"Lost, between Mayflower Heights and the Gray Inn, a black leather bill-
case with important papers."

He made slow progress, for someone stopped him at almost every rod with a
word of greeting, and he stopped to pat every dog which thrust a friendly
nose into his hand in passing. Several times strangers stepped up to him
to inquire into his affairs as if he were some ancient historical
personage come to life. Once he heard a man say:

"Quick with your kodak, Ethel. Catch the Towncrier as he comes along.
They say there's only one other place in the whole United States that has
one. You can't afford to miss anything _this_ quaint."

It was nearly noon when he came towards the end of the beach. He walked
still more slowly here, for many cottages had been opened for summer
residents since the last time he passed along, and he knew some of the
owners. He noticed that the loft above a boat-house which had once been
the studio of a famous painter of marine scenes was again in use. He
wondered who had taken it. Almost across from it was the "Green Stairs"
where Georgina always came to meet him if she were outdoors and heard his
bell.

The "Green Stairs" was the name she had given to a long flight of wooden
steps with a railing on each side, leading from the sidewalk up a steep
embankment to the bungalow on top. It was a wide-spreading bungalow with
as many windows looking out to sea as a lighthouse, and had had an
especial interest for Georgina, since she heard someone say that its
owner, Mr. Milford, was an old bachelor who lived by himself. She used to
wonder when she was younger if "all the bread and cheese he got he kept
upon a shelf." Once she asked Barbara why he didn't "go to London to get