He quickly understood where he was, and it was the work of a few minutes to draw himself up on the slanting beam and seat himself on its slippery surface.
For the moment he felt secure. But what was he to do next? If he shouted for help that devil above him might be waiting with pistol and knife to finish his work.
It was very uncomfortable there, soaking wet in a damp seat, in silent darkness, with only a glimpse of the harbour through the piles, but he reflected that he was probably safe from further attack if he kept quiet. So he decided to sit still and wait for the morning light, if no other assistance should come.
His vigil, however, was not so long; not an hour and a half had passed when a ship’s boat, laden probably with some belated captain, approached quite close to him. He sang out—
The rowers stopped. Alec called again, and on his saying he had fallen in the harbour and wanted to land, they very cheerfully backed their craft up to the piles, and with some difficulty Alec managed to jump aboard, and in a few strokes was landed at the steps.
Alec Booth could see the spot where he had stood behind the casks, but as he anticipated, no sailor, either drunk or sober, was to be seen there now. He felt a satisfaction in throwing off the numbness of his limbs by a smart walk, and his first place of call was the office of the Water Police.
The officer in charge took down his statement with provoking calm. One might have fancied that the throwing of citizens off Circular Quay was a matter of hourly familiarity to him.
“And you say this man put a spring bag over your head? Where is it?”
“I threw it away in the water,” said Alec.