He had left the restaurant, true.

Had he also left that neighborhood?
Had he fled the city, the State, the country even?
What skeleton in the red-headed man's closet had those six words called to life and the light of day.
Had they frightened him forth to spend the rest of his days fleeing from an unnamed, unknown avenger--a veritable wandering Jew?
What mystery had they touched upon there in the bald, bare back room of the Quarter's restaurant?
What dark door had they opened, what red-headed phantom had they evoked?
Had they broken up a plot, thwarted a conspiracy, prevented a crime?
They never knew.

One thing only was certain.

The red-headed man had had a past.
Meanwhile the minutes were passing, and K.D.B.still failed to appear.

Captain Jack was visibly growing impatient, anxious.