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 your usual sort of stuff, but--"
She was staring at the drawings. "No, that isn't mine. But who--"
Ricky got up from the end of Val's cot and went to look. Then she
turned, her eyes shining with excitement. "You're trying them again!
But, Val, you said you never would."
"Give me that book!" he ordered grimly. But Rupert had calmly collected
the trophy and was turning over the pages one by one. Val made a
horrible face at Ricky and resigned himself to the inevitable.
"How long have you been doing this sort of thing?" his brother asked as
he turned the last page.
"Ever so long," Ricky answered for Val brightly. "He used to draw whole
letters of them when we were at school. There were two sets, one for
good days and the other for bad."
"And now," Val cut in, "suppose we just forget the whole matter. Will
you please let me have that!"
"Rupert, don't let him go all modest on us now," urged the demon sister.
"One retiring violet in the family is enough."
"And who is the violet? Your charming self?" inquired Holmes.
"No." Ricky smiled pleasantly. "Only Mr. Creighton might be interested
in the contents of Bluebeard's Chamber. What do you think, Rupert?"
At that audacious hint, Val remembered the night of the storm and
Ricky's strange attitude then.
"So Rupert's the missing author," he commented lightly. "Well, well,
well."
Charity's indulgent smile faded, and Holmes, suddenly alert, leaned
forward. Rupert stared at Val for a long moment, his face blank. Was he
going to retire behind his wall of reserve from which their venture
underground had routed him? Or was he going to remain the very human
person who had spent eight hours of every day at his brother's beck and
call for the past few weeks?
"Regular Charlie Chan, aren't you?" he asked mildly.
Val's sigh of relief was echoed by Ricky. "Thanks--so much," Val replied
humbly in the well-known manner of the famous detective Rupert had
likened him to.
"Then we are right?" asked Ricky.
Rupert's eyebrows slid upward. "You seemed too sure to be in doubt," he
commented.
"Well, I was sure at times. But then no one can ever be really sure of
anything about you," she admitted frankly.
"But why--" protested Charity.
"Why didn't I spread the glad tidings that I was turning out the great
American novel?" he asked. "I don't know. Perhaps I am a violet--no?" He
looked pained at Ricky's snort of dissent. "Or perhaps I just don't like
to talk about things which may never come true. When I didn't hear from
Lever, I thought that my worst forebodings were realized and that my
scribbling was worthless. But you know," he paused to fill his pipe,
"writing is more or less like the drug habit. I've told stories all my
life, and I found myself tied to my typewriter in spite of my
disappointment. As for talking about it--well, how much has Val ever
said about these?" He ruffled the pages of the note-book provokingly.
"Nothing. And you would never have seen those if I could have prevented
it," his brother replied. "Those are for my private satisfaction only."
"Two geniuses in one family." Ricky rolled her eyes heavenward. "This is
almost too, too much!"
"Jeems," Val ordered, "you're the nearest. Can't you make her shut up?"
"Just let him try," said his sister sweetly. The swamper grinned but
made no move to stir from his chair.
Jeems had become as much a part of Pirate's Haven as the Luck, which Val
could see from his cot glimmering dully in its niche in the Long Hall.
The swamper's confinement in the sick-room had paled his heavy tan and
he had lost the sullen frown which had made him appear so old and
bitter. Now, dressed in a pair of Val's white slacks and a shirt from
his wardrobe, Jeems was as much at ease in his surroundings as Rupert or
Holmes.
It had been Jeems who had saved Ricky and Val on that night of terror
when they had been trapped in the secret ways of their pirate ancestors.
Sam Two had trailed Ricky to the garden and had witnessed their entering
the tunnel. But his racial fear of the dark unknown had kept him from
venturing in after them. So he had lingered there long enough to see the
invaders come out and take to the river. Catching some words of theirs
about a cave-in, he had gone pelting off to Rupert with the story.
The investigating party from the levee had discovered, to their horror,
the passage choked for half its length. They were making a futile and
dangerous attempt to clear it when Jeems appeared on the scene.
Letty-Lou having given him a garbled account of events, he had staggered
from his bed in an effort to reach Rupert. He alone knew the underground
ways as well as he knew the garden. And so once getting Rupert's
attention, he had set them to work in the cellar cutting through to the
one passage which paralleled the foundation walls.
