A stream of blood welled out of the man's back, from between the shoulder-blades warm blood, that had not even started to coagulate. "They've been dead about three minutes!" commented Brown, rising, and wiping his hands in the road-dust to get the blood off them. "Pick 'em up. Carefully, now! Frog-march 'em, face-downwards. That's better! Now, forward. Quick, march!"
As it was, he managed to get one hand loose, and before the others could seize it again one of their number lay insensible on the ground with his nose broken and flattened against his face. 'Steady, Roy! cried Ken. 'These swabs are no better than Germans. They'll only frog-march us or something equally beastly if we resist. 'But handcuffs! roared Roy in a fury.