Conrad accosted him. "Excuse me," he began.
The gentleman saluted with his crop. "'Morning," he said.
"I was looking at your bell with the idea of troubling you with an inquiry about a 'missing friend.' May I ask if you happen to know the address of your predecessor here—Dr. Page?"
"Who?" said the little man briskly.
"Dr. Page."
"No. Don't know the name. Took the place of people called—er—Greames.... Agents might tell you—Chipper and Stokes in the High Street. Page? Doctor? N-no." He shook his head. "Sorry."
"I thank you."
"Not at all. Neighbours, I think, sir? For long?"
"No; it's a very temporary pleasure of mine," said Conrad.
"Congratulate you," said the little man. "If your friend was a doctor, probably knew better than to stop. Much misled myself. Recommended here for my health. Most in-ju-rious! Damp, sir, Sweetbay is damp. They call it a 'humid atmosphere'; 'humid atmosphere' be damned, sir! Take your clothes off the peg in the morning and wring 'em out. That's not a humid atmosphere—it's a death-trap."