But it's all true.

It began this way: "One night, six months ago, as Milo and I were sitting on the veranda, we heard a scream--a hideous sound it was--from the mangrove swamp.

And a queer creature in drippy white came crawling out of--" "Wait!" Brice's monosyllable smashed into the current of her scarce-started narrative with the jarring suddenness of a pistol shot.

She stared up at him in amaze.

For, seen through the starlight, his face was working strangely.