"I was wondering," explained Jack, "whether that mightn't be the doctored message we believed our commander meant to send through some time or other with one of the pigeons we got that day we went hunting."
"That's possible," Tom agreed, also amused at the thought. "But then, whether it is or not, it means nothing to us, you understand. We are here, and must decide on our movements, If that was a bogus message, and will coax the Germans to make an attack at a certain place where a trap has been laid, that's their lookout."
"Somewhere about here must be the pigeon loft where those homing birds have been bred," suggested Jack, following up a train of thought.
"Yes, it may be on the flat roof of the château, or in the barn at the rear," Tom admitted. "One thing is certain, they know only this place as home; and wherever they're set free their first instinct is to strike a bee-line for here. Some people are so foolish as to fancy homers can be sent anywhere; but that's silly. It's only home that they're able to head straight toward, even if hundreds of miles away."
"Oh Tom! how about Bessie?" inquired Jack eagerly.
His chum considered, while he rubbed his chin with thumb and finger in a thoughtful way he had when a little puzzled.
