"Hang it!" muttered the Persian. "I don't know what they are looking
for, but they might easily find us ... Let us get away, quick! ...
Your hand up, sir, ready to fire! ... Bend your arm ... more ... that's
it! ... Hand at the level of your eye, as though you were fighting a
duel and waiting for the word to fire! Oh, leave your pistol in your
pocket. Quick, come along, down-stairs. Level of your eye! Question
of life or death! ... Here, this way, these stairs!" They reached the
fifth cellar. "Oh, what a duel, sir, what a duel!"

Once in the fifth cellar, the Persian drew breath. He seemed to enjoy
a rather greater sense of security than he had displayed when they both
stopped in the third; but he never altered the attitude of his hand.
And Raoul, remembering the Persian's observation--"I know these pistols
can be relied upon"--was more and more astonished, wondering why any
one should be so gratified at being able to rely upon a pistol which he
did not intend to use!

But the Persian left him no time for reflection. Telling Raoul to stay
where he was, he ran up a few steps of the staircase which they had
just left and then returned.

"How stupid of us!" he whispered. "We shall soon have seen the end of
those men with their lanterns. It is the firemen going their
rounds."[2]

The two men waited five minutes longer. Then the Persian took Raoul up
the stairs again; but suddenly he stopped him with a gesture.
Something moved in the darkness before them.

"Flat on your stomach!" whispered the Persian.

The two men lay flat on the floor.

They were only just in time. A shade, this time carrying no light,
just a shade in the shade, passed. It passed close to them, near
enough to touch them.

They felt the warmth of its cloak upon them. For they could
distinguish the shade sufficiently to see that it wore a cloak which
shrouded it from head to foot. On its head it had a soft felt hat ...

It moved away, drawing its feet against the walls and sometimes giving
a kick into a corner.

"Whew!" said the Persian. "We've had a narrow escape; that shade knows
me and has twice taken me to the managers' office."

"Is it some one belonging to the theater police?" asked Raoul.

"It's some one much worse than that!" replied the Persian, without
giving any further explanation.[3]

"It's not ... he?"

"He? ... If he does not come behind us, we shall always see his yellow
eyes! That is more or less our