"We are doing exactly what we did last time ...  Last time, I joined
you as you were leaving the stage and followed close behind you down
this passage." "That's true!" sighed Richard, shaking his head and passively obeying
Moncharmin. Two minutes later, the joint managers locked themselves into their
office. Moncharmin himself put the key in his pocket:

"We remained locked up like this, last time," he said, "until you left
the Opera to go home." "That's so. No one came and disturbed us, I suppose?" "No one." "Then," said Richard, who was trying to collect his memory, "then I
must certainly have been robbed on my way home from the Opera." "No," said Moncharmin in a drier tone than ever, "no, that's
impossible. For I dropped you in my cab. The twenty-thousand francs
disappeared at your place:  there's not a shadow of a doubt about that." "It's incredible!" protested Richard. "I am sure of my servants ...
and if one of them had done it, he would have disappeared since." Moncharmin shrugged his shoulders, as though to say that he did not
wish to enter into details, and Richard began to think that Moncharmin
was treating him in a very insupportable fashion. "Moncharmin, I've had enough of this!" "Richard, I've had too much of it!" "Do you dare to suspect me?" "Yes, of a silly joke." "One doesn't joke with twenty-thousand francs." "That's what I think," declared Moncharmin, unfolding a newspaper and
ostentatiously studying its contents. "What are you doing?" asked Richard. "Are you going to read the paper
next?" "Yes, Richard, until I take you home." "Like last time?" "Yes, like last time." Richard snatched the paper from Moncharmin's hands. Moncharmin stood
up, more irritated than ever, and found himself faced by an exasperated
Richard, who, crossing his arms on his chest, said:

"Look here, I'm thinking of this, I'M THINKING OF WHAT I MIGHT THINK
if, like last time, after my spending the evening alone with you, you
brought me home and if, at the moment of parting, I perceived that
twenty-thousand francs had disappeared from my coat-pocket ... like
last time." "And what might you think?" asked Moncharmin, crimson with rage. "I might think that, as you hadn't left me by a foot's breadth and as,
by your own wish, you were the only one to approach me, like last time,
I might think that, if that twenty-thousand francs was no longer in my
pocket, it stood a very good chance of being in yours!" Moncharmin leaped up at the suggestion. "Oh!" he shouted. "A safety-pin!" "What do you want a safety-pin for?" "To fasten you up with! ... A safety-pin! ... A safety-pin!" "You want to fasten me with a safety-pin?" "Yes, to fasten you to the twenty-thousand francs! Then, whether it's
here, or on the drive from here to your place, or at your place, you
will feel the hand that pulls at your pocket and you will see if it's
mine! Oh, so you're suspecting me now, are you? A safety-pin!" And that was the moment when Moncharmin opened the door on the passage
and shouted:

"A safety-pin! ... somebody give me a safety-pin!" And we also know how, at the same moment, Remy, who had no safety-pin,
was received by Moncharmin, while a boy procured the pin so eagerly
longed for. And what happened was this:  Moncharmin first locked the
door again. Then he knelt down behind Richard's back. "I hope," he said, "that the notes are still there?" "So do I," said Richard. "The real ones?" asked Moncharmin, resolved not to be "had" this time. "Look for yourself," said Richard. "I refuse to touch them." Moncharmin took the envelope from Richard's pocket and drew out the
bank-notes with a trembling hand, for, this time, in order frequently
to make sure of the presence of the notes, he had not sealed the
envelope nor even fastened it. He felt reassured on finding that they
were all there and quite genuine. He put them back in the tail-pocket
and pinned them with great care. Then he sat down behind Richard's
coat-tails and kept his eyes fixed on them, while Richard, sitting at
his writing-table, did not stir. "A little patience, Richard," said Moncharmin. "We have only a few
minutes to wait ... The clock will soon strike twelve. Last time, we
left at the last stroke of twelve." "Oh, I shall have all the patience necessary!" The time passed, slow, heavy, mysterious, stifling. Richard tried to
laugh. "I shall end by believing in the omnipotence of the ghost," he said. "Just now, don't you find something uncomfortable, disquieting,
alarming in the atmosphere of this room?" "You're quite right," said Moncharmin, who was really impressed. "The ghost!" continued Richard, in a low voice, as though fearing lest
he should be overheard by invisible ears. "The ghost! Suppose, all
the same, it were a ghost who puts the magic envelopes on the table ...
who talks in Box Five ... who killed Joseph Buquet ...  who unhooked
the chandelier ... and who robs us! For, after all, after all, after
all, there is no one here except you and me, and, if the notes
disappear and neither you nor I have anything to do with it, well, we
shall have to believe in the ghost ... in the ghost." At that moment, the clock on the mantlepiece gave its warning click and
the first stroke of twelve struck. The two managers shuddered. The perspiration streamed from their
foreheads. The twelfth stroke sounded strangely in their ears. When the clock stopped, they gave a sigh and rose from their chairs. "I think we can go now," said Moncharmin. "I think so," Richard a agreed. "Before we go, do you mind if I look in your pocket?" "But, of course, Moncharmin, YOU MUST! ... Well?" he asked, as
Moncharmin was feeling at the pocket. "Well, I can feel the pin." "Of course, as you said, we can't be robbed without noticing it." But Moncharmin, whose hands were still fumbling, bellowed:

"I can feel the pin, but I can't feel the notes!" "Come, no joking, Moncharmin! ... This isn't the time for it." "Well, feel for yourself." Richard tore off his coat. The two managers turned the pocket inside
out. THE POCKET WAS EMPTY. And the curious thing was that the pin
remained, stuck in the same place. Richard and Moncharmin turned pale. There was no longer any doubt
about the witchcraft. "The ghost!" muttered Moncharmin. But Richard suddenly sprang upon his partner. "No one but you has touched my pocket! Give me back my twenty-thousand
francs! ... Give me back my twenty-thousand francs! ..."

"On my soul," sighed Moncharmin, who was ready to swoon, "on my soul, I
swear that I haven't got it!" Then somebody knocked at the door.