The lights had disappeared, and the shutters were closed--all in bed, no doubt.

He walked on tiptoe to the door, and gave a gentle tap.

Two or three minutes passing without any reply, he gave another tap rather louder, and then another rather louder than that.
At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, and then the light of a candle shone through the keyhole of the door.

There was a good deal of unchaining and unbolting, and the door was slowly opened.
Now the door opened outwards; and as the door opened wider and wider, Mr.Pickwick receded behind it, more and more.

What was his astonishment when he just peeped out, by way of caution, to see that the person who had opened it was--not Job Trotter, but a servant-girl with a candle in her hand! Mr.Pickwick drew in his head again, with the swiftness displayed by that admirable melodramatic performer, Punch, when he lies in wait for the flat-headed comedian with the tin box of music.
'It must have been the cat, Sarah,' said the girl, addressing herself to some one in the house.