If ever
any Turk was fully convinced that a Djinn had him, it must have been the
sentry that Ken jumped on.
He landed absolutely straight on the man's shoulders, and down he went
flat on his face, with Ken on top of him. His forehead struck the opposite
wall of the trench, and though Ken wasted no time at all in getting hold
of his throat, this was quite unnecessary. The wretched Turk was limp as a
wet dish-rag and quite insensible.
'Good business, Ken!' said Roy, and glancing round Ken saw his chum
kneeling on the chest of the second man, one big hand compressing his
wind-pipe. 'Good business! We've got them both, and no fuss about it.
Confound it! These fellows don't run to handkerchiefs. Wait a jiffy. I
must get his belt off.'
Neither of the Turks was in condition to put up any resistance, and in a
very few moments they were stripped of overcoats, shakos, and haversacks.
They were then tied and carefully gagged.
Roy pulled on the overcoat of the bigger man.
'I've seen better fits,' he remarked.
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