Part 35 (1/2)

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 d.i.c.k 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.

”The star boarder at the Fairville Insane Asylum,” snarled Timothy Fletcher, ”an' may the devil catch that fool doctor who said you was cured!” he added.

Wigmore lifted his face.

”I am John Edward Jackson,” he said pleasantly, as if introducing himself to strangers, ”Captain Jackson--the exile.”

”Jackson!” cried Jim Harley. ”Jackson? What do you mean? Not _the_ Jackson?”

The old man nodded. ”That's right, Jim. That's why I marked the cards. I came here on purpose to look after Nell, you know. It was my duty.”

”He is mad,” said Banks. ”He is not responsible for what he says or does. He must be taken back to Fairville.”

”Yes, I am Captain Jackson,” continued old Wigmore. ”I had to go away from my home, so I took to seafaring for a while. What was the trouble?

Sometimes I remember and sometimes I forget. I got hold of a mine and made money. Then I made a voyage back to my own country, on very important business.”

”That's one of the stories he used to tell me when I was his keeper in the lunatic asylum,” said Timothy Fletcher. ”Sometimes he was Jackson an' sometimes he was the Grand Turk.”

”_You_ keep your mouth shut till you are spoken to,” screamed Wigmore, in sudden fury.

Harley stooped and gazed anxiously at the old man.

”Did you murder my father?” he asked, his voice shaking.

For a second the other stared at him blankly.

”Certainly not!” he cried indignantly. ”All I have to do is place the card! I engaged an old sailor, or something of the kind, to dispatch your father. I indicate. Fate destroys.”

Then he leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

CHAPTER XXI