"A bird, I think, sir," said Robinson.
"Don't be absurd!" snapped Mr. Downing. "It's outside the door. Wilson!"
"Yes, sir?" said a voice "off."
"Are you making that whining noise?"
"Whining noise, sir? No, sir, I'm not making a whining noise."
"What sort of noise, sir?" inquired Mike, as many Wrykynians had asked before him. It was a question invented by Wrykyn for use in just such a case as this.
"I do not propose," said Mr. Downing acidly, "to imitate the noise; you can all hear it perfectly plainly. It is a curious whining noise."
"They are mowing the cricket field, sir," said the invisible Wilson. "Perhaps that's it."
"It may be one of the desks squeaking, sir," put in Stone. "They do sometimes."
"Or somebody's shoes, sir," added Robinson.