There was light enough for them to see--just above their heads--the
ugly gray muzzle of the mitrailleuse peeping out through an embrasure in
the earthen bank.
All of a sudden, without the slightest warning, a tongue of flame spat
from the muzzle, and with a deafening rattle a hail of bullets sprayed out
over their heads, directed at the trench a bare two hundreds yards away.
'Quick!' cried Ken. 'We must stop that,' and with all speed he pulled out
his match-box. The crackle of the firing drowned his words, but that did
not matter. The others understood.
Ken struck a match, and Roy held out the fuse of his bomb. Luckily there
was no wind. The fuse caught and instantly began to hiss and splutter.
With reckless disregard for danger, Roy sprang upon the parapet. Ken had
one glimpse of the tall figure towering over him, one hand raised high
overhead.
Then the arm flashed forward as Roy dashed the grenade full into the
centre of the pit.
There followed a stunning report--a noise so loud that Ken felt as though
his very ear-drums were cracked.
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