on your sea boots, and your oilskins over your clothes," he
directed. "You will want your own stick, so take that revolver and an
electric torch. You can't get across the remains of the bridge, but
about fifty yards down to the left, as you leave the door, the water's
only about a foot deep. Walk through it, scramble up the other side, and
come back again along the edge of the dyke until you come to the place
where one lands from the broken bridge. Is that clear?"

"Entirely."

"After that, you go perfectly straight along a sort of cart track until
you come to a gate. When you have passed through it, you must climb a
bank on your lefthand side and walk along the top. It's a beastly path,
and there are dykes on either side of you."

"Pooh!" Julian exclaimed. "You forget that I am a native of this part of
the world."

"You come to a sort of stile at the end of about three hundred yards,"
Furley continued. "You get over that, and the bank breaks up into two.
You keep to the left, and it leads you right down into the marsh. Turn
seaward. It will be a nasty scramble, but there will only be about
fifty yards of it. Then you get to a bit of rough ground--a bank of
grass-grown sand. Below that there is the shingle and the sea. That is
where you take up your post."

"Can I use my torch," Julian enquired, "and what am I to look out for?"

"Heaven knows," replied Furley, "except that there's a general
suggestion of communications between some person on land and some person
approaching from the sea. I don't mind confessing that I've done this
job, on and off, whenever I've been down here, for a couple of years,
and I've never seen or heard a suspicious thing yet. We are never told
a word in our instructions, either, or given any advice. However, what I
should do would be to lie flat down on the top of that bank and listen.
If you hear anything peculiar, then you must use your discretion about
the torch. It's a nasty job to make over to a pal, Julian, but I know
you're keen on anything that looks like an adventure."

"All over it," was the ready reply. "What about leaving you alone,
though, Miles?"

"You put the whisky and soda where I can get at it," Furley directed,
"and I shall be all right. I'm feeling stronger every moment. I expect
your sea boots are in the scullery. And hurry up, there's a good fellow.
We're twenty minutes behind time, as it is."

Julian started on his adventure without any particular enthusiasm. H