From being full of bumptious, almost
condescending good-nature, his expression had changed into one of
stony incivility. There was something almost sinister in the
tightly-closed lips and the suspicious gleam in his eyes.
"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.
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