The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. "Sir Rowland must be gone. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. "I will have no satisfaction but his life. It’s all nonsense. That’s all about it. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that.
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