erners occupied New Orleans. Betrayed by one of his former
slaves, a mulatto who bore a grudge against the family, he was murdered
by a gang of bullies and cutthroats who had followed the invading army.

"Richard had been warned of their raid and had managed to hide the
family valuables in a secret place--somewhere within this very hall,
according to tradition."

Val and Ricky sat up and looked about with wondering interest.

"But Richard was shot down in cold blood when he refused to reveal the
hiding-place. His brother and some scouts, operating south without
orders, arrived just in time to witness the last act. Miles Ralestone
and his men summarily shot the murderers. But where Richard had so
carefully concealed the last of the family treasure was never
discovered.

"The war beggared the Ralestones. Miles went north in search of better
luck, and this place was allowed to molder until it was leased in 1879
to a sugar baron. In 1895 it was turned over to a family distantly
connected with ours. And since then it has been leased. We have had in
all four tenants."

"But," Ricky broke in, "since the Luck went we have not prospered. And
until it returns--"

Rupert tapped out his pipe against one of the fire irons. "It's nothing
but a folk-tale," he told her.

"It isn't!" Ricky contradicted him vehemently. "And we've made a good
beginning anyway. We've come back."

"If Rick took the Luck with him, I don't see how we have an earthly
chance of finding it again," Val commented.

"It came back once before after it had gone from us," reminded his
sister. "And I think that it will again. At least I'll hope so."

"Outside of the superstition, it would be well worth having. The names
of the heads and heirs of the house are all engraved along the blade,
from Sir Roderick on down. Seven hundred years of history scratched on
steel." Rupert stretched and then glanced at his wrist-watch. "Ten to
ten, and we've had a long day. Who's for bed?"

"I am, for one." Val swung his feet down from the couch, disturbing
Satan who opened one yellow eye lazily.

Ricky stood by the fireplace fingering the wreath of stiff flowers
carved in the stone. Val took her by the arm.

"No use wondering which one you push to reveal the treasure," he told
her.

She looked up startled. "How did you know what I was thinking about?"
she demanded.

"My lady, your thoughts, like little white birds--"

"Oh, go to bed, Val. When you get poetical I k