“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.