“That of always choosing the wrong woman. Dona Isabelle had that in her which put an end to her worst enemy—is that not so, Valdez—?”
Now the dark man who had claimed the Key, was staring also wide-eyed at the false fan. He gave a visible shudder.
“They told tales of her once,” he said. “She knew too much, they claimed, of things better forgotten. The fan was part of her dowry; she was never without it about her. But that there were two fans—that there is no history of. Only—it was also said that she had such courage as a man might envy.”
“She was not alone in that,” Crewe returned. He reached over the sharp blade which the false fan had hidden, and before Persis knew what he was about his fingers caught and held hers in a warming, demanding hold against which she discovered she had no will nor need to struggle.
“As I said,” Grillon seemed determined to have the last word, “always the wrong woman, Leverett. Your infernal luck has not failed you yet.”
“And it never will,” Crewe answered with the same firmness as the grip of that hand holding hers. For once in her life Persis Rooke found she could believe anything at all—provided a wrecker captain chose to say it.
The End