Skirting the village necessitated a wide detour, but before sunset the fugitives calculated that they had put twenty miles between them and their prison-fortress. It ought to be fairly safe to attempt a dash for the coast in the neighbourhood of Kum Kale.
The heat was now terrific in spite of the altitude, so Dick suggested that they should have "watch below" until the sun had sunk considerably in the heavens. A thicket afforded a complete shelter from the pitiless rays, and with a blissful disregard of the danger from scorpions and other reptiles the two officers crept into the shade and were soon sound asleep.
Suddenly they were awakened by the dull buzz of an aerial propeller. Crawling from their place of repose, Dick and the midshipman saw a French monoplane flying barely two hundred feet above the ground.
"We'll try and attract that fellow's attention," exclaimed Dick. "I don't suppose he can give us a lift, but he may be able to——"
There was no time to complete the sentence. Dashing out in the open, the Sub waved his arms, shouting at the top of his voice:
"A nous, camarade. Nous sommes Anglais."
Overhead swept the aeroplane. The observer leant over the chassis and critically surveyed the two figures in German uniforms. He shouted something, but the words were unintelligible, although he could distinctly hear the Sub's call for aid.
"Nous sommes prisonniers Anglais—prisonniers échappés!" bawled Dick frantically.
The Frenchman again waved his hand. The monoplane calmly continued its course, then, majestically circling, it began to descend.
"Hurrah!" shouted the midshipman. "Who says the age of miracles has passed?"