At these words Cheditafa's heart almost stopped beating, and as he quickly turned he saw that he looked into the face of a man, an awfully wicked man, who had once helped to grind the soul out of him, in that dreadful cave by the sea. The poor negro was so frightened that he scarcely knew whether he was in Paris or Peru.
"Who is she?" whispered again the dreadful Rackbird.
"Come, come!" shouted the coachman from his seat, "we must move on."
"Quick! Who is she?" hissed Banker.
"She?" replied the quaking negro. "She is the captain's wife. She is—" But he could say no more, for a policeman was ordering the carriage to move on, for it stopped the way, and the coachman was calling impatiently. Banker could not afford to meet a policeman. He released his hold on Cheditafa and retired unnoticed. An instant afterward he entered the Bon Marché.
Cheditafa climbed up to the side of the driver, but he missed his foothold several times, and came near falling to the ground. In all Paris there was no footman on a carriage who looked less upright, less sedate, and less respectable than this poor, frightened black man.
Through the corridors and passageways of the vast establishment went Banker. But he did not have to go far. He saw at a counter a little green feather in the back of a bonnet. Quietly he approached that counter, and no sooner had the attendant turned aside to get something that had been asked for than Banker stepped close to the side of the lady, and leaning forward, said in a very low but polite voice:
"I am so glad to find the captain's wife. I have been looking for her."
He was almost certain, from her appearance, that she was an American, and so he spoke in English.
Edna turned with a start. She saw beside her a man with his hat off, a rough-looking man, but a polite one, and a man who looked like a sailor.