Kitabı oku: «Призрак оперы / The Phantom of the Opera», sayfa 9

“Who is this ‘Opera ghost?’” he snarled.

But the inspector conveyed, by a despairing gesture, that he knew nothing about it, or rather that he did not wish to know.

“Have you ever seen him, have you seen the Opera ghost?”

The inspector, by means of a vigorous shake of the head, denied ever having seen the ghost.

“Very well!” said M. Richard coldly.

The inspector thought he could go and was gently sidling toward the door, when M. Richard ordered:

“Stay where you are!”

M. Remy had sent for the box-keeper. She soon made her appearance.

“What’s your name?”

“Mme. Giry³¹. You know me well enough, sir; I’m the mother of little Giry, little Meg, what!”

M. Richard was impressed. He looked at Mme. Giry, in her faded shawl, her worn shoes, her old dress and dingy bonnet. M. Richard did not know or could not remember having met Mme. Giry, nor even little Giry, nor even “little Meg”. But Mme. Giry’s pride was so great that the celebrated box-keeper imagined that everybody knew her.

“Never heard of her!” the manager declared. “Mme. Giry, I want to ask you what happened last night to make you and the inspector call in a municipal guard.”

“I was just wanting to see you, sir, and talk to you about it, so that you mightn’t have the same unpleasantness as M. Debienne and M. Poligny. They wouldn’t listen to me either, at first.”

“I’m not asking you about all that. I’m asking what happened last night.”

Mme. Giry turned purple with indignation. Never had she been spoken to like that. She sat down and said, in a haughty voice:

“I’ll tell you what happened. The ghost was annoyed again!”

M. Moncharmin interfered and conducted the interrogatory, whence it appeared that Mme. Giry thought it quite natural that a voice should be heard to say that a box was taken, when there was nobody in the box. She was unable to explain this phenomenon, which was not new to her. Nobody could see the ghost in his box, but everybody could hear him. She had often heard him; and they could believe her, for she always spoke the truth. They could ask M. Debienne and M. Poligny, and anybody who knew her; and also M. Isidore Saack³², who had had a leg broken by the ghost!

“Indeed!” said Moncharmin, interrupting her. “Did the ghost break poor Isidore Saack’s leg?”

Mme. Giry opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance. The thing had happened in M. Debienne and M. Poligny’s time, also in Box Five and also during a performance of Faust. Mme. Giry coughed, cleared her throat and began:

“It was like this, sir. That night, M. Maniera and his lady were sitting in the front of the box, with their great friend, M. Isidore Saack, sitting behind Mme. Maniera. Mephistopheles was singing… But, perhaps I’m boring you gentlemen?”

“No, no, go on.”

“You are too good, gentlemen. Well, then, Mephistopheles went on with his serenade, and then M. Maniera hears the voice in his right ear, saying, ‘Ha, ha! Julie—M Maniera’s lady—wouldn’t mind according a kiss to Isidore!’ Then he turns round, and what do you think he sees? Isidore, who had taken his lady’s hand and was covering it with kisses through the little round place in the glove! Bang! Bang! M. Maniera, who was big and strong, like you, M. Richard, gave two blows to M. Isidore Saack, who was small and weak like M. Moncharmin. There was a great uproar. People in the house shouted, ‘That will do! Stop them! He’ll kill him!’ Then, at last, M. Isidore Saack managed to run away.”

“Then the ghost had not broken his leg?” asked M. Moncharmin, a little vexed that his figure had made so little impression on Mme. Giry.

“He did break it, sir,” replied Mme. Giry haughtily. “He broke it on the grand staircase, which he ran down too fast, sir!”

“Did the ghost tell you what he said in M. Maniera’s right ear?” asked M. Moncharmin.

“No, sir, it was M. Maniera himself”.

“But you have spoken to the ghost, my good lady?”

“As I’m speaking to you now, my good sir!” Mme. Giry replied.

“And, when the ghost speaks to you, what does he say?”

“Well, he tells me to bring him a footstool!”

This time, Richard burst out laughing, as did Moncharmin and Remy, the secretary. Only the inspector was careful not to laugh.

“Instead of laughing,” Mme. Giry cried indignantly, “you’d do better to do as M. Poligny did, who found out for himself.”

“Found out about what?” asked Moncharmin, who had never been so much amused in his life.

“About the ghost, of course!… Look here…”

She suddenly calmed herself, feeling that this was a solemn moment in her life:

“Look here,” she repeated. “They were playing La Juive³³. M. Poligny thought he would watch the performance from the ghost’s box… Well, suddenly M. Poligny—I was watching him from the back of the next box, which was empty—M. Poligny got up and walked out quite stiffly, like a statue, and before I had time to ask him, ‘Where do you go?’, he was down the staircase, but without breaking his leg. Well, from that evening, no one tried to take the ghost’s private box from him. The manager gave orders that he was to have it at each performance. And, whenever he came, he asked me for a footstool.”