He looked extremely weak and leaned against the wall, as though he were afraid of falling. Taking off his hat, he revealed a forehead white as wax. The rest of the horrible face was hidden by the mask.

The Persian rose to his feet as Erik entered.

“Murderer of Count Philippe, what have you done with his brother and Christine Daaé?”

Erik staggered under this direct attack, kept silent for a moment, dragged himself to a chair and heaved a deep sigh. Then, speaking in short phrases and gasping for breath between the words:

“Daroga, don’t talk to me⁠ ⁠… about Count Philippe.⁠ ⁠… He was dead⁠ ⁠… by the time⁠ ⁠… I left my house⁠ ⁠… he was dead⁠ ⁠… when⁠ ⁠… the siren sang.⁠ ⁠… It was an⁠ ⁠… accident⁠ ⁠… a sad⁠ ⁠… a very sad⁠ ⁠… accident. He fell very awkwardly⁠ ⁠… but simply and naturally⁠ ⁠… into the lake!⁠ ⁠…”

“You lie!” shouted the Persian.