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.
He found the crossing, returned along the side of the bank,
trudged along the cart track until he arrived at the gate, and
climbed up on the dyke without misadventure. From here he made
his way more cautiously, using his stick with his right hand, his
torch, with his thumb upon the knob, in his left. The lull in the
storm seemed to be at an end. Black, low-hanging clouds were
closing in upon him. Away to the right, where the line of marshes
was unbroken, the boom of the wind grew louder. A gust very
nearly blew him down the bank. He was compelled to shelter for a
moment on its lee side, whilst a scud of snow and sleet passed
like an icy whirlwind. The roar of the sea was full in his ears
now, and though he must still have been fully two hundred yards
away from it, little ghostly specks of white spray were dashed,
every now and then, into his face.
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