“Hullo, Andrew,” he greeted him, “what are you doing here by yourself?” “Bit hipped, old fellow,” was the depressed reply. “Sit down, will you?” Francis sat down and ordered his lunch. “By-the-bye,” he said, “I had rather a mysterious visit this morning from your brother Reggie.” Wilmore stared at him for a moment, half in relief, half in amazement. “Good God, Francis, you don't say so!” he exclaimed. “How was he? What did he want? Tell me about it at once? We've been worried to death about the boy.” “Well, as a matter of fact, I didn't see him,” Francis explained. “He arrived before I reached my rooms--as you know, I don't live there--waited some time, began to write me this note,”--drawing the sheet of paper from his pocket--“and when I got there had disappeared without leaving a message or anything.” Wilmore adjusted his pince nez with trembling fingers. Then he read the few lines through. “Francis,” he said, when he had finished them, “do you know that this is the first word we've heard of him for three days?” “Great heavens!” Francis exclaimed. “He was living with his mother, wasn't he?” “Down at Kensington, but he hasn't been there since Monday,” Andrew replied. “His mother is in a terrible state. And now this, I don't understand it at all.” “Was the boy hard up?” “Not more than most young fellows are,” was the puzzled reply. “His allowance was due in a few days, too. He had money in the bank, I feel sure. He was saving up for a motorcar.” “Haven't I seen him once or twice at restaurants lately?” Francis enquired. “Soto's, for instance?” “Very likely,” his brother assented. “Why not? He's fond of dancing, and we none of us ever encouraged him to be a stay-at-home.” “Any particular girl was he interested in?” “Not that we know of. Like most young fellows of his age, he was rather keen on young women with some connection with the stage, but I don't believe there was any one in particular. Reggie was too fond of games to waste much time that way. He's at the gymnasium three evenings a week.” “I wish I'd been at the office a few minutes earlier this morning,” Francis observed. “I tell you what, Andrew. I have some pals down at Scotland Yard, and I'll go down and see them this afternoon. They'll want a photograph, and to ask a few questions, I dare say, but I shouldn't talk about the matter too much.” “You're very kind, Francis,” his friend replied, “but it isn't so easy to sit tight. I was going to the police myself this afternoon.” “Take my advice and leave it to me,” Francis begged. “I have a particular pal down at Scotland Yard who I know will be interested, and I want him to take up the case.” “You haven't any theory, I suppose?” Wilmore asked, a little wistfully. Francis shook his head.