Rainsford braced himself for a hard landing. He could hear the sound of the angry barks of Zaroff's hounds in the still night, getting louder and louder. Twenty feet later, his body crashed into the water, curled up to minimize the impact, and he finally saw the bubbles in the warm sea, which guided him back towards the water's surface. He swam steadily and silently, about three hundred yards, and soon reached a small, raised, inlet that reached about ten feet into the cliff. Rainsford realized he had to time his entrance carefully, or be forced onto the rocks by the relentless waves. He looked back to judge the timing of the waves, instinctively felt the time to move, and quickly started to swim. He felt a rush of adrenaline knowing that his timing was correct. Rainsford's hands soon grasped the raised rocks, and he heaved himself up. The rocks were so sharp and jagged that blood was dripping from his right shoulder and left ankle. Would the scent of blood lead the hounds to him?
As Rainsford cautiously took in the surroundings of the inlet, he saw that somebody had been here before. They had died here too, for a skeleton was lying by the side of the inlet. Judging by the angle, Rainsford determined the man had probably died crashing on the rocks. Rainsford shuddered, and then cursed when he remembered his knife was still on the island. Maybe next to the skeleton he could find a knife. But the only items he found nearby the skeleton were a compass, a fishing rod, a sodden woolen coat, a large shoulder bag, and an oar. The items looked relatively new, which meant some crabs had gotten to work with the poor man quickly. "Poor dumb sailor," Rainsford initially thought. The dead man had tried to come ashore carrying too many items. But then again, if the man had been able to survive the shipwreck, how could he have survived the ordeal of Zaroff and Ivan?
An idea slowly began to form. Rainsford would need light, and, as much as he hated to, he left the inlet, taking the shoulder bag. He swam towards the beach, one hundred feet away. Careful not to be spotted by the General, Rainsford figured out where he was, gathered some dry leaves and sticks. Rainsford swam back towards the inlet. It took him a long time, as he had to keep the bag above water. That meant Rainsford could only use one hand, as his legs were supporting his arm that was keeping the bag above water. All the way back, the only thought on his mind was revenge. When he finally made it back, he went to the deepest part of the inlet, because it was the driest. He dumped the contents of the bag on the floor. Taking stones from the ground, he arranged them in a circle. Then he carefully placed all but two of the sticks in a smaller circle inside the larger. He dumped the leaves in the center and spread them out. Rainsford then took two sticks and started to make a fire. On his fourth attempt, a spark landed in the leaves. He blew gently on the flame, and soon there was a fire. On this warm night this fire was not for heat, but so he could see in order to carry through with his idea. Crouching next to his fire, he then took the oar, and broke off the paddle. With the fishing hook, he slowly made a hole in one end of the oar. He then took a triangular, flat stone, and started shaping it, making it sharper. When Rainsford was satisfied, he broke off the fishing line and threaded it through the hole in the broken oar, attaching the spearhead he made to the oar. He tested his spear out. It was certainly not as strong and sturdy as the tribal spears that he had used so many times on his African hunting safaris, but it would suffice. He was ready. Soon, the hunted might become the hunter. It was clear if he tried to reach the jungle from the inlet, he would not make it up the steep cliffs. Anyway, it would likely be quicker to swim. Rainsford grabbed the spear like a lifeline and jumped into the waves.
Rainsford stumbled onto the beach where he had originally landed, exhausted by the long swim, and he adjusted his eyes to the darkness. He made his way through the dense foliage slowly, not making a sound, until he crept up to the back door of the General's mansion. It was locked. The General had only a small number of servants on the island, and Rainsford hoped that they would still be out in the jungle looking for him. Other than Zaroff, the only man he had feared was Ivan, and that was no longer an issue. He thought hastily, trying to find a way in, and remembered that the General's bedroom had a balcony with a staircase leading up to it. That door was unlocked. He peered inside. The general was not there. Rainsford scanned his bedroom for a place to hide. His closet? No, opening the door would make too much noise. Under the bed? No, he would not be able to fit under the narrow space between the General's curtained bed and the floor. Wait- the General's curtained bed? Rainsford opened the door slowly, careful not to make any noise, and crept up to the curtain and hid himself behind it, hardly daring to breathe.