Hartmann spoke.

'These are the spies, Herr Colonel,' he said with an air of deference. 'They were captured more than two miles behind our lines. We have interrogated them, but they refuse information.'

The colonel looked at Ken.

'Have you nothing to say for yourselves?' he demanded.

'Plenty, but not to you, Colonel Henkel,' replied Ken with a sarcasm he did not trouble to conceal.

Henkel, however, did not lose his temper as Von Steegman had done. He turned to Hartmann and Von Steegman and spoke to them both in a low voice.

'As you wish, Herr Colonel,' said Hartmann presently, but there was an air of distinct disappointment about him.

'Corporal,' said Henkel to the non-com, who had taken the place of the brute whom Roy had finished, 'take the prisoners back and lock them up securely. Set a guard over them.'

'Mind this—that you are responsible for them,' he added harshly.

The man saluted, and Ken and Roy, who had hardly expected to leave the place alive, found themselves marched back down the evil-smelling street and shut up once more in the same hovel as before.

Roy turned to Ken as the key clicked in the lock behind them.

'This is a rum go,' he said in great astonishment. 'What's it mean? Who is the Johnny with the fat tummy and the bloodshot eyes? Why was he so quiet with you? What—?'

'Steady, old man!' cut in Ken. 'One question at a time. Didn't you hear his name?'

'What—Henkel? Yes.'

He broke off with a gasp.

'You don't mean to say he is the sweep that tried to swindle your father out of his coal mine?'

'You've hit it, Roy—hit it in once. That's the very same chap, though I never knew before that he was a colonel. He recognised me as soon as I spotted him.'

'But what's his game?' demanded Roy. 'I should have thought he would have been only too pleased to get you shot out of hand. If your father is dead, you're next heir to the coal.'

'I'm not very clear what he is after,' Ken answered in a puzzled voice. 'But it's something to do with our property, you may be sure of that. This much I do know—that Henkel was awfully in debt when I last saw him. And I know this, too—that our friend, old Othman Pacha, who is Bey in that part of the country, would refuse to let the property pass without proper title deeds.'

'Then it's clear as mud,' said Roy quickly. 'Henkel wants to get the deeds out of you.'

'That may be it. But anyhow I'm not of age. I couldn't sign anything.'

'Don't, anyhow,' said Roy. 'He can't do worse than shoot us.'

But Ken looked very grave. Inwardly, he was thinking that, if Henkel did actually mean to make terms, he had no right to sacrifice Roy's life as well as his own.

At this moment the corporal came in with a platter of food and a pitcher of water. He planked them down without a word, and went out again.

'No use starving ourselves,' said Roy with his usual cheeriness. 'It's a case of "let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die."'

His pluck was wonderful, and they set to as well as their manacled hands permitted, on the coarse barley-meal bread and goats' milk cheese. They had had nothing since their 'emergency' breakfast and they finished the food to the last crumb.

'That's better,' said Roy. 'Now I'm ready for anything.' As he spoke the key turned in the lock, the door opened, and in stumped Henkel. He closed the door behind him, and stood facing the two young fellows.

'So we meet again, Kenneth Carrington,' he said. Like most German officers, he spoke excellent English, though with a thick, unpleasant accent.

Ken did not answer. It did not seem worth while. He stood facing the other, watching him with a slightly contemptuous expression in his clear blue eyes.

'We meet under different conditions from the last time,' continued Henkel. 'There is now no Othman Pacha to protect you from your just fate.'

Ken shrugged his shoulders.

'Why talk that sort of rot? You know just as well as I do that the last thing we shall get is justice.'

Henkel flushed slightly, but he kept his temper.

'What! Do you not shoot spies in your own army?'

'We are not spies. We went too far in the charge yesterday when we smashed up your people. We could not get back. We are prisoners of war and should be treated as such.'

'That is your story,' replied Henkel. 'We have plenty of evidence to the contrary. Any commanding officer would be justified in shooting you out of hand.'

'The evidence against us,' said Ken, 'is that of Kemp, late bathroom steward aboard the "Cardigan Castle," a man who has a personal grudge against me because I caught him signalling to an enemy submarine.'

