Moncharmin’s last phrase so dearly expressed the suspicion in which he now held his partner that it was bound to cause a stormy explanation, at the end of which it was agreed that Richard should yield to all Moncharmin’s wishes, with the object of helping him to discover the miscreant who was victimizing them.

This brings us to the interval after the Garden Act, with the strange conduct observed by M. Remy and those curious lapses from the dignity that might be expected of the managers. It was arranged between Richard and Moncharmin, first, that Richard should repeat the exact movements which he had made on the night of the disappearance of the first twenty-thousand francs; and, second, that Moncharmin should not for an instant lose sight of Richard’s coat-tail pocket, into which Mme. Giry was to slip the twenty-thousand francs.

M. Richard went and placed himself at the identical spot where he had stood when he bowed to the under-secretary for fine arts. M. Moncharmin took up his position a few steps behind him.

Mme. Giry passed, rubbed up against M. Richard, got rid of her twenty-thousand francs in the manager’s coat-tail pocket and disappeared . . . Or rather she was conjured away. In accordance with the instructions received from Moncharmin a few minutes earlier, Mercier took the good lady to the acting-manager’s office and turned the key on her, thus making it impossible for her to communicate with her ghost.

Meanwhile, M. Richard was bending and bowing and scraping and walking backward, just as if he had that high and mighty minister, the under-secretary for fine arts, before him. Only, though these marks of politeness would have created no astonishment if the under-secretary of state had really been in front of M. Richard, they caused an easily comprehensible amazement to the spectators of this very natural but quite inexplicable scene when M. Richard had no body in front of him.

M. Richard bowed . . . to nobody; bent his back . . . before nobody; and walked backward . . . before nobody . . . And, a few steps behind him, M. Moncharmin did the same thing that he was doing in addition to pushing away M. Remy and begging M. de La Borderie, the ambassador, and the manager of the Credit Central “not to touch M. le Directeur.”

Moncharmin, who had his own ideas, did not want Richard to come to him presently, when the twenty-thousand francs were gone, and say:

“Perhaps it was the ambassador . . . or the manager of the Credit Central . . . or Remy.”

The more so as, at the time of the first scene, as Richard himself admitted, Richard had met nobody in that part of the theater after Mme. Giry had brushed up against him . . .

Having begun by walking backward in order to bow, Richard continued to do so from prudence, until he reached the passage leading to the offices of the management. In this way, he was constantly watched by Moncharmin from behind and himself kept an eye on any one approaching from the front. Once more, this novel method of walking behind the scenes, adopted by the managers of our National Academy of Music, attracted attention; but the managers themselves thought of nothing but their twenty-thousand francs.

On reaching the half-dark passage, Richard said to Moncharmin, in a low voice:

“I am sure that nobody has touched me . . . You had now better keep at some distance from me and watch me till I come to door of the office: it is better not to arouse suspicion and we can see anything that happens.”

But Moncharmin replied. “No, Richard, no! You walk ahead and I’ll walk immediately behind you! I won’t leave you by a step!”

“But, in that case,” exclaimed Richard, “they will never steal our twenty-thousand francs!”

“I should hope not, indeed!” declared Moncharmin.

“Then what we are doing is absurd!”

“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 Mo............