to her feet and went to the bundle,
twisting the tarred rope that fastened it in a vain attempt to undo the
intricate knots. It was Holmes who produced a knife and sawed through
the tough cord. And it was Holmes who unrolled the strips of canvas,
oil-silk, and greasy skins. But it was Ricky who took up what lay within
and held it out so that it reflected both red firelight and golden room
light.

Her brother's sigh was one of satisfaction.

For Ricky held aloft by its ponderous hilt a great war sword. There
could be no doubt in any of them--the Luck of Lorne had returned.

[Illustration: _Ricky held aloft a great war sword. There could be no
doubt in any of them--the Luck of Lorne had returned._]

"We found it!" breathed Ricky.

"Put it in its place," Val ordered.

Without a word, Rupert drew out a chair and scrambled up. Taking from
Ricky's hands the ancient weapon, he slipped it into the niche their
pirate ancestor had made for it. In spite of the years underground, the
metal of hilt and blade was clear. Seven hundred years of history--their
Luck!

"Everything will come right again," Val repeated as Ricky came back to
him. "You'll see. Everything--will--be--all--right."

His eyes closed in spite of his efforts. He was back in the darkness
where he could only feel the warmth of Ricky's hands clasped about his.

CHAPTER XVI

RALESTONES STAND TOGETHER

"I like Louisiana," drawled Holmes lazily from his perch on the
window-seat. "The most improbable things happen here. One finds secret
passages under houses and medieval war swords stuck in drains. Then
there are 'things that go boomp in the night,' too. It might be worth
settling down here--"

"Not for you," cut in Charity briskly. "Too far from the bright lights
for you, my man."

"Just for that," he triumphed, "I shall not return this lost property
found under a cushion of the couch in the hall."

At the sight of that familiar black note-book, Val shifted uneasily on
his pillows. Rupert got up.

"Tired, old man?" he asked and reached to straighten one of his
brother's feather-stuffed supports.

Val shook his head. Being bandaged like a mummy was wearying, but one
had to humor two broken ribs and a fractured collar-bone.

"Sometimes," replied Charity, "you are just too clever, Mr. Judson
Holmes. That does not happen to be my property."

"No?" He flipped it open and held it up so that she might see what lay
within. "I'll admit that it isn't