Pongo performed his job neatly and efficiently. Cautiously opening the bedroom door, he disappeared into the darkness inside bearing the two largest clocks. In a minute or two he reappeared on the threshold and two more were handed to him and then again twice more. Finally he emerged. Every one held his breath and listened. The rhythmical breathing of Gerald Wade could still be heard, but drowned, smothered and buried beneath the triumphant, impassioned ticking of Mr. Murgatroyd's eight alarum clocks. CHAPTER III THE JOKE THAT FAILED "Twelve o'clock," said Socks despairingly. The joke--as a joke--had not gone off any too well. The alarum clocks, on the other hand, had performed their part. _They_ had gone off--with a vigour and _élan_ that could hardly have been surpassed and which had sent Ronny Devereux leaping out of bed with a confused idea that the day of judgment had come. If such had been the effect in the room next door, what must it have been at close quarters? Ronny hurried out in the passage and applied his ear to the crack of the door. He expected profanity--expected it confidently and with intelligent anticipation. But he heard nothing at all. That is to say, he heard nothing of what he expected. The clocks were ticking all right--ticking in a loud, arrogant, exasperating manner. And presently another went off, ringing with a crude, deafening note that would have aroused acute irritation in a deaf man. There was no doubt about it; the clocks had performed their part faithfully. They did all and more than Mr. Murgatroyd had claimed for them. But apparently they had met their match in Gerald Wade. The syndicate was inclined to be despondent about it. "The lad isn't human," grumbled Jimmy Thesiger. "Probably thought he heard the telephone in the distance and rolled over and went to sleep again," suggested Helen (or possibly Nancy). "It seems to me very remarkable," said Rupert Bateman seriously. "I think he ought to see a doctor about it." "Some disease of the ear-drums," 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." Every one 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' 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 to his ear," said Mr. Bateman.