"I'm trying to learn the address of a friend who has moved," Conrad explained, labouredly polite.
"Oh y-e-s." He paused so long that it seemed doubtful if he would speak again. "There was a Dr. Page in Esselfield; I can't say if he's there still."
"The gentleman I mean was—well, he must be an elderly man," said Conrad. He could not remember in the least how Dr. Page had looked; he wished he knew his Christian name. "An elderly man. He had a family. They used to be at Rose Villa, next door to Mowbray Lodge. I'm talking of years ago—a good many years ago.... Perhaps your partner might be able to assist me?"
"Major Bompas lives at Rose Villa now," said Mr. Stokes. His tone was a little firmer, the tone of one who says a helpful thing.
"And he took it of people called 'Greames'; I know all that. Dr. Page had the house before the Greames."
"Oh," murmured Mr. Stokes, "did he? Y-e-s.... No, I couldn't say, I'm sure. Mr. Greames lived there before Major Bompas. Mr. Greames was there a long while back."
"Dr. Page lived there in—let me think, where are we now? It must have been in eighteen seventy-seven."
"Oh Gawd!" said the young man faintly. For the first time an expression humanised his countenance, an expression of dismay tempered with entertainment. It made Conrad feel prehistoric. "Eighteen sev-enty-sev-en? I'm sure I couldn't tell you who lived there then." A snigger escaped him. "There was a Dr. Page at Esselfield," he repeated; "he may have been at Rose Villa first."
"Is there any place in the town," asked Conrad, with frank disgust, "where it's possible to see an old directory?"
"I shouldn't think," averred the heavy young man, "that a directory was published in Sweetbay in 'sev-enty-sev-en." There was nearly a twinkle in his eyes.