In the weeks which followed their emergence from the threatened tomb,
the swamper had unobtrusively slipped into a place in the household.
While Val was frightening his family by indulging in a bout of fever to
complicate his injuries, Jeems was proving himself a tower of strength
and a person to be relied upon. Even Lucy had once asked his opinion on
the importance of a fire in the hall, and with that his position was
assured.
Of the invaders they had heard or seen no more, although the police had
visited Pirate's Haven on two separate occasions, interviewing each and
every member of the household. They had also made a half-hearted attempt
to search the swamp. But for all the evidence they found, Ricky and Val
might have been merely indulging in an over-vivid dream. Save that the
Luck hung again in the Long Hall.
"Seriously, though," Holmes drew Val's thoughts out of the past, "these
are worth-while. Would you mind if I showed them to a friend of mine who
might be interested?"
Since Rupert had already nodded and Charity had handed him the
note-book, Val decided that he could hardly raise a protest.
"Rupert," Charity glanced at him, "are you going to see Creighton?"
"Since all has been discovered," he misquoted, "I suppose that that is
all there is left for me to do."
"Then you had better do it today; he's planning to leave for the North
tonight," she informed him.
Rupert came to life. For all his pose of unconcern, he was excited. In
the long days Val had been tied to the cot hurriedly set up in a corner
of the drawing-room on the night of the rescue--it had been thought
wiser to move him no farther than necessary--he had found again the real
Rupert they had known of old. There was little he could conceal from his
younger brother now--or so Val thought.
"Sam has the roadster," Rupert said. "There's something wrong with the
brakes and I told him to take it to town and have it looked over.
Goodness only knows what time he'll be back."
"See here, Ralestone," Holmes looked at his wrist-watch, "I've the car I
hired here with me. Let me drive you in. Charity has to go, anyway, and
see about sending off those sketches of hers."
"Oh, but we were going together," protested Ricky. "I have some shopping
to do."
"Very simple," Val suggested. "Why don't you all go?"
"But that would leave you alone." Rupert shook his head.
"No. There's Jeems."
"I don't know," Rupert hesitated doubtfully.
"It doesn't require more than one person to wait on me at present," Val
said firmly. "Now all of you go. But remember, I shall expect the Greeks
to return bearing gifts."
Holmes saluted. "Right you are, my hearty. Well, ladies, the chariot
awaits without."
In spite of their protests, Val at last got rid of them. Since he had a
project of his own, he was only too glad to see the last of his
oversolicitous family for awhile.
Val had never been able to understand why broken ribs or a fractured
collar-bone should chain one to the bed. And since he had recovered from
his wrenched back he was eager to be up and around. In private, with the
protesting assistance of Sam Two, he had made a pilgrimage across the
room and back. And now it was his full intention to be seated on the
terrace when the family came home.
It was Lucy of all people who aided fortune to give him his opportunity.
"Mistuh Val," she announced from the doorway as the sound of the car
pulling out of the drive signaled the departure of the city-bound party,
"dem lights is out agin."
"Another fuse gone? That's the second this week. Who's been playing
games?" he asked.
"Dis heah no-'count!" She dragged out of hiding from behind her
voluminous skirts her second son, a chocolate-brown infant who rejoiced
in the name of Gustavus Adolphus and was generally called "Doff." At
that moment he was sobbing noisily and eyeing Val as if the boy were the
Grand High Executioner of Tartary. "Yo'all tell Mistuh Val whats yo' bin
a-doin'!" commanded his mother, emphasizing her order with a shake.
"Ain't done nothin'," wailed Doff. "Sam, he give me de penny an' say,
'Le's hab fun.' Den Ah puts de penny in de lil' hole an' den Mammy cotch
me."
"Doff seems to be the victim, Lucy," Val observed. "Where's Sam?"
"Ah don' know. But I'se a-goin' to fin' out!" she stated with ominous
determination. "How's Ah a-goin' to git mah ironin' done when dere ain't
no heat fo' de iron? Ah asks yo' dat!"
"There are some fuses in the pantry and Jeems will put one in for you,"
Val promised.
With a sniff Lucy withdrew, her fingers still hooked in the collar of
her tearful son. Jeems glanced at Val as he went by the boy's cot. And
Val didn't care for what he read into that glance. Had the swamper by
any foul chance come to suspect Val's little plan?
