It is always to be searched for.

Always to be discovered.
On that particular Monday evening Blix and Condy arrived at Luna's some fifteen minutes before seven.

Condy had lost himself and all sense of direction in the strange streets of the quarter, and they were on the very brink of despair when Blix discovered the sign upon an opposite corner.
As Condy had foretold, they had the place to themselves.

They went into the back room with its one mirror, six tables, and astonishing curtains of Nottingham lace; and the waiter, whose name was Richard or Riccardo, according to taste, began to officiate at the solemn rites of the "supper Mexican." Condy and Blix ate with their eyes continually wandering to the door; and as the FRIJOLES were being served, started simultaneously and exchanged glances.
A man wearing two marguerites in the lapel of his coat had entered abruptly, and sat down to a table close at hand.
Condy drew a breath of suppressed excitement.
"There he is," he whispered--"Captain Jack!" They looked at the newcomer with furtive anxiety, and told themselves that they were disappointed.

For a retired sea captain he was desperately commonplace.