To any one understanding the architecture of
the edifice, the Persian's action would seem to indicate that Erik's
mysterious house had been built in the double case, formed of a thick
wall constructed as an embankment or dam, then of a brick wall, a
tremendous layer of cement and another wall several yards in thickness. At the Persian's words, Raoul flung himself against the wall and
listened eagerly. But he heard nothing ... nothing ... except distant
steps sounding on the floor of the upper portions of the theater. The Persian darkened his lantern again. "Look out!" he said. "Keep your hand up! And silence! For we shall
try another way of getting in." And he led him to the little staircase by which they had come down
lately. They went up, stopping at each step, peering into the darkness and the
silence, till they came to the third cellar. Here the Persian motioned
to Raoul to go on his knees; and, in this way, crawling on both knees
and one hand--for the other hand was held in the position
indicated--they reached the end wall. Against this wall stood a large discarded scene from the ROI DE LAHORE. Close to this scene was a set piece. Between the scene and the set
piece there was just room for a body ... for a body which one day was
found hanging there. The body of Joseph Buquet. The Persian, still kneeling, stopped and listened. For a moment, he
seemed to hesitate and looked at Raoul; then he turned his eyes upward,
toward the second cellar, which sent down the faint glimmer of a
lantern, through a cranny between two boards. This glimmer seemed to
trouble the Persian. At last, he tossed his head and made up his mind to act. He slipped
between the set piece and the scene from the ROI DE LAHORE, with Raoul
close upon his heels. With his free hand, the Persian felt the wall. Raoul saw him bear heavily upon the wall, just as he had pressed
against the wall in Christine's dressing-room. Then a stone gave way,
leaving a hole in the wall. This time, the Persian took his pistol from his pocket and made a sign
to Raoul to do as he did. He cocked the pistol. And, resolutely, still on his knees, he wiggled through the hole in the
wall. Raoul, who had wished to pass first, had to be content to follow
him. The hole was very narrow. The Persian stopped almost at once. Raoul
heard him feeling the stones around him. Then the Persian took out his
dark lantern again, stooped forward, examined something beneath him and
immediately extinguished his lantern. Raoul heard him say, in a
whisper:

"We shall have to drop a few yards, without making a noise; take off
your boots." The Persian handed his own shoes to Raoul. "Put them outside the wall," he said. "We shall find them there when
we leave. "[5]

He crawled a little farther on his knees, then turned right round and
said:

"I am going to hang by my hands from the edge of the stone and let
myself drop INTO HIS HOUSE. You must do exactly the same. Do not be
afraid. I will catch you in my arms." Raoul soon heard a dull sound, evidently produced by the fall of the
Persian, and then dropped down. He felt himself clasped in the Persian's arms. "Hush!" said the Persian. And they stood motionless, listening. The darkness was thick around them, the silence heavy and terrible. Then the Persian began to make play with the dark lantern again,
turning the rays over their heads, looking for the hole through which
they had come, and failing to find it:

"Oh!" he said. "The stone has closed of itself!" And the light of the lantern swept down the wall and over the floor. The Persian stooped and picked up something, a sort of cord, which he
examined for a second and flung away with horror. "The Punjab lasso!" he muttered. "What is it?" asked Raoul. The Persian shivered. "It might very well be the rope by which the man
was hanged, and which was looked for so long." And, suddenly seized with fresh anxiety, he moved the little red disk
of his lantern over the walls. In this way, he lit up a curious thing:
the trunk of a tree, which seemed still quite alive, with its leaves;
and the branches of that tree ran right up the walls and disappeared in
the ceiling. Because of the smallness of the luminous disk, it was difficult at
first to make out the appearance of things:  they saw a corner of a
branch ... and a leaf ... and another leaf ... and, next to it, nothing
at all, nothing but the ray of light that seemed to reflect itself ...
Raoul passed his hand over that nothing, over that reflection. "Hullo!" he said. "The wall is a looking-glass!" "Yes, a looking-glass!" said the Persian, in a tone of deep emotion. And, passing the hand that held the pistol over his moist forehead, he
added, "We have dropped into the torture-chamber!" What the Persian knew of this torture-chamber and what there befell him
and his companion shall be told in his own words, as set down in a
manuscript which he left behind him, and which I copy VERBATIM. [1] M. Pedro Gailhard has himself told me that he created a few
additional posts as door-shutters for old stage-carpenters whom he was
unwilling to dismiss from the service of the Opera. [2] In those days, it was still part of the firemen's duty to watch
over the safety of the Opera house outside the performances; but this
service has since been suppressed. I asked M. Pedro Gailhard the
reason, and he replied:

"It was because the management was afraid that, in their utter
inexperience of the cellars of the Opera, the firemen might set fire to
the building!" [3] Like the Persian, I can give no further explanation touching the
apparition of this shade. Whereas, in this historic narrative,
everything else will be normally explained, however abnormal the course
of events may seem, I can not give the reader expressly to understand
what the Persian meant by the words, "It is some one much worse than
that!" The reader must try to guess for himself, for I promised M.
Pedro Gailhard, the former manager of the Opera, to keep his secret
regarding the extremely interesting and useful personality of the
wandering, cloaked shade which, while condemning itself to live in the
cellars of the Opera, rendered such immense services to those who, on
gala evenings, for instance, venture to stray away from the stage. I
am speaking of state services; and, upon my word of honor, I can say no
more. [4] All the water had to be exhausted, in the building of the Opera. To give an idea of the amount of water that was pumped up, I can tell
the reader that it represented the area of the courtyard of the Louvre
and a height half as deep again as the towers of Notre Dame. And
nevertheless the engineers had to leave a lake. [5] These two pairs of boots, which were placed, according to the
Persian's papers, just between the set piece and the scene from the ROI
DE LAHORE, on the spot where Joseph Buquet was found hanging, were
never discovered. They must have been taken by some stage-carpenter or
"door-shutter."