'Again your unsupported statement,' said Henkel.

'It's the truth,' growled Roy from the background.

'Your evidence in a case like this is valueless,' said Henkel shortly. He turned to Ken again.

'Have you heard from your father since you last saw him?' he asked suddenly.

The question took Ken unawares.

'From my father?' he said, with sudden eagerness. 'No. Is he alive?'

There was a gleam of triumph in Henkel's prominent eyes.

'Yes,' he answered. 'He is alive and—under the circumstances—well.'

'I—I thought' began Ken and stopped.

'You thought that he had been shot,' said Henkel grimly. 'That would indeed have been his fate but for my interference. I used my influence to get his sentence altered to a term of imprisonment.'

Ken changed colour. He found it desperately difficult to keep a cool head. The news that his father was alive had filled him with burning excitement. The two had always been the best of chums, more like an elder and younger brother than father and son.

'Where is he?' he asked sharply.

'At present in Constantinople,' replied Henkel, who was watching Ken keenly. 'But it is likely that he will presently be sent elsewhere.'

'What—into Asia Minor?' said Ken in dismay. Constantinople was bad enough, but nothing to the horrors of the Turkish prisons in Asia.

'Not so far as that. He is to be moved, with others of the British and French, to Gallipoli.'

Ken's cheeks went white. His eyes were full of horror.

'You are perhaps aware,' continued Henkel, 'that the Turkish Government has decided upon this step as a response to the bombardment of unfortified places by your fleet. If Turkish civilians are to be killed, it is only fair that enemy civilians should share their fate.'

'Enver Bey seems to have learnt his German pretty thoroughly,' put in Roy sarcastically.

Henkel's eyes glared as he turned upon him.

'Be silent!' he ordered, with a fury he could hardly repress.

Roy merely smiled, and Henkel turned again to Ken.

'It lies with you whether your father goes to Gallipoli or not,' he said curtly. 'I have sufficient influence to prevent his being sent there.'

'How do you mean?' Ken asked thickly.

'I will tell you plainly. Your father still holds the title deeds of certain property near Ipsala. This property he has, of course, forfeited since his conviction. I wish to purchase this land from the Turkish Government, but owing to the absence of the deeds, which are, apparently, in a London bank, there are difficulties as to the transfer.

'What I require is a letter from you to your father, asking him to authorise the return of these deeds. In return for this small service I will arrange for you and your companion to be treated as prisoners of war and sent to Constantinople, where you will remain until the end of the war, as will also your father.'

He stopped, and stood watching Ken keenly.

Ken was in an agony of indecision. So far as he himself was concerned, he would not have hesitated a moment in refusing the terms offered by Henkel. But there was his father to think of—and Roy.

His voice was strained and harsh as he spoke again.

'How do you know that my father would agree to any such letter, even if I was to write it?' he asked.

'Because,' answered Henkel, 'your life will depend upon a favourable answer.'

Ken paused again.

'Don't do it, Ken,' broke in Roy. 'I don't know your father, but I'm mighty sure he wouldn't stick for this kind of blackmail.'

Henkel swung round on him in a fury.

'Potztausend! Keep silence, fool! Your own life as well as two others depends upon Carrington's answer.'

'I wouldn't give sixpence for my life if I had to keep it on terms like those,' retorted Roy.

'Nor would I,' said Ken sharply. 'And I know my father would say the same. Whatever happens, he would never consent to letting you blackmail him, Colonel Henkel.'

'Blackmail, schelm! What are you talking about? Don't I tell you that by his sentence your father has forfeited all right to any landed property under the Turkish Government?'

'Yes, but that country won't be Turkish any more after the war. And then my younger brother, who is at school at home, will inherit. No, we are not going to cut him out and leave him penniless. Do your worst, Henkel.'

Henkel's great coarse face went livid. He burst into a storm of savage profanity.

'Enough!' he cried at last. 'You have brought your fate upon yourselves. You have sealed your own death warrant. You shall be shot within an hour, and as for your father, he shall be taken to Gallipoli within the week, and if he survives, the fire of your own warships, I shall find other means of dealing with him.'

He rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

'Got his monkey up pretty thoroughly,' said Roy with a laugh. Then seeing how grave Ken's face was.

'Don't worry, dear chap. You couldn't possibly have done anything else. And as for a bullet in the heart, what is it? It don't take long and it don't hurt, and we can always feel we've played the game.'

As he spoke he came closer and laid his shackled hands on Ken's shoulder.

'Thank you, Roy,' said Ken in a very low voice. 'You—you've helped me a lot. It—it's father I'm thinking of.'

'I know. But after all he isn't dead yet. And like as not this swab Henkel may get wiped out before he has the chance of doing him down.'

Silence fell between them. They sat with their backs against the wall, their hearts too full to talk. Ken's thoughts were with his father and his younger brother Anthony; Roy's were back in New Zealand, picturing the sunny plains and wild ranges around his home, the brawling rivers and the white sheep grazing on the great grass lands.

The last rays of the sun shone through the one small window of the hut, and presently came the tramp of men outside.

The corporal opened the door, the boys walked out, and guarded on either side were marched once more up the foul, narrow street to the higher ground above.

Beyond the house where their mock trial had taken place was a vineyard surrounded by a stone wall. Against this they were posted while the firing party was detailed.

Henkel, his bloodshot eyes aflame with ill-suppressed rage, stalked up to them.

'I give you a last chance,' he said harshly to Ken. 'I have told the others that you have certain information which I will take in exchange for your lives. Give me your word that you will write that letter, and all will be well.'

'You have had my answer,' said Ken quietly. 'Now go and watch us being murdered.'

Henkel bit his lip savagely.

'Your blood is on your own heads,' he said hoarsely. 'I have given you every chance.'

He stamped away, and as he did so took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

'When I drop this, fire,' he said curtly to the eight Turks who composed the firing party.

'Good-bye, old chap,' said Ken to Roy.

'Oh, I don't know,' Roy answered. 'After all, we're going together.'

Ken hardly heard. He was still tortured with the feeling that it was through him that Roy Horan and his father were to lose their lives. He knew he was right, and yet—'

A sound like a maxim gun in the distance smote upon his ears. It grew louder every instant. All, even Henkel, glanced upwards.

'Only an aeroplane, Ken,' said Roy in a whisper. 'By Jove, though, it's one of our chaps.'

Across the rich blue of the evening sky a great Farman biplane came sailing like a gigantic bird. She was barely five hundred feet up, and heading straight for the village. What was more, she was actually coming lower every moment.

Henkel, the other officer, the firing party, the bystanders—all stood with their eyes fixed upon the plane. The cool insolence of her pilot held them spellbound. For the moment Ken and Roy were absolutely forgotten.

Henkel was the first to recover himself.

'Shoot it down!' he bellowed. 'Shoot it down!' And the Turks, perhaps not altogether sorry to find some other use for their bullets than the slaughter of two helpless prisoners, raised their muzzles to the sky, and began blazing away furiously. Even Henkel, Hartmann, and Von Steegman hauled out their pistols from their belt holsters and fired for all they were worth.

But a plane travelling at a mile a minute is not the easiest thing in the world to hit, especially when it seems to be coming right at you. Possibly some of the bullets pierced the widespread wings, but no harm was done to the observer or his pilot.

Suddenly Ken seized Roy with his manacled hands.

'Down!' he cried sharply. 'Down!'

Roy understood and flung himself flat upon the ground, and Ken instantly followed his example.

Only just in time. Next second a black streak darted from the plane and shot earthwards. Followed an earth-shaking roar, and a blinding flash of flame.

Ken, flat on his face, felt the blast of it, and covered his head with his arms. Earth, small stones, debris of all kinds rained upon him, then followed silence, broken only by the rapidly diminishing roar of the engine exhaust.

Ken ventured to roll over. This is what he saw.

Between him and the spot where the firing party had stood, but nearer to the latter, was a great cavity in the ground, a hole ten feet across and perhaps a yard deep. Beyond, half buried in the mass of rubbish flung up by the explosion, were the broken remains of the firing party. All but one were dead, and most were blasted to fragments. The one survivor lay helpless and groaning.

