'Let's wait till it's in place, and rush it,' suggested Horan recklessly.
'We ought to be able to wipe out the gun crew before they nobble us.'

'What's the use of that?' retorted Ken. 'It's the gun itself we want to
wreck--not the crew. They can easily get a score of men to work the Q.-F.,
but it would take some time to get another gun. Jove, if I only had just
one stick of dynamite.'

[Illustration: '"How many are there of you in the pit?"']

'But they had no dynamite, and the outlook seemed extremely gloomy. Worst
of all, it was rapidly getting light, and although a mist hung over the
sea and the shore, this would no doubt melt away as soon as the sun was
well up.

Shots came from a patch of scrub behind and above them, whistling over
their heads, and evidently directed at the boats which were bringing
ammunition and reinforcements from the ships.

Ken crouched lower, and as he did so some bulky object in the pocket of
the Turkish overcoat which he was wearing made itself felt. He slipped his
hand in and drew out a black metal globe, about the size of a cricket
ball. It had a length of dark cord-like stuff projecting from a hole in
it.

It was all he could do to repress a yell of delight.

'What luck!' he muttered. 'Oh, I say, what luck!'