Timmy hated goloshes, and never wore them if he could help it, but he had read in some detective story that they deadened sound.
Then he blew his candle out, and again he went across to the door and listened.

Opening it at last, he slithered along the familiar corridor till he reached the three shallow steps which led up to the comparatively new part of Old Place.

There he felt his way with his fingers along the wall to the room which had always been called, as long as he could remember, "George's room." Turning the handle of the door slowly, he saw, to his great surprise and gladness, that his godfather was not asleep.
Radmore was sitting up in bed, reading luxuriously by the light of four candles which he had placed on a table by his bedside.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, as his godson's odd-looking little figure shuffled across the room.

"Why, what's the matter ?" He spoke very kindly, for Timmy's face was scared, his eyes red-rimmed with crying.
"Come to have a chat, old boy?
Why, Timmy--" as he suddenly realised the boy was fully dressed, "whatever have you been doing?
I thought you'd gone to bed ever so long ago!" "I've been in bed a long time," answered Timmy, sidling up close to his bed, "but I've just had a talk with Mum.

I've come to ask you, Godfrey, if you'll help me with something very important." He added: "Even if you won't help me, I trust you to keep my secret." "Of course I'll keep your secret, old son." "I'm going to take Josephine and her kittens to Trotman," Timmy announced solemnly.