But it all turned out just as he had hoped. Val made that most momentous
trip in four easy stages, resting on the big chair where Rupert had
spent so many hours, on the bench by the window, in the first of the
deck-chairs by the side of the French doors leading to the terrace, and
then he reached the haven of the last deck-chair and settled down just
where he had intended. And when Jeems returned there was nothing he
could do but accept the fact that Val had fled the cot.
"Miss Ricky won't like this," he prophesied darkly. "Nor Mr. Rupert
neither. Yo' wouldn't've tried it if they'd been heah."
"Oh, stop worrying. If you'd been tied to that cot the way I've been,
you'd be glad to get out here, too. It's great!"
The sun was warm but the afternoon shadow of an oak overhung his seat so
that Val escaped the direct force of the rays. A few feet away Satan
sprawled full length, giving a fine imitation of a cat that had rid
himself of all nine lives, or at least of eight and a half.
Never had the garden shown so rich a green. Ricky's care had sharpened
the lines of the flower-beds and had set shrubs in their proper places.
And the plants had repaid her with a riot of blossoms. A breeze set the
gray moss to swaying from the branches of the oak. And a green
grasshopper crossed the terrace in four great leaps, almost scraping
Satan's ear in a fashion which might easily have been fatal to the
insect. Val sighed and slipped down lower in his chair. "It's great," he
murmured again.
"Sure is," Jeems echoed. He dropped down cross-legged beside Val,
disdaining the other chair.
Satan stretched without opening his eyes and yawned, gaping to the
fullest extent of his jaws and curling his tongue upward so that it
seemed pointed like a snake's. Then he rolled over on his other side and
curled up with his paws under his chin. A bumblebee blundered by Val's
head on its way to visit the morning-glories. He suddenly discovered it
difficult to keep his eyes open.
"Someone's comin'," observed Jeems. "Ah just heard a car turn in from
the road."
"But the folks have been gone such a short time," Val protested.
However, the car which came almost noiselessly down the drive was not
the one in which the family had departed. It had the shape of a sleek
gray beetle, rounded so that it was difficult to tell at first glance
the hood from the rear. It glided to a stop before the steps and after a
moment four passengers disembarked.
Val simply stared, but Jeems got to his feet in one swift movement.
For, coming purposefully up the terrace steps, were four men they had
seen before and had very good cause to remember for the rest of their
lives.
In the lead strutted the rival, a tight smile rendering his unlovely
features yet more disagreeable. Behind him trotted the red-faced
counselor who had accompanied him on his first visit. But matching the
rival step for step was the "Boss," while "Red" brought up the rear in a
tidy fashion.
"Swell place, ain't it?" demanded the rival, taking no notice of Val or
Jeems. "Make yourselves to home, boys; the place is yours."
Val gripped the arm of his chair. Sam, Rupert, Holmes--they were all
beyond call. It was left to him to meet this unbelievable invasion
alone. There was a stir beside him. Val glanced up to meet the slightest
of reassuring nods from the swamper. Jeems was with him.
"Whatcha gonna do with the joint, Brick?" asked Red, tossing his
cigarette down on the flagstones and grinding it to powder with his
heel.
"I dunno yet." The rival strode importantly toward the front door.
"You might tell us when you find out," Val suggested quietly.
With an exaggerated start of surprise the rival turned toward the boy.
"Oh, so it's you, kid?"
"Perhaps," Val said softly, "you had better introduce your friends.
After all, I like to know the names of my guests."
The Boss smiled sardonically and Red grinned. Only the red-faced lawyer
shuffled his feet uneasily and looked from one to another of his
companions with an expression of pleading. But the rival came directly
to the point.
"Where's that high and mighty brother of yours?" he demanded.
"Mr. Ralestone will doubtless be very glad to see you," Val evaded,
having no desire for the visitors to discover just how slender his
resources were. "Jeems, you might go and tell him that we have visitors.
Go through the Long Hall, it's nearer that way." He dug the fingernails
of his sound hand into the soft wood of the chair arm. Could Jeems
interpret that hint? Someone must remove and hide the Luck before these
men saw it.
"Right." The swamper turned on his heel and padded toward the French
windows.
"No, you don't!" the rival snarled as he moved into line between Jeems
and his objective. "When we want that guy, we'll hunt him out ourselves.
When we're good and ready!"
"If you don't wish to see my brother, just why did you come?" Val asked
feverishly. He must keