do?"

Furley sat up, still nursing his leg.

"Put 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."