It humiliated and mortified her to think that the captain was obliged to resort to such a messenger as this. But all sorts of men become sailors, and although her pride revolted against the attempted imposition, the man had a letter written to her by Captain Horn, and she must have it.

"How much do you want?" said she.

"I don't mind your calling me names," said Banker. "The captain has made a grand stroke, you know, and everything about you is very fine, while I haven't three francs to jingle together. I want one thousand dollars."

"Five thousand francs!" exclaimed Edna. "Absurd! I have not that much money with me. I haven't but a hundred francs, but that ought to satisfy you."

"Oh, no," said Banker, "not at all. But don't trouble yourself. You have not the money, and I have not the letter. The letter is in my lodgings. I was not fool enough to bring it with me, and have you call a policeman to arrest me, and take it for nothing. But if you will be here in two hours, with five thousand francs, and will promise me, upon your honor, that you will bring no one with you, and will not call the police as soon as you have the letter, I will be here with it."

"Yes," said Edna, "I promise."

She felt humbled and ashamed as she said it, but there was nothing else to do. In spite of her feelings, in spite of the cost, she must have the letter.

"Very good," said Banker, and he departed.

Banker had no lodgings in particular, but he went to a bra.s.serie and procured writing materials. He had some letters in his pocket,--old, dirty letters which had been there for a long time,--and one of them was from Raminez, which had been written when they were both in California, and which Banker had kept because it contained an unguarded reference to Raminez's family in Spain, and Banker had thought that the information might some day be useful to him. He was a good penman, this Rackbird,--he was clever in many ways,--and he could imitate handwriting very well, and he set himself to work to address an envelope in the handwriting of Raminez.

For some time he debated within himself as to what t.i.tle he should use in addressing the lady. Should it be "Senora" or "Madame"? He inclined to the first appellation, but afterwards thought that as the letter was to go to her in France, and that as most likely she understood French, and not Spanish, Raminez would probably address her in the former language, and therefore he addressed the envelope to "Madame Raminez, by private hand." As to the writing of a letter he did not trouble himself at all.

He simply folded up two sheets of paper and put them in the envelope, sealing it tightly. Now he was prepared, and after waiting until the proper time had arrived he proceeded to the Gardens.

Edna drove to her hotel in great agitation. She was angry, she was astounded, she was almost frightened. What could have happened to Captain Horn?

But two things encouraged and invigorated her: he was alive, and he had written to her. That was everything, and she would banish all speculations and fears until she had read his letter, and, until she had read it, she must keep the matter a secret--she must not let anybody imagine that she had heard anything, or was about to hear anything. By good fortune, she had five thousand francs in hand, and, with these in her pocket-book, she ordered her carriage half an hour before the time appointed.

When Cheditafa heard the order, he was beset by a new consternation. He had been greatly troubled when his mistress had gone to the Gardens the first time--not because there was anything strange in that, for any lady might like to walk in such a beautiful place, but because she was alone, and, with a Rackbird in Paris, his lady ought never to be alone. She had come out safely, and he had breathed again, and now, now she wanted to go back! He must tell her about that Rackbird man. He had been thinking and thinking about telling her all the way back to the hotel, but he had feared to frighten her, and he had also been afraid to say that he had done what he had been ordered not to do, and had told some one that she was the captain's wife. But when he had reached the Gardens, he felt that he must say something--she must not walk about alone. Accordingly, as Edna stepped out of the carriage, he began to speak to her, but, contrary to her usual custom, she paid no attention to him, simply telling him to wait until she came back.

Edna was obliged to wander about for some time before Banker appeared.

"Now, then, madam," said he, "don't let us waste any time on this business. Have you the money with you?"

"I have," said she. "But before I give it to you, I tell you that I do so under protest, and that this conduct of yours shall be reported. I consider it a most shameful thing, and I do not willingly pay you for what, no doubt, you have been sufficiently paid before."

"That's all very well," said Banker. "I don't mind a bit what you say to me. I don't mind your being angry--in fact, I think you ought to be. In your place, I would be angry. But if you will hand me the money--"

"Silence!" exclaimed Edna. "Not another word. Where is my letter?"

"Here it is," said Banker, drawing the letter he had prepared from his pocket, and holding it in such a position that she could read the address. "You see, it is marked, 'by private hand,' and this is the private hand that has brought it to you. Now, if you will count out the money, and will hand it to me, I will give you the letter. That is perfectly fair, isn't it?"

Edna leaned forward and looked at it. When she saw the superscription, she was astonished, and stepped back.

"What do you mean?" she exclaimed, and was about to angrily a.s.sert that she was not Madame Raminez, when Banker interrupted her. The sight of her pocket-book within two feet of his hands threw him into a state of avaricious excitement.

"I want you to give me that money, and take your letter!" he said savagely. "I can't stand here fooling."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I want you to give me that money, and take your letter!"

he said savagely.]

Edna firmly gripped her pocket-book, and was about to scream, but there was no occasion for it. It had been simply impossible for Cheditafa to remain on the carriage and let her go into the Gardens alone; he had followed her, and, behind some bushes, he had witnessed the interview between her and Banker. He saw that the man was speaking roughly to her and threatening her. Instantly he rushed toward the two, and at the very top of his voice he yelled:

"Rackbird! Rackbird! Police!"

Startled out of her senses, Edna stepped back, while Banker turned in fury toward the negro, and clapped his hand to his hip pocket. But Cheditafa's cries had been heard, and down the broad avenue Banker saw two gendarmes running toward him. It would not do to wait here and meet them.

