Before me is a high wall devoid of the smallest opening, and in the opposite direction the view is exactly identical. The same thing to my left. The scenery is not much diversified, to put it mildly! None the less, above the third wall I can see some sort of tower and a tall chininey. Can it be a factory? Is it possible, in fact I think anything possible, except to imagine the use of that interminable pylon which rises and rises perhaps a hundred yards above the tower.

To my right the view is different but no more alluring. I count two huge buildings, and in front of them is a great construction, a kind of fortress with outworks and crenellations.

My comrades in captivity are all here, unfortunately except for Tongane and except also for Malik, though she was present at this morning's halt. What's become of them?

Not having had, like myself, the advantage of enjoying a window opening on the countryside, my friends must be inconvenienced by the light. They can't see very much, for they keep blinking their eyes and rubbing them hard.

They are still rubbing them when a hand falls on the shoulder of each of us. We're dragged off, we're shoved, we are bewildered, discouraged.. ..

What do they want with us, and where the devil are we?

Alas! A minute later and we're in prison. 

CHAPTER III

A DESPOT

(From the note-book of Amedee Florence)

26th March, Here I am then in prison. After having played Mazeppa, I'm playing Silvio Pellico.(An Italian playwright and poet, a friend of Lord Byron; he wrote an account of the ten years' imprisonment which he suffered through being involved in a secret society, the Carbonari—i.o.e.)

As I've just stated, it was the day before yesterday, a little before noon, when we were imprisoned. I was gripped by three mulattos who, not without a certain brutality, forced me up some stairs and then along a dark corridor leading out into a long gallery with some cells opening from it. This gallery is easy to guard, and sentinels are placed at both ends. I doubt whether we shall be able to escape that way.

I'm thrust into a room lighted by a window reinforced with an iron grille twelve feet above my head, and the door is closed upon me and triply locked. I remain alone with my thoughts, which are not exactly rose coloured.

The cell is large and well ventilated. It contains a table with writing materials, a chair, a bed which looks clean, and some toilet utensils. An electric light bulb is fixed to the ceiling. The "damp straw" of this dungeon is certainly comfortable, and I should think this study quite ample—if I were free.

I sit down and light a cigarette. I wait-for what? For something to happen. Meanwhile I reflect on the charms of travel.

Two hours later I am aroused from my meditations by the sound of my door opening. The bolts jar, the lock creaks, the door gapes open, and I see. ... I could give you a thousand guesses.

I can see Tchoumouki, yes Tchoumouki, who vanished on the day when, for the third time, I heard the mysterious roaring whose cause I now understand. He doesn't want for impudence. To dare to come in my presence after the way he treated my articles!

He is expecting rather a cool welcome himself. Before entering my cell, he glances in to see how the land lies. Much good may it do him.

"Oh, there you are, you double-dyed villain!" I exclaim as I dash towards him, with the idea of giving him the punishment he deserves.

But I come up against the door, which the traitor has hurriedly slammed. All the better, after all. When I promise myself the pleasure of pulling his ears, what good will that do me, except to complicate my position, which isn't too cheerful as it is?

Does he guess these more conciliatory thoughts? It seems like it, for the door opens a second time, so as to let the rascal shove his crinkly hair in. Oh, he can come in now. I've regained my chair .