Conrad went into the "bar-parlour" and asked for beer. In the sensitiveness to his years which was being so rapidly developed in him he observed with satisfaction that the untidy proprietress was middle-aged. "Yes, there had been a Dr. Page,". she told him. "Not what you might call a regular doctor--he didn't do nothing. She believed he had moved into Sweetbay, so as to be near the sea." "I understood that he moved here from Sweetbay. An elderly man. He had a family," said Conrad with fatigue. "There was two young gals," she agreed. "_They_ was always about." "'About'?" he murmured. "Picking, and skating, and that. I used to say they was never at 'ome." "Oho?" said Conrad. And added to himself, "The younger children grown up. Girls of spirit!"--"When did they leave?" he continued. "Oh, it must be a long time," she answered. She turned to a man who had the air of being her husband. "'Ow long is it since that Dr. Page was 'ere, pa?" "Dr. Page," drawled the man wonderingly. "Oh, it's a long time ago." "Yes," she repeated, "it's a long time ago." "But, roughly, how long?" persisted Conrad. "W-e-ll, it must be--eight years or more," she said, visibly resenting an occasion to be definite. In his soul he groaned; if eight years seemed so remote, what would they think of twenty-five? Again he was bowed beneath the sense of senility. "You don't happen to know where he settled in Sweetbay?" he proceeded. She shook her head, she had no idea at all; neither of the pair had any idea, so he finished his ale, and paid for some cigars, which there was of course no need to smoke. The lamps were winking through the dusk when he drew in sight of Sweetbay. At a stationer's he bought a directory of the current year, and studied it at the counter. It contained a "Captain Page," and "John Page, milkman." He found also "Miss Page, ladies' outfitter," and "Mrs. Page, laundress," but there was no "Page" of promise among the leaves. He availed himself of the opportunity to inquire again concerning the likelihood of his discovering an ancient copy of the work, but at his reference to 'seventy-seven the stationer, too, fell agape. It recurred to Conrad that in connection with Mr. Boultbee the post-office had been suggested. Physically he was tired by now, but mentally he was unflagging, and he bent his steps to the general post-office forthwith. The clerk who sold the stamps to him "couldn't say"; she retired, however, to repeat his question to the postmistress, and it was at this point that the outlook brightened. The postmistress was a young and gracious woman in a pink blouse, and she came forward with a confident smile to inform him that Dr. Page was no longer a resident of Sweetbay, but had removed to Redhill. "Redhill?" He had not suspected that anyone ever got out there. "An elderly man. He had a family," he reiterated with exhaustion. "Two young girls."