"You devil!" he cried, turning to Cheditafa, "I'll have your blood before you know it. As for you, madam, you have broken your word! I'll be even with you!" And, with this, he dashed away.

When the gendarmes reached the spot, they waited to ask no questions, but immediately pursued the flying Banker. Cheditafa was about to join in the chase, but Edna stopped him.

"Come to the carriage--quick!" she said. "I do not wish to stay here and talk to those policemen." Hurrying out of the Gardens, she drove away.

The ex-Rackbird was a very hard man to catch. He had had so much experience in avoiding arrest that his skill in that direction was generally more than equal to the skill, in the opposite direction, of the ordinary detective. A good many people and two other gendarmes joined in the chase after the man in the slouch-hat, who had disappeared like a mouse or a hare around some shrubbery. It was not long before the pursuers were joined by a man in a white cap, who asked several questions as to what they were running after, but he did not seem to take a sustained interest in the matter, and soon dropped out and went about his business. He did not take his slouch-hat out of his pocket, for he thought it would be better to continue to wear his white cap for a time.

When the police were obliged to give up the pursuit, they went back to the Gardens to talk to the lady and her servant who, in such strange words, had called to them, but they were not there.

CHAPTER XLV

MENTAL TURMOILS

Edna went home faint, trembling, and her head in a whirl. When she had heard Cheditafa shout "Rackbird," the thought flashed into her mind that the captain had been captured in the caves by some of these brigands who had not been destroyed, that this was the cause of his silence, and that he had written to her for help. But she considered that the letter could not be meant for her, for under no circ.u.mstance would he have written to her as Madame Raminez--a name of which she had never heard. This thought gave her a little comfort, but not much. As soon as she reached the hotel, she had a private talk with Cheditafa, and what the negro told her rea.s.sured her greatly.

He did not make a very consecutive tale, but he omitted nothing. He told her of his meeting with the Rackbird in front of the Bon Marche, and he related every word of their short conversation. He accounted for this Rackbird's existence by saying that he had not been at the camp when the water came down. In answer to a question from Edna, he said that the captain of the band was named Raminez, and that he had known him by that name when he first saw him in Panama, though in the Rackbirds' camp he was called nothing but "the captain."

"And you only told him I was the captain's wife?" asked Edna. "You didn't say I was Captain Horn's wife?"

Cheditafa tried his best to recollect, and he felt very sure that he had simply said she was the captain's wife.

When his examination was finished, Cheditafa burst into an earnest appeal to his mistress not to go out again alone while she stayed in Paris. He said that this Rackbird was an awfully wicked man, and that he would kill all of them if he could. If the police caught him, he wanted to go and tell them what a bad man he was. He did not believe the police had caught him. This man could run like a wild hare, and policemen's legs were so stiff.

Edna a.s.sured him that she would take good care of herself, and, after enjoining upon him not to say a word to any one of what had happened until she told him to, she sent him away.

When Edna sat in council with herself upon the events of the morning, she was able to make some very fair conjectures as to what had happened. The scoundrel she met had supposed her to be the wife of the Rackbirds'

captain. Having seen and recognized Cheditafa, it was natural enough for him to suppose that the negro had been brought to Paris by some of the band. All this seemed to be good reasoning, and she insisted to herself over and over again that she was quite sure that Captain Horn had nothing to do with the letter which the man had been intending to give her.

That a.s.surance relieved her of one great trouble, but there were others left. Here was a member of a band of b.l.o.o.d.y ruffians,--and perhaps he had companions,--who had sworn vengeance against her and her faithful servant, and Cheditafa's account of this man convinced her that he would be ready enough to carry out such vengeance. She scarcely believed that the police had caught him. For she had seen how he could run, and he had the start of them. But even if they had, on what charge would he be held?

He ought to be confined or deported, but she did not wish to inst.i.tute proceedings and give evidence. She did not know what might be asked, or said, or done, if she deposed that the man was a member of the Rackbird band, and brought Cheditafa as a witness.

In all this trouble and perplexity she had no one to whom she could turn for advice and a.s.sistance. If she told Mrs. Cliff there was a Rackbird in Paris, and that he had been making threats, she was sure that good lady would fly to her home in Plainton, Maine, where she would have iron bars put to all the windows, and double locks to her doors.

In this great anxiety and terror--for, although Edna was a brave woman, it terrified her to think that a wild and reckless villain, purple with rage, had shaken his fist at her, and vowed he would kill Cheditafa--she could not think of a soul she could trust.

Her brother, fortunately, was still in Belgium with his tutor--fortunately, she thought, because, if he knew of the affair, he would be certain to plunge himself into danger. And to whom could she apply for help without telling too much of her story?

Mrs. Cliff felt there was something in the air. "You seem queer," said she. "You seem unusually excited and ready to laugh. It isn't natural.

And Cheditafa looks very ashy. I saw him just a moment ago, and it seems to me a dose of quinine would do him good. It may be that it is a sort of spring fever which is affecting people, and I am not sure but that something of the kind is the matter with me. At any rate, there is that feeling in my spine and bones which I always have when things are about to happen, or when there is malaria in the air."

Edna felt she must endeavor in all possible ways to prevent Mrs. Cliff from finding out that the curses of a wicked Rackbird were in the air, but she herself shuddered when she thought that one or more of the cruel desperadoes, whose coming they had dreaded and waited for through that fearful night in the caves of Peru, were now to be dreaded and feared in the metropolis of France. If Edna shuddered at this, what would Mrs.