not a soul! Nor in the box on the right, nor in the
box on the left: not a soul, sir, I swear! The box-keeper told it me
often enough, which proves that it was all a joke."

"Oh, you agree, do you?" said Richard. "You agree! It's a joke! And
you think it funny, no doubt?"

"I think it in very bad taste, sir."

"And what did the box-keeper say?"

"Oh, she just said that it was the Opera ghost. That's all she said!"

And the inspector grinned. But he soon found that he had made a
mistake in grinning, for the words had no sooner left his mouth than M.
Richard, from gloomy, became furious.

"Send for the box-keeper!" he shouted. "Send for her! This minute!
This minute! And bring her in to me here! And turn all those people
out!"

The inspector tried to protest, but Richard closed his mouth with an
angry order to hold his tongue. Then, when the wretched man's lips
seemed shut for ever, the manager commanded him to open them once more.

"Who is this 'Opera ghost?'" he snarled.

But the inspector was by this time incapable of speaking a word. He
managed to convey, 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 in question.

"Very well!" said M. Richard coldly.

The inspector's eyes started out of his head, as though to ask why the
manager had uttered that ominous "Very well!"

"Because I'm going to settle the account of any one who has not seen
him!" explained the manager. "As he seems to be everywhere, I can't
have people telling me that they see him nowhere. I like people to
work for me when I employ them!"

Having said this, M. Richard paid no attention to the inspector and
discussed various matters of business with his acting-manager, who had
entered the room meanwhile. The inspector thought he could go and was
gently--oh, so gently!--sidling toward the door, when M. Richard nailed
the man to the floor with a thundering:

"Stay where you are!"

M. Remy had sent for the box-keeper to the Rue de Provence, close to
the Opera, where she was engaged as a porteress. She soon made her
appearance.

"What's your name?"

"Mme. Giry. You know me well enough, sir; I'm the mother of little
Giry, little Meg, what!"

This was said in so rough and solemn a tone that, for a moment, M.
Richard was im