"Mr. Stanley Rees," he said, "is a remarkably well-conducted, quiet young gentleman, very popular here amongst the domestics, and noted for keeping very early hours. He was engaged to dine out at Hampstead with some friends, who telephoned for him several times during the evening. He was also supping here with a gentleman who arrived and waited an hour for him."
"Was he in good health?" Wingate enquired casually.
"Excellent, I should say, sir," the manager replied. "He was a young gentleman who took remarkably good care of himself."
"I know the sort," Jimmy said complacently, watching his glass being filled. "A whisky and soda when the doctor orders it, and ginger ale with his luncheon."
The manager was called away. Kendrick had become thoughtful.
"Queer thing," he remarked, "that young Rees should have disappeared just as the B. & I. have become a feature on 'Change. He was Phipps' right-hand man in financial matters."
"Disappearances in London seem a little out of date," Wingate remarked, as he scrutinised the dish which the maître d'hôtel had brought for his inspection. "The missing person generally turns up and curses the scaremongers.—Lady Amesbury, this Maryland chicken is one of our favourite New York dishes. Kendrick, have some more wine. Wilshaw, your appetite has soon flagged."
"All the same," Kendrick mused, "it's a dashed queer thing about
Stanley Rees."
After his guests had departed, Wingate had a few minutes alone with
Josephine.
"I hate letting you go back to that house," he admitted.