“And there’s the cabin.” Once again his light darted about. There appeared to be a number of small cabins grouped around a larger central one.
“Mysterious sort of place!” he told himself. “Wonder who built it. Who lives there? And when?”
A cold blast of wind came sweeping up the narrow channel. It chilled him to the bone.
“Going to storm. I must get back.
“A fireplace and easy chairs, blankets, things to eat,” he whispered as he stumbled along over the slippery stones.
He thought of the girl standing back there alone, drenched with dew, chilled by the wind.
“I must get back. At once!” He quickened his steps.
On reaching the shore side door of the boat house, he found it locked. With a mutter of disgust, he hurried along a narrow plank walk to the other end. There he plunged waist deep into water, to make his way beneath the great outer door.
“Room for a rowboat beneath this door,” he murmured. “Let ’em keep their launch. No gas anyway.”
A swing of the light showed him a sizeable launch suspended above the water. But that which gladdened his heart was a staunch little rowboat tipped on its side and resting on a narrow ledge at the right of the hole of black water.