Three were Turks, but the fourth wore the gray-green of a German officer. The latter was short and—for a German—slight. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.
At that moment he turned and glanced round, and Ken saw his face. He could hardly believe his eyes. The man was Kemp, ex-steward of the 'Cardigan Castle.' There could be no doubt about it. That sallow complexion, the low forehead, and the thick black eyebrows which met above his nose were quite unmistakable.
Without an instant's hesitation Ken flung up his rifle and fired straight at the man. But blown with long running, his hand shook. At any rate, he missed, and next instant the German, the Turks, and their gun vanished into the trees opposite.
Footsteps came crashing through the dead leaves and dry sticks behind Ken.
'We've got 'em on toast, Carrington,' came the deep voice of Roy Horan. The big fellow was splashed with blood and dripping with perspiration, but in his eyes was a gleam which told of his delight at the result of the charge.
Ken gave a gasp of joy.
'The very man, Horan! Kemp and three Turkish gunners have just gone into the trees opposite. They've got a quick-firer. Are you game to hunt 'em down?'
'Kemp?' exclaimed Roy, who had of course heard the story of the treachery aboard the 'Cardigan Castle.' 'Kemp, that spy scoundrel—are you sure?'
'Dead certain, though I can't imagine how he got here.'
'More can I, but by the Lord Harry, we'll have his scalp all right. Which way did they go?'