"They've quit—slung their 'ook," came the voice.
Fifty yards brought us bumping up against Bert, who was prodding through the débris of a German post with the point of his bayonet.
"So the swines have beat it?" said Fred. "Any soovenirs?"
"Nah!" said Bert, spitting, "not a blinkin' 'am-sandwich."
"Is this really our objective?" I asked.
"It is, sir," Bert replied. "Best sit down and keep quiet; the rest of the boys will be along in a jiffy, and they'd bomb their own grandmothers when they're worked up."
I put my hand in the basket and dragged Eustace forth. He didn't look up to V.C. form. Still I had explicit orders to release him when our objective was reached, and obedience is second nature with me.
I secured my message to his leg, wished him luck and tossed him high in the air. A swirl of snow hid him from view.
I didn't call at H.Q. when I returned. I went straight home to bed and stayed there. As they did not send for me and I heard no more about it I conjectured that the infallible Eustace had got back to his bus and all was well. Nevertheless I had a sort of uneasy feeling about him. I heard no more of it for ten days, and then, out walking one afternoon, I bumped into the pigeon-fancier. There was no way of avoiding the man; the lane was only four feet wide, bounded by nine-foot walls with glass on top. So I halted opposite him, smiled my prettiest and asked after Eustace. "So glad he got home all right," said I; "a great bird that."
The fancier glared at me, his sour eyes sparkling, his fists opening and shutting. I felt that only bitter discipline stood between them and my throat.