are 'bout them. Ah always came when yo' were 'way or in bed."

"Well, you've explained your interest in the place," Val assented, "but
what about the rival? Why did he appear?"

"It started in a blackmail plot. Your family have been wealthy, you
know," explained LeFleur. "But then the scheme became more serious when
the oil prospectors aroused interest in the swamp. Already several men
whose property bounds yours have been approached by the Central American
Oil Company with an offer for their land. It would not at all surprise
me if you were asked to dispose of your swamp wasteland for a good
price. And the rumor of oil is what made the rival, as you call him, try
to press his false claim instead of merely holding it over you as a
threat."

"The Luck is certainly doing its stuff," Val observed. "Here's the lost
heir found, oil-wells bubbling at our back door--"

"I would hardly say that, Mr. Valerius," remonstrated LeFleur.

"They may bubble yet," the boy assured him airily. "I wouldn't put it
beyond the power of that length of Damascus steel to make wells bubble.
Oil-wells bubbling," Val continued from the point where the lawyer had
interrupted him, "Rupert turning out to be the missing author--"

"What was that?" demanded Creighton sharply. He was on the point of
handing a small book to Jeems.

"We just discovered that Rupert is your missing author," Val explained.
"Didn't you guess when you heard the story of the missing Ralestone? The
family went into town to tell you all about it; that's why we were alone
when the invaders arrived."

"Mr. Ralestone my missing author! No, I didn't guess. I was too
interested in the story--but I should have! How stupid!" He looked down
at the book he still held and then put it into the swamper's hand.
"Between the pages of the prayer-book, covering the offices for St.
Louis' Day, you'll find the birth certificate for Laurent St. Jean with
his right name," he said. "That's a very important paper to keep, young
man. Mr. Ralestone my author." He wiped his forehead with the
handkerchief from his breast-pocket. "How stupid of me not to have seen
at once. But why--"

"He had some idea that his stuff was no good when he didn't hear from
that agent," Val explained, "so he just tried to forget the whole
matter."

"But I have to see him, I have to see him at once." The New Yorker
looked about him as if by will-power alone he could summon Rupert to
stand before him on the terrace.