Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. . God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard.
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