'Friend,' he answered, speaking in the same language. 'Despatches for Chanak from Colonel Gratz.'
The sentry, a burly Turk, armed with a Mauser rifle, pulled up opposite Ken.
'Despatches,' he repeated suspiciously. 'Why are they being sent by boat? And who gave you leave to use this boat?'
In a flash Roy saw that this was a man of more intelligence than the average run of Turkish soldiers, and that it would be useless to try and bluff him. The only chance was to put him out.
'We had our orders,' he said. 'You can look at them if you wish.' He pretended to take something out of his pocket, at the same time stepping forward. Then, like a flash, he drove his fist with all his might into the Turk's face.
The man reeled backwards, but did not fall. Next moment he uttered a shout that rang through the night.
'We've done it now,' growled Roy, as he leaped past Ken, and caught the wretched sentry by the throat with a grip that effectually prevented any further sound.
'Take his rifle, Ken,' he said sharply. 'It's all right. I'll gag him. You get into the boat.'
How he did it Ken did not know, but within an incredibly short time Roy had sprung into the water, pushed the boat off, and scrambled aboard.
'I'll take the oars,' he said unceremoniously, and Ken, though himself a useful man with sculls, made no objection. Roy's strength, he knew, was greater than his own.