It was Warrington's invariable habit--when no business or social engagement pressed him to go elsewhere--to drop into a certain quaint little restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners.

It was out of the way; the throb and rattle of the great commercial artery became like the far-off murmur of the sea, restful rather than annoying.

He always made it a point to dine alone, undisturbed.

The proprietor nor his silent-footed waiters had the slightest idea who Warrington was.

To them he was simply a profitable customer who signified that he dined there in order to be alone.