Farther away the three officers were prone and still upon the ground, but whether dead or merely damaged, Ken could not tell. He hoped the former. Farther still, half a dozen other Turkish soldiers lay, twisted in ugly fashion, covered with blood. They had been badly cut by the jagged fragments of stone flung up by the bursting bomb. The survivors, a score or so in number, were running in blind panic towards the village.

'Roy, Roy! Quickly! We've a chance still,' cried Ken, his voice tense with excitement.

He sprang up as he spoke, and Roy staggered dazedly to his feet.

'This way!' said Ken, and in spite of the hampering handcuffs he managed to scramble over the low wall into the vineyard.

Roy followed.

'It's no use, Ken,' he said. 'We can't run with these beastly handcuffs, and they'll be after us in two twos.'

'Not they! Look!'

He pointed to the plane. It had circled wide over the town and was now coming back. The faint popping of rifles was followed by another terrific crash. A second bomb had dropped clean upon one of the larger houses, and exploding on the flat roof had scattered the whole building as a man's foot might scatter an ant's nest. With a roar half the house toppled outwards into the street, blocking it completely.

'Fine! Oh, fine!' cried Roy. 'That chap knows his business. Gee, but I wish we were alongside him.'

'Much use that would be! A plane can't carry four. But don't you see? He has spotted us. Those bombs are meant to give us our chance. It's up to us to take it. Hurry, Roy! If we can reach that wood yonder, we may be able to hide till dark.'

To run at all with tied hands is no easy matter. To make any sort of pace over rough ground, in such condition, is well-nigh impossible. Yet Ken and Roy, knowing absolutely that their lives depended on reaching that wood before their disappearance was realised, did manage to run and to run pretty fast.

Once more they heard the crashing explosion of a bomb, then suddenly the sound of the plane grew louder until the engine rattled almost overhead.

Ken stopped and looked up. The plane was passing no more than two hundred feet above them.

Over the edge of the fuselage a face appeared, a white dot framed in a khaki flying hood. An arm was thrust out, something dropped from it. There was a quick wave of a hand, then with the speed of a frightened wild duck, the plane shot away, came round in a finely banked curve, and disappeared in a south-easterly direction.

'Roy!' gasped Ken, breathless. 'Did you see that?'

'I saw him drop something—I saw it fall. There—there it is.'

Hurrying on for about fifty yards, he stooped swiftly and picked up something small but heavy.

'The daisy! Oh, the daisy!' panted Roy. 'I'll love that fellow to the end of my life.'

He held up the object which the airman had flung down. It was a hammer and a cold chisel tied together, with a leaf from a notebook under the string.

There was an ancient olive tree against the far wall of the vineyard. Cowering under its shelter, Roy tore the string off with his strong white teeth, then picked up the paper. These were the hurried words scrawled in pencil:— 'Sorry! All we can do for you. Make east. Your only chance.'

'East? That means the Straits. Why is that our only chance?' muttered Ken.

'Never mind that now,' Roy answered hastily. 'We must get our hands free. Confound it! We can't use the chisel. But here's a stone with a sharp edge. Try what you can do with the hammer, Ken.'

Ken took one quick glance in the direction of the village, but there was no one in sight. He caught hold of the hammer in both hands and brought it down with all his force on the link between Roy's handcuffs.

More by chance than skill the blow fell absolutely true, and the steel, either flawed or over-tempered, snapped.

Roy gave a cry of delight, and snatching the hammer from Ken took up the chisel and set to work on his bonds. His powerful hands made short work of the link, and within less than three minutes from the time the man in the plane had dropped the tools, they were both free.

With a deep sigh of relief, Roy sprang to his feet. 'We're our own men again, Ken. Come on.' He leaped lightly over the wall and raced away towards the trees. Ken followed.

They had no food, no weapons, they were miles from their own people, in the heart of the enemy country. Yet, for all that, there were not at that moment two lighter hearts in the whole of the Gallipoli Peninsula.