The face of the negress grew sad. "Yes, I told Walter that, for--for reasons with which you have nothing to do. Well, what do you come to me for, Mr. Jarman?"
"To see if you are the friend or the enemy of Berry?"
"I am neither the one nor the other," she said frankly. "I knew him in San Francisco, and in Jamaica. He is a sailor, and found me out through following my Walter."
"Why did he follow him?"
"I can't tell you that yet," she said suspiciously. "Walter came here to smoke. He was fond of a pipe. He met Captain Berry up West, and Berry followed him here. Then we recognised one another, and good old Banjo often came here to smoke a pipe. But why do you ask these questions?"
Eustace reflected. She appeared to be frank, and certainly did not side with Berry to any great extent. He thought it best to trust her, for even if she made use of the information he gave her it would not benefit her in any way.
"You loved Walter Starth?" asked Eustace.
The big negress, who had been standing, dropped into a chair.
"With all my soul!" she said vehemently. "Ah, you think because I am black that I have no feelings. But I did love him. He was going to marry me--yes. I am rich, and I could have bought him."
"You certainly gave him your photograph," said Jarman; "but if you come from America, how did you write those Arabic words?"