traint
and yet you'd think that the writer had been an eye-witness. Now if such
a thing ever did happen, there would have been a certain amount of talk
afterwards--"

Charity nodded. "The slaves would have spread the news," she agreed,
"and the person who found the wounded twin."

Val kept his eyes upon the hearth-stone. There was no stain there, but
his vivid imagination painted the gray as red as it had been that cold
night when the slave woman had come to find her master lying there, his
brother's sword across his body. Someone had used the story of the
missing Ralestone. But who today knew that story except themselves,
Charity, LeFleur, and some of the negroes?

"And you think that some mention of such an event might be found in the
papers of the family concerned?" asked Ricky. She was leaning forward in
her chair, her lips parted eagerly.

"Or in those of some other family covering the same period," Creighton
added. "I realize that this is an impertinence on my part, but I wonder
if such mention might not be found among the records of your own house.
From what I have seen and heard, your family was very prominent in the
city affairs of that time--"

Ricky stood up. "There is no need to ask, Mr. Creighton. My brother and
I will be most willing to help you. Unfortunately, Rupert is very much
immersed in a business matter just now, but Val and I will go through
the papers we have."

Val choked down the protest that was on his lips just in time to nod
agreement. For some reason Ricky wanted to keep the secret. Very well,
he would play her game. At least he would until he knew what lay behind
her desire for silence.

"That is most kind." Creighton was beaming upon both of them. "I cannot
tell you how much I appreciate your cooeperation in this matter--"

"Not at all," answered Ricky with that deceptive softness in her voice
which masked her rising temper. "We are only too grateful to be allowed
to share a secret."

And then her brother guessed that she did not mean Creighton's secret
but some other. She crossed the room and rang the bell for Letty-Lou to
bring coffee. Something triumphant in her step added to Val's suspicion.
Like the Englishman of Kipling's poem, Ricky was most to be feared when
she grew polite. He turned in time to see her wink at Charity.

Rupert came in just then, wet and thoroughly out of sorts, full of the
evidences he had discovered on Ralestone lands bordering the swamp that
strange