first," he whispered, "to make sure that we are safe. Listen for my signal—and keep your hand at the level of your eyes!" With that, he dropped down into the cellar below.

The orchestra finished its opening piece, and applause again resounded in the darkness. Alice prepared to drop through the trapdoor by sitting on the floor with her feet hanging over the abyss, keeping her hand beside her eyes. Finally she heard a faint whistle from below, and allowed herself to fall.

Strong arms caught her around her waist and helped her to land gently on her feet. The light here was very dim, but stronger than it had been in the stifling area behind the mirror. Alice could see the Persian beside her, and he slowly put his finger to his lips, reminding her to be silent.

They were in a crowded corner of the first cellar, a vast labyrinth of winches and pulleys, rails and stage sets. The area where they found themselves was hidden from the view of the stagehands by virtue of an abandoned set background that had been pushed into the corner. The cellar smelled of sawdust and sweat, and Alice caught a whiff of a rancid smell even more horrible than what she remembered from the catacombs. From her experience at the seminary and investigations with her father at the morgue, she could not be mistaken—it was the smell of rotting flesh.

With a signal to the Persian, she left his side and wandered past a collection of crates that had been thrown into the cellar and forgotten. As the Company began another strange melody in the theater above, Alice followed her nose.

"Mademoiselle!" called the Persian as loud as he dared. "We must find Erik!"

"There is a dead body in this cellar, Monsieur, I'm sure of it."

"If it doesn't belong to Erik himself, then it belongs to his victim!"

Alice continued her search with no reply. At last she pointed to a heap of furniture. "Under there."

The Persian covered his hand with his mouth and tried not to gag. Rats swarmed in and around the pile of trash, and the sour smell was stronger here. He kicked at a legless chair that had been thrown onto the pile, and it rolled down to the floor with a clack. Vermin scattered.

Where the chair had been was a man's shoe, with a leg buried beneath the garbage.

Quickly, the two of them pushed crates, furniture, and pieces of lumber off of the pile, unaware of the great racket they made. They used both hands, heedless of the Persian's prior warnings about the dreaded Punjab lasso. At last they managed to free the entire body, and Alice bent forward to investigate.

The rats had eaten most of the flesh, and one might almost think that it was indeed the Phantom that they had found—such was the face of the corpse. A few insects still crawled inside the eyes and mouth. Around the neck was an unmistakable chord of jute fiber with a distinctive knot.

None of these observations truly horrified Alice. But with her face twisted in terror, she pointed to the moth-eaten clothing of the corpse. His epaulets still bore the bars of a captain of the Sûreté.

They had found Joseph Lefevre.