later Pong was sailing into the outskirts of Bayonne.

To emerge from the town upon the Briscous road proved unexpectedly
hard. The map insisted that we should essay a dark entry, by the side
of which a forbidding notice-board dared us to come on.... Adele and I
pored over the print, while out of our bickering Berry plucked such
instructions as his fancy suggested, and, alternately advancing and
retiring, cruised to and fro about a gaunt church. After a while we
began to ask people, listen carefully to their advice, thank them
effusively, and then demonstrate to one another that they were
certainly ignorant and probably hostile.

At length--

"How many times," inquired Berry, "did they walk round Jericho before
the walls went?"

"Thirteen, I think," said Adele. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," was the reply. "Only, if you aren't quick, we shall
have this church down. Besides, I'm getting giddy."

"Then show some initiative," I retorted.

"Right," said Berry, darting up a side-street.

Calling upon him to stop, Adele and I fought for the map.... A sudden
lurch to the left flung us into the corner, whence, before we had
recovered our equilibrium, a violent swerve to the right returned us
pell-mell. At last, in response to our menaces, Berry slowed up before
a sign-post.

Its legend was plain.

BRISCOUS 10

We stared at it in silence. Then we stared at one another. Finally we
stared at Berry. The latter spread out his hands and shrugged his
shoulders.

"Instinct," he said. "Just instinct. It's very wonderful.
Hereditary, of course. One of my uncles was a water-waste preventer.
With the aid of a cricket-bat and a false nose, he could find a swamp
upon an empty stomach. They tried him once, for fun, at a
garden-party. Nobody could understand the host's uneasiness until,
amid a scene of great excitement, my uncle found the cesspool under the
refreshment marquee."

Eventually we persuaded him to proceed.

For a while the going was poor, but after we had passed Briscous all
cause for complaint vanished. Not only was the surface of the road as
good as new, but the way itself, was winsome. The main road to
Peyrehorade could not compare with it. At every twist and turn--and
there were many--some fresh attraction confronted us. The countryside,
shy of the great highways, crept very close. We slipped up lanes, ran
side by side with brooks, brushed by snug cottages. Dingles made bold
to share with