When the clock struck twelve, he cautiously rose from the bed, and pulled
off his boots, which a proper respect for his host or the bed had not
prompted him to do before. The house was old, and the floors had a
tendency to creak beneath his tread. With the utmost care, he crawled on
his hands and knees to one of the doors of the lumber hole, which he
succeeded in opening without much noise.

Making his way in among the old boxes, trunks, and spinning-wheels, he was
fully embarked in his difficult venture. The dust which he stirred up in
his progress produced an almost irresistible desire to sneeze, which Lord
Dundreary might have been happy to indulge, but which might have been
fatal to the execution of Tom Somers's purpose. He rubbed his nose, and
held his handkerchief over the intractable member, and succeeded in
overcoming its dangerous tendency. His movements were necessarily very
slow, for he was in constant dread lest some antiquated relic of the past
should tumble over, and thus disturb the slumbers of the family who
occupied the chambers below.

But in spite of the perils and difficulties that environed his path, there
was something exciting and exhilarating in the undertaking. It was a real
adventure, and, as such, Tom enjoyed it. As he worked his way through the
labyrinth of antiquities, he could not but picture to himself the surprise
and chagrin of Squire Pemberton, when he should come up to the attic
chamber to wreak his vengeance upon him. He could see the magnate of
Pinchbrook start, compress his lips and clinch his fists, when he found
the bird had flown.

"Better not crow till I get out of the woods," said he to himself, while
his imagination was still busy upon the agreeable picture.