So he roused himself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left his watch on the table downstairs.
Now this watch was a special favourite with Mr.Pickwick, having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state at present.

The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, or in the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr.Pickwick's brain.

So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietly downstairs.

The more stairs Mr.Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr.
Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes.

At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house.