They were now in the center of a real deserted square, an immense apartment ill-lit by a small lamp. The Persian stopped Raoul and, in the softest of whispers, asked:

“What did you say to the commissary?”

“I said that Christine Daaé’s abductor was the Angel of Music, alias the Opera ghost, and that the real name was⁠ ⁠…”

“Hush!⁠ ⁠… And did he believe you?”

“No.”

“He attached no importance to what you said?”

“No.”

“He took you for a bit of a madman?”

“Yes.”