“What questions did you wish to ask?” he demanded.

“Mr. Reginald Wilmore has disappeared,” Francis explained simply.  “He came here on leaving the office last Monday.  He has not been seen or heard of since.”

“Well?” the manager asked.

“We came to ask whether you happen to remember his being here on that evening, and whether he gave any one here any indication of his future movements.  We thought, perhaps, that the instructor who was with him might have some information.”

“Not a chance,” was the uncompromising reply.  “I remember Mr. Wilmore being here perfectly.  He was doing double turns on the high bar.  I saw more of him myself than any one.  I was with him when he went down to have his swim.”

“Did he seem in his usual spirits?” Wilmore ventured.

“I don’t notice what spirits my pupils are in,” the man answered, a little insolently.  “There was nothing the matter with him so far as I know.”

“He didn’t say anything about going away?”

“Not a word.  You’ll excuse me, gentlemen—­”

“One moment,” Francis interrupted.  “We came here ourselves sooner than send a detective.  Enquiries are bound to be made as to the young man’s disappearance, and we have reason to know that this is the last place at which he was heard of.  It is not unreasonable, therefore, is it, that we should come to you for information?”

“Reasonable or unreasonable, I haven’t got any,” the man declared gruffly.  “If Mr. Wilmore’s cleared out, he’s cleared out for some reason of his own.  It’s not my business and I don’t know anything about it.”

“You understand,” Francis persisted, “that our interest in young Mr. Wilmore is entirely a friendly one?”

“I don’t care whether it’s friendly or unfriendly.  I tell you I don’t know anything about him.  And,” he added, pressing his thumb upon the button for the lift, “I’ll wish you two gentlemen good afternoon.  I’ve business to attend to.”

Francis looked at him curiously.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” he asked, a little abruptly.

“I can’t say.  My name is John Maclane.”

“Heavy-weight champion about seven years ago?”

“I was,” the man acknowledged.  “You may have seen me in the ring.  Now, gentlemen, if you please.”

The lift had stopped opposite to them.  The manager’s gesture of dismissal was final.

“I am sorry, Mr. Maclane, if we have annoyed you with our questions,” Francis said.  “I wish you could remember a little more of Mr. Wilmore’s last visit.”

“Well, I can’t, and that’s all there is to it,” was the blunt reply.  “As to being annoyed, I am only annoyed when my time’s wasted.  Take these gents down, Jim.  Good afternoon!”

The door was slammed to and they shot downwards.  Francis turned to the lift man.

“Do you know a Mr. Wilmore who comes here sometimes?” he asked.