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. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. It was enough. “I don’t see why not,” he answered. "I don't think that's likely. What you said wanted saying. “We are clerks in the same bank. " "Your hesitation is not in your favour," observed Trenchard, sternly. I was afraid of being talked about. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. He would give The Tigress a triple coat of paint, and take these two on a long cruise, wherever they wanted to go—Roundhead and Seraph, the blunderbus and the flaming angel.
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