"Of course it's got to be done; we've got to get to Bagdad," Geoff exclaimed, when they had finished their small supply of fruit. "Next question is—in what direction?"
Philip scratched his head; it was, indeed, a problem which floored him.
"Which direction, eh?" he muttered. "Yes, that does want deciding, for I've no notion."
"But here's an idea—a good idea, too," said Geoff. "Naturally enough the prison must be on some road, else how would one get to it? How could we have been driven here?"
"Brilliant! Of course, naturally enough—on a road. We look for it."
"Quite so; we look for it, and then——"
"Then we march along it, eh?" Philip told him cheerfully.
"Which direction?" asked Geoff satirically. "Supposing it runs west and east, do we turn west or east? And if north and south, which way, please, Philip?"
It was Philip's turn again to cogitate, to scratch his head even harder, and to wonder. It made him quite irritable and angry when he discovered how hopeless the situation really was; and then, seizing upon a brilliant idea, he almost gave vent to a shout of triumph.
"Of course; easy as smoking; we just get on to the road and wait for folks to come along it."