"No, not precisely."
"How then?"
"I will tell you. He comes here once a year."
"Once a year?" I repeated.
"No more. This has been going on for twelve years."
"What are you telling me there?" I murmured.
"It is true."
"But how have you remembered him from year to year?"
"I was struck by his face and his air the very first time. He seemed anxious, ill at ease, worried. He left his chop half eaten."
"Ha!" I murmured.