That he was profoundly
agitated, they could not doubt for a single moment. All at once a
little panic terror seemed to take possession of him. He rose,
seized his hat, jammed it over his ears, slapped a half-dollar
upon the table, and strode from the restaurant.
This is what the read-headed man had read in the despatch; this is
what Blix had written:
"ALL IS DISCOVERED. FLY AT ONCE."
And never in all their subsequent rambles about the city did Blix
or Condy set eyes upon the red-headed man again, nor did Luna's
restaurant, where he seemed to have been a habitue, ever afterward
know his presence. He disappeared; he was swallowed up. 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.
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