CHAPTER I.
HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S SERVICE "There was a mysterious affair last night, signore." "Oh!" I exclaimed.

"Anything that interests us ?" "Yes, signore," replied the tall, thin Italian Consular-clerk, speaking with a strong accent.

"An English steam yacht ran aground on the Meloria about ten miles out, and was discovered by a fishing-boat who brought the news to harbor.

The Admiral sent out two torpedo-boats, which managed after a lot of difficulty to bring in the yacht safely, but the Captain of the Port has a suspicion that the crew were trying to make away with the vessel." "To lose her, you mean ?" The faithful Francesco, whose English had mostly been acquired from sea-faring men, and was not the choicest vocabulary, nodded, and, true Tuscan that he was, placed his finger upon his closed lips, indicative of silence.
"Sounds curious," I remarked.

"Since the Consul went away on leave things seem to have been humming--two stabbing affrays, eight drunken seamen locked up, a mutiny on a tramp steamer, and now a yacht being cast away--a fairly decent list! And yet some stay-at-home people complain that British consuls are only paid to be ornamental! They should spend a week here, at Leghorn, and they'd soon alter their opinion." "Yes, they would, signore," responded the thin-faced old fellow with a grin, as he twisted his fierce gray mustache.