'A twelve-pounder!' said Ken sharply, as he turned. 'Ah!' as a blaze of light sprang out about half a mile aft, 'that's why they stopped firing. There's a destroyer after us.'
[CHAPTER XIX]
IN THE NICK OF TIME
Ken was right. That was why the firing had stopped. A destroyer, which must have been lying in some cove up the Straits, had been summoned by wireless to take revenge on the bold intruder. She was now dashing headlong in pursuit.
Roy stared at the dull white glare which came momentarily nearer.
'Rotten luck!' he observed disgustedly. 'None of the "conquering hero" in ours, I'm afraid, old man.'
'Afraid not,' Ken answered resignedly. 'The brute's got the legs of us, and it'll only take one o' those twelve-pounders to settle our hash. Still, it's no use crying till we're hurt, and the Turks ain't the best gunners in the world.'
'Crash!' Another shell screamed out of the mist.
'Nearer!' said Roy grimly, as the ugly missile fell alongside, sending up a fountain of brine.
'Watch her, doing the outside edge!' he continued, as the launch curved swiftly to port. 'That'll throw 'em off their shooting. Ah, I told you so'—as the third shell went wide.
'We can't shoot back,' growled Dimmock. 'That's the worst of these rotten little bow guns.'