“Some disease of the eardrums,” suggested Bill hopefully.
“Well, if you ask me,” said Socks, “I think he’s just spoofing us. Of course they woke him up. But he’s just going to do us down by pretending that he didn’t hear anything.”
Everyone looked at Socks with respect and admiration.
“It’s an idea,” said Bill.
“He’s subtle, that’s what it is,” said Socks. “You’ll see, he’ll be extra late for breakfast this morning—just to show us.”
And since the clock now pointed to some minutes past twelve the general opinion was that Socks’s theory was a correct one. Only Ronny Devereux demurred.
“You forget, I was outside the door when the first one went off. Whatever old Gerry decided to do later, the first one must have surprised him. He’d have let out something about it. Where did you put it, Pongo?”
“On a little table close by his ear,” said Mr. Bateman.
“That was thoughtful of you, Pongo,” said Ronny. “Now, tell me.” He turned to Bill. “If a whacking great bell started ringing within a few inches of your ear at half past six in the morning, what would you say about it?”
“Oh, Lord,” said Bill. “I should say—”
He came to a stop.
“Of course you would,” said Ronny. “So would I. So would anyone. What they call the ‘natural man’ would emerge. Well, it didn’t. So I say