Of course, Moncharmin, especially after the money had been restored,
continued to believe that he had, for a short while, been the butt of
Richard's sense of humor, whereas Richard, on his side, was convinced
that Moncharmin had amused himself by inventing the whole of the affair
of the Opera ghost, in order to revenge himself for a few jokes.
I asked the Persian to tell me by what trick the ghost had taken
twenty-thousand francs from Richard's pocket in spite of the
safety-pin. He replied that he had not gone into this little detail,
but that, if I myself cared to make an investigation on the spot, I
should certainly find the solution to the riddle in the managers'
office by remembering that Erik had not been nicknamed the trap-door
lover for nothing. I promised the Persian to do so as soon as I had
time, and I may as well tell the reader at once that the results of my
investigation were perfectly satisfactory; and I hardly believed that I
should ever discover so many undeniable proofs of the authenticity of
the feats ascribed to the ghost.
The Persian's manuscript, Christine Daae's papers, the statements made
to me by the people who used to work under MM. Richard and Moncharmin,
by little Meg herself (the worthy Madame Giry, I am sorry to say, is no
more) and by Sorelli, who is now living in retirement at Louveciennes:
all the documents relating to the existence of the ghost, which I
propose to deposit in the archives of the Opera, have been checked and
confirmed by a number of important discoveries of which I am justly
proud. I have not been able to find the house on the lake, Erik having
blocked up all the secret entrances.[1] On the other hand, I have
discovered the secret passage of the Communists, the planking of which
is falling to pieces in parts, and also the trap-door through which
Raoul and the Persian penetrated into the cellars of the opera-house.
In the Communists' dungeon, I noticed numbers of initials traced on the
walls by the unfortunate people confined in it; and among these were an
"R" and a "C." R. C.: Raoul de Chagny. The letters are there to this
day.
If the reader will visit the Opera one morning and ask leave to stroll
where he pleases, without being accompanied by a stupid guide, let him
go to Box Five and knock with his fist or stick on the enormous column
that separates this from the stage-box. He will find that the column
sounds hollow. After that, do not be astonished by the suggestion that
it was occupied by the voice of the ghost: there is room inside the
column for two men. If you are surprised that, when the various
incidents occurred, no one turned round to look at the column, you must
remember that it presented the appearance of solid marble, and that the
voice contained in it seemed rather to come from the opposite side,
for, as we have seen, the ghost was an expert ventriloquist.