"Hang it!" muttered the Persian. "I don't know what they are looking for, but they might easily find us ...
Let us get away, quick! ...
Your hand up, sir, ready to fire! ...
Bend your arm ... more ... that's it! ...
Hand at the level of your eye, as though you were fighting a duel and waiting for the word to fire!
Oh, leave your pistol in your pocket.
Quick, come along, down-stairs.
Level of your eye! Question of life or death! ...
Here, this way, these stairs!"
They reached the fifth cellar.
"Oh, what a duel, sir, what a duel!"
Once in the fifth cellar, the Persian drew breath.
He seemed to enjoy a rather greater sense of security than he had displayed when they both stopped in the third; but he never altered the attitude of his hand.
And Raoul, remembering the Persian's observation—"I know these pistols can be relied upon"—was more and more astonished, wondering why any one should be so gratified at being able to rely upon a pistol which he did not intend to use!
But the Persian left him no time for reflection.
Telling Raoul to stay where he was, he ran up a few steps of the staircase which they had just left and then returned.
"How stupid of us!" he whispered.
"We shall soon have seen the end of those men with their lanterns. It is the firemen going their rounds."
The two men waited five minutes longer.
Then the Persian took Raoul up the stairs again; but suddenly he stopped him with a gesture.
Something moved in the darkness before them.
"Flat on your stomach!" whispered the Persian.
The two men lay flat on the floor. They were only just in time. A shade, this time carrying no light, just a shade in the shade, passed. It passed close to them, near enough to touch them. They felt the warmth of its cloak upon them.
For they could distinguish the shade sufficiently to see that it wore a cloak which shrouded it from head to foot. On its head it had a soft felt hat ...
It moved away, drawing its feet against the walls and sometimes giving a kick into a corner.
"Whew!" said the Persian.
"We've had a narrow escape; that shade knows me and has twice taken me to the managers' office."
"Is it some one belonging to the theater police?" asked Raoul.
"It's some one much worse than that!" replied the Persian, without giving any further explanation.
"It's not ... he?"
"He? ...
If he does not come behind us, we shall always see his yellow eyes!
That is more or less our safeguard to-night.
But he may come from behind, stealing up; and we are dead men if we do not keep our hands as though about to fire, at the level of our eyes, in front!"
The Persian had hardly finished speaking, when a fantastic face came in sight ... a whole fiery face, not only two yellow eyes!
Yes, a head of fire came toward them, at a man's height, but with no body attached to it.
The face shed fire, looked in the darkness like a flame shaped as a man's face.
"Oh," said the Persian, between his teeth.
"I have never seen this before! ...
Pampin was not mad, after all: he had seen it! ...
What can that flame be?
It is not HE, but he may have sent it! ...
Take care! ...
Take care!
Your hand at the level of your eyes, in Heaven's name, at the level of your eyes! ... know most of his tricks ... but not this one ...
Come, let us run ... it is safer.
Hand at the level of your eyes!"
And they fled down the long passage that opened before them.
After a few seconds, that seemed to them like long minutes, they stopped.
"He doesn't often come this way," said the Persian.