“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.”