It says all that is necessary about the island, whose exact situation is marked on all modern charts and maps, and points out the expediency of acting without delay, and what to do in case Ker Karraje is in the position to employ Roch's fulgurator.
I add a plan of the cavern showing its internal configuration, the situation of the lagoon, the lay of the Beehive, Ker Karraje's habitation, my cell, and Thomas Roch's laboratory.
I wrap the document in a piece of tarpaulin and insert the package in the little keg, which measures six inches by three and a half.

It is perfectly watertight and will stand any amount of knocking about against the rocks.
There is one danger, however, and that is, that it may be swept back by the returning tide, cast up on the island, and fall into the hands of the crew of the _Ebba_ when the schooner is hauled into her creek.
If Ker Karraje ever gets hold of it, it will be all up with me.
It will be readily conceived with what anxiety I have awaited the moment to make the attempt: I am in a perfect fever of excitement, for it is a matter of life or death to me.

I calculate from previous observations that the tide will be very low at about a quarter to nine.

The top of the tunnel ought then to be a foot and a half above water, which is more than enough to permit of the keg passing through it.

It will be another half hour at least before the flow sets in again, and by that time the keg may be far enough away to escape being thrown back on the coast.
I peer out of my cell.