island is that?"

"Ahem! that?" replied Munchausen, trembling, as he reflected upon the
Captain's threat. "What? Nobody knows what island that is? Why,
you surprise me -

"See here, Baron," retorted Holmes, menacingly, "I ask you a plain
question, and I want a plain answer, with no evasions to gain time.
Now it's irons or an answer. What island is that?"

"It's an island that doesn't appear on any chart, Captain,"
Munchausen responded instantly, pulling himself together for a mighty
effort, "and it has never been given a name; but as you insist upon
having one, we'll call it Holmes Island, in your honor. It is not
stationary. It is a floating island of lava formation, and is a
menace to every craft that goes to sea. I spent a year of my life
upon it once, and it is more barren than the desert of Sahara,
because you cannot raise even sand upon it, and it is devoid of water
of any sort, salt or fresh."

"What did you live on during that year?" asked Holmes, eying him
narrowly.

"Canned food from wrecks," replied the Baron, feeling much easier now
that he had got a fair start--"canned food from wrecks, commander.
There is a magnetic property in the upper stratum of this piece of
derelict real estate, sir, which attracts to it every bit of canned
substance that is lost overboard in all parts of the world. A ship
is wrecked, say, in the Pacific Ocean, and ultimately all the loose
metal upon her will succumb to the irresistible attraction of this