d for myself!" protested
Mercier.

"But, after all, M. Lachenel," cried Richard, "you must have some idea."

"Yes, I have," M. Lachenel declared. "I have an idea and I'll tell you
what it is. There's no doubt about it in my mind." He walked up to the
two managers and whispered. "It's the ghost who did the trick!"

Richard gave a jump.

"What, you too! You too!"

"How do you mean, I too? Isn't it natural, after what I saw?"

"What did you see?"

"I saw, as clearly as I now see you, a black shadow riding a white
horse that was as like Cesar as two peas!"

"And did you run after them?"

"I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared in
the darkness of the underground gallery."

M. Richard rose. "That will do, M. Lachenel. You can go ... We will
lodge a complaint against THE GHOST."

"And sack my stable?"

"Oh, of course! Good morning."

M. Lachenel bowed and withdrew. Richard foamed at the mouth.

"Settle that idiot's account at once, please."

"He is a friend of the government representative's!" Mercier ventured
to say.

"And he takes his vermouth at Tortoni's with Lagrene, Scholl and
Pertuiset, the lion-hunter," added Moncharmin. "We shall have the
whole press against us! He'll tell the story of the ghost; and
everybody will be laughing at our expense! We may as well be dead as
ridiculous!"

"All right, say no more about it."

At that moment the door opened. It must have been deserted by its
usual Cerberus, for Mme. Giry entered without ceremony, holding a
letter in her hand, and said hurriedly:

"I beg your pardon, excuse me, gentlemen, but I had a letter this
morning from the Opera ghost. He told me to come to you, that you had
something to ..."

She did not complete the sentence. She saw Firmin Richard's face; and
it was a terrible sight. He seemed ready to burst. He said nothing,
he could not speak. But suddenly he acted. First, his left arm seized
upon the quaint person of Mme. Giry and made her describe so unexpected
a semicircle that she uttered a despairing cry. Next, his right foot
imprinted its sole on the black taffeta of a skirt which certainly had
never before undergone a similar outrage in a similar place. The thing
happened so quickly that Mme. Giry, when in the passage, was still
quite bewildered and seemed not to understand. But, suddenly, she
understood; and the Opera rang with her indignant yells, her violent
protests and threats.