This time I was sure I should never find him. I went three whole days without seeing him. Every evening I shook my clothes, uselessly repeating my search. I would have given ten years of my life, and paid a large sum of money, to have found him. I blamed myself for not having looked thoroughly; perhaps I had left him on the ground among the coarse Chinese mats of the house in which I had passed the night.

On the third evening, having a little spare time, I started to develop some instantaneous photographs that I had taken during the journey.

To my immense surprise Fiam appeared in every picture, or rather his shadow, thrown across each landscape. It was evident that Fiam was shut up inside of the camera. I opened it and called inside: “Fiam!” holding it near my ear.

“For pity’s sake help me!” It was his little voice [106] beseeching. “Take me out of this!” He was so desperate that he had forgotten his usual correction of “Miferino.”

“Come out yourself.”

“I can’t. They are holding me by the leg.”

“Who are?”

“I don’t know who; please help me.”

I looked and saw my friend held by one foot caught in the spring of the box. It was not easy to get him out. His foot was broken, and when I put him on the table he limped.

“What were you doing in there?”

“That awful place,” he whined.

“But how did you get in there?”

“You left the door open and I wanted to see what it was like. I went in.... What a horrible............