Chapter 20
Francis drove direct from Grosvenor Square to his chambers in
the Temple, and found Shopland, his friend from Scotland Yard,
awaiting his arrival.
“Any news?” Francis enquired.
“Nothing definite, I am sorry, to say,” was the other’s
reluctant admission.
Francis hung up his hat, threw himself into his easy-chair and
lit a cigarette.
“The lad’s brother is one of my oldest friends, Shopland,” he
said. “He is naturally in a state of great distress.”
The detective scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“I said ‘nothing definite’ just now, sir,” he observed. “As a
rule, I never mention suspicions, but with you it is a different
matter. I haven’t discovered the slightest trace of Mr. Reginald
Wilmore, or the slightest reason for his disappearance. He seems to
have been a well
