Indeed it was a bother to lift himself from the wicker armchair and trudge across the dry lawn to let himself in at the conservatory door. ("Like a thief in my own house," Toad thought). It was even more of a bother to discover that Natterjack was nowhere to be found indoors either. In his absence, Toad's house had taken on an unfamiliar and disordered look. Suits of armour stood at odd angles in passageways. Tapestries were hanging over banisters in a most undignified manner. On top of everything else, it irritated the Toad no end.
"And I suppose I shall have arrange my own sustenance into the bargain," he grumbled. "If there's anything left to be had after the ravages of those gluttonous Voles. Really, this is too much."
As he spoke, he was stumping his way across the banqueting- hall, and making rather heavy weather of it too. He would have kicked the suit of armour into the bargain, were it not for the thought of the dreadful din it would make. Surely Natterjack had not chosen this moment to start cleaning the silver? If so, it was highly inconsiderate of him, and Toad was determined to have serious words.
He flung open the door to the butler's pantry. It was deserted. All the silver was locked away it its cabinets and the covered dishes on the benches were (to Toad's utter disappointment) all empty.
"Bother!" he said for a second time, and stamped on the floor for good measure. To his surprise, it gave considerably and sprang back up again. It was not a behaviour the Toad had come to expect from his floorboards. In his present mood, it almost seemed as though the floorboard was insulting him. He stamped on it again. It did the same, only with a plaintive squeak, as if to suggest that it did not wish to be so treated.
"What on earth is wrong with it?" Toad said. "Really, someone might have thought to get that fixed. Why, there's even a piece missing from the corner of this board here."
And he put his fingers into the gap in the floorboard and pulled. The floor groaned and held onto its position. Toad pulled a little harder. This time the floor squeaked some more, upended itself and – as Toad was leaning forward at the time – deposited him suddenly and painfully into a dark, dank hole. As a toad, perhaps he ought not to have minded this, but as master of Toad Hall and personage of some importance, he minded a great deal.
"Blast and botheration!" Toad exclaimed. "Is nothing to go right?"
His situation, in all honesty, was not that bad. A square of light not too far above him showed the yellow painted ceiling of the butler's pantry, and the square gap in his mischievous floor was near enough to climb through without much difficulty. But he had fallen on something hard and sharp, which did little to improve his temper. Nor did the smell, which was of a sort only to be expected in that sort of place. And yet…. And yet… All animals, even those who live in grand historic mansions, have their senses finely tuned to the world around them, and Toad was no exception. There was an echo to his voice as he spoke, something in the feel of the air even, that suggested he had fallen into something much larger than a mere hole.
He reached into his waistcoat pocket, where he always kept a bundle of matches, and struck one against a wall. What he saw was enough to make him forget his bruises.
He was sitting at the mouth of a tunnel! It was rather overgrown at present, with various roots and so forth hanging down from its ceiling and a great deal of earth and mildew underfoot, but even by the brief light of his match, Toad could see that it stretched for some considerable distance. Why, there was no telling how long it was or to where it led. Doubtless, there were twists and turns in it that Toad simply could not see from his present position. He thought about easing himself to his feet, but before he had time the match burnt down to his fingers. He shook it out with several suppressed exclamations, and was on the verge of lighting another when there was a loud cacophony of voices and banging doors above him, followed by a crash, which he was sure was a whole suit of armour falling in pieces on his parquet floor.
"Well, I don't care," said a voice from above, a voice altogether too strident for such a lazy afternoon. "I say it was an absolutely splendid manoeuvre. And it was jolly silly of that hen-house to be in the way in the first place. When I am master of Toad Hall I shall have it pulled down. Horrid hens – ridiculous hens – flapping, feathery hens."
"You'll come off that carpet with those dirty feet this instant, Master Toad," said a female voice. "I haven't worked myself to the bone all day for you to filthy everything again."
"And what about my lettuces?" put in another voice. Toad thought it sounded like one of the gardeners. "I've a good mind to tell your father and have him lock up that bicycle for the rest of the summer."
"Pish-posh!" said the younger Toad. From the female shrieks accompanying this, Toad dreaded to think where he had put his feet now. "I'll have you know that my bicycle riding will be the highlight of the Toad Hall Garden Party. In fact, it is to be reinstated for that very reason. Naturally, it will also include songs and speeches, and very probably a firework display on the terrace, to mark the auspicious occasion."
"Oh no," groaned Toad from the depths of the tunnel. "Not the party. Can't those Voles keep their mouths shut for five minutes?"
Above him, a chorus of incredulous cries and questions drowned out whatever ridiculous thing his son said next. Toad stared ahead into the soft gloom of the tunnel. Its dark silence seemed wonderfully inviting. Would it be too much to ask, Toad thought, to simply stay down here and never have to deal with business above ground ever again? There was a lantern in the smoking-room, he seemed to recall. Perhaps he could fetch it quietly, while all the attention was focused in another direction, and then pull the trap-door over his head and retreat into his own private (if damp) haven of peace and tranquillity.
He hauled his rather well-fed body up through the hole as gently as possible and peered round the door of the butler's pantry. At the far end of the banqueting-hall, he could see two cross and flustered-looking house servants trying to piece together his beloved set of 16th-century jousting armour, and beyond that a great deal of scolding and waving of arms. Toad turned and padded quickly (he had never been known to actually run) towards the smoking-room. The lantern was hanging behind the door, as he had guessed. He took it, along with a couple of extra candles and a tin of biscuits he had forgotten he had left there. ("It never does to be without provisions", Toad told himself). And then he made for the pantry once more, waddling slightly with the extra bulk.