The action of the rough towel upon his body brought a glow of warmth to Delarey, and the sense of mystery began to depart from his mind.
"Perhaps it was a fisherman," he said.
"They do not fish from there, signore. It must have been me you heard. When you went under the water I cried out. Drink some wine, signorino."
He held a glass full of wine to Delarey's lips. Delarey drank.
"But you've got a man's voice, Gaspare!" he said, putting down the glass and beginning to get into his clothes.
"Per Dio! Would you have me squeak like a woman, signore?"
Delarey laughed and said no more. But he knew it was not Gaspare's voice he had heard.
The net was drawn up now for the last time, and as soon as Delarey had dressed they set out to walk to the caves on the farther side of the rocks, where they meant to sleep till Carmela was about and ready to make the frittura. To reach them they had to clamber up from the beach to the Messina road, mount a hill, and descend to the Caffè Berardi, a small, isolated shanty which stood close to the sea, and was used in summer-time by bathers who wanted refreshment. Nito and the rest walked on in front, and Delarey followed a few paces behind with Gaspare. When they reached the summit of the hill a great sweep of open sea was disclosed to their view, stretching away to the Straits of Messina, and bounded in the far distance by the vague outlines of the Calabrian Mountains. Here the wind met them more sharply, and below them on the pebbles by the caffè they could see the foam of breaking waves. But to the right, and nearer to them, the sea was still as an inland pool, guarded by the tree-covered hump of land on which stood the house of the sirens. This hump, which would have been an islet but for the narrow wall of sheer rock which joined it to the main-land, ran out into the sea parallel to the road.
On the height, Delarey paused for a moment, as if to look at the wide view, dim and ethereal, under the dying moon.
"Is that Calabria?" he asked.