'I've carried this ever since I left home,' he said. 'I reckoned it would come in useful some time. Take a sip of it.'
It was fine old Australian brandy, and although Ken took no more than a mouthful the effects were immediate. A tinge of colour came back to his cheeks, and his heart steadied at once.
'Proper stuff, eh?' smiled Roy, as Ken handed back the flask.
Ken held up his hand sharply. 'Listen!' he whispered.
Above their heads they heard heavy footsteps. Then came Kemp's voice.
'What's he saying?' whispered Roy.
'He's telling 'em to hunt among the rocks,' answered Ken in an equally low voice. 'He seems to be annoyed. He's using all the bad language he knows, and chucking in German swears where he can't remember the Turkish ones.'
'Must be a bit of a facer for him,' chuckled Roy.
'There's one of the Turks answering him,' said Ken. 'Says we must have jumped over to escape them.'
'Oh, that's Kemp again,' continued Ken. 'He's telling 'em to go down and see.'