'The daisy! Oh, the daisy!' panted Roy. 'I'll love that fellow to the end
of my life.'
He held up the object which the airman had flung down. It was a hammer and
a cold chisel tied together, with a leaf from a notebook under the string.
There was an ancient olive tree against the far wall of the vineyard.
Cowering under its shelter, Roy tore the string off with his strong white
teeth, then picked up the paper. These were the hurried words scrawled in
pencil:-- 'Sorry! All we can do for you. Make east. Your only chance.'
'East? That means the Straits. Why is that our only chance?' muttered Ken.
'Never mind that now,' Roy answered hastily. 'We must get our hands free.
Confound it! We can't use the chisel. But here's a stone with a sharp
edge. Try what you can do with the hammer, Ken.'
Ken took one quick glance in the direction of the village, but there was
no one in sight. He caught hold of the hammer in both hands and brought it
down with all his force on the link between Roy's handcuffs.
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