The schooner had to lie in the roads, and everything had to be conveyed to her by boat.

There was much traffic between her and the shore, and the work was carried on by the light of many lamps.
Now where would they have stowed Carette?
On the ship?
In one of the cottages?
In the natural prison where they had kept me?
The only three possibilities I had been able to think of.

To reduce them to two I would try the least hazardous first, and that was the prison in the rock.
I had been carried to and from it blindfolded, but from what I had seen from its windows I had formed a general idea as to where it lay.

So I crept back half-way towards the shell beach and then struck cautiously up towards the tumbled masses of rock on the eastern side of the Island.
It was chancy work at best, with a possible stumble up against death at every step.

But life without Carette--worse still, life with Carette in thrall to young Torode--would be worse to me than death, and so I take no credit to myself for risking it for her.