"Instrument of Fate? Sultan of Turkey?" queried Banks.
Jim Harley leaned forward, clutched the old man's shoulder, and shook it violently.
"What do you know about those cards?" he cried. "Tell me that—quick!"
"You seem to be in a terrible hurry, all of a sudden," replied the captain. "Oh, well, it does not matter; but if you really knew just who I am—if you fully realized who I am—you'd treat me with more consideration. I am the chosen husband of your sister. I am her destiny."
"Who are you?" asked Harley, scarcely above a whisper.
"I am the instrument of the Fate that haunts the steps of your mother's daughter," replied Wigmore. "I am the chosen instrument. I deal the cards—and the blow falls. I do not have to soil my hands—to strike the blows. I mark the cards, and deal them—and Fate does the rest, through such tools as come to her hand."
He leered at Dick Goodine.
"Then you admit that you marked and dealt the cards!" cried Harley.
"Certainly, my dear boy. It was my duty to do so—just as it was my duty to quiet Banks when he came blundering into my affairs. I am the keeper of the curse—the instrument of Fate—the—the——"
He pressed both hands to his forehead, and sighed.