Our hero realized that he had reached shore just in time. The tempest had held back for him, as it were, as, had it come upon him while in the sea, no power on earth could have saved him.
Ensconced in his deserted cabin with a glowing fire, his pipe, and a wee drop of whisky, the roar of the tempest was music in his ears, and lulled him to a peaceful slumber from which he was rudely aroused, later on, by a punch in the ribs. The detective awoke, leaped to his feet, and confronted a powerful-looking man in an oil-skin suit.
"Hello! who are you, and what are you doing here?" came the inquiry from the stranger.
"These are just the questions I'm putting to you," answered our hero.
"Well, stranger, my questions are first, I reckon."
"You're right; but tell me, am I in your quarters?"
"No, not exactly; this shanty was built for common use; but where did you come from?"
"I came from the sea."
"You're a man, you're not a fish; how did you come in from the sea?"
"I swam in."