“I think you are wise to run up to town this morning,” he said, glancing up at the grey skies. “By-the-bye, if you dine at Curzon Street to-night, do ask Hedges to serve you some of the '99 Cliquot. A marvellous wine, as you doubtless know, Ledsam, but it should be drunk. Au revoir!”
Francis, after a pleasant lunch at Ranelagh, and having arranged with Margaret to dine with her in Curzon Street, spent an hour or two that afternoon at his chambers. As he was leaving, just before five, he came face to face with Shopland descending from a taxi.
“Are you busy, Mr. Ledsam?” the latter enquired. “Can you spare me half-an-hour?”
“An hour, if you like,” Francis assented.
Shopland gave the driver an address and the two men seated themselves in the taxicab.
“Any news?” Francis asked curiously.
“Not yet,” was the cautious reply. “It will not be long, however.”
“Before you discover Reggie Wilmore?”
The detective smiled in a superior way.
“I am no longer particularly interested in Mr. Reginald Wilmore,” he declared. “I have come to the conclusion that his disappearance is not a serious affair.”