Ken hardly heard.  It seemed as if every energy he possessed was needed just to cling where he was, flattened like a dead mole nailed on a keeper’s gibbet.

Roy went on talking in a low quiet voice, which gradually brought back Ken’s confidence, and though his heart was thumping, and he felt as though it was impossible to draw a full breath, he presently managed to follow his companion along the ledge.

As Roy had said, it gradually widened, and after going very carefully for a matter of twenty feet it grew broad enough to walk on with some degree of safety.

A minute later, and they were in a deep hollow—­almost a cave and absolutely hidden from all inquisitive eyes.

Roy laughed softly as he dropped to a sitting position.

‘Gosh, I’d love to see Kemp’s face this minute,’ he remarked in a low voice.  ‘He’ll be just about fit to tie.’

Ken did not answer.  He had dropped down and sat with his back against the river side of the cavity, breathing hard.  His face was very white, and big drops of perspiration beaded his forehead.

Roy glanced at him with some anxiety.  Then he fumbled in the pocket of his tunic and brought out a small leather-covered flask.

‘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.’

‘And what’s the Turk say?’ Roy asked eagerly.

’He says no one has ever been to the bottom, and couldn’t get there if they wanted to.  He calls it the ditch of Shaitan—­in other words, the Devil’s Dyke.  By Jove, he’s started Kemp cursing again.  Wonderful flow of language the chap’s got.’

Presently the voices above died away.

’So far as I can make out, they’re going to have a try farther up the hill,’ said Ken.  ’It’s lucky they didn’t think of looking for our tracks.  If they’d used their eyes they must have seen the place where we got over.  I know I dug my toes in a good two inches when I was hanging on to you.’