"She seems to be heading that way," Grant said dryly. "Do you like the place?"
"Oh, yes. It's restful." As Grant raised his eyebrows: "There are so many pebbles on the beach that you're practically anonymous."
"I thought they ran rubbernecking tours for Midwest fans."
"Oh, yes, they run motor coaches down your street, but they don't tramp your flowers into the ground."
"If you were murdered they might."
"Not they. Murders are ten cents the dozen. Well, I must get along. Good luck. And God bless you. You've done me a power of good, so help me you have."
"I?"
"You've brought to my notice one profession that is worse than my own." He dropped some money on the table and picked up his hat. "They pray for judges on Sundays, but never a word for the police!"
He adjusted the hat at the angle which after much testing had been found by cameramen to be the most becoming, and strolled out, leaving Grant vaguely comforted.