He took from his pocket-book a cutting from an Italian paper, which he handed to me.
As I can read and speak Italian fairly well, it was all right; but as you, my dear Aunt Janet, are not skilled in languages, and as I doubt if there is any assistance of the kind to be had at Croom, I do not send it.

But as I have heard that the item has been produced in the last number of _The Journal of Occultism_, you will be easily able to get it.

As he handed me the cutting he said: "I am Destilia!" His story was so strange that I asked him a good many questions about it.
He answered me quite frankly on every point, but always adhering stoutly to the main point--namely, that it was no phantom or mirage, no dream or imperfect vision in a fog.

"We were four in all who saw it," he said--"three from the bridge and the Englishman, Caulfield--from the bows--whose account exactly agreed with what we saw.

Captain Mirolani and Falamano and I were all awake and in good trim.