"Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. ‘Dear me. ” “You did not notice anything which may have escaped this lady? You saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Brendon answered. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. On the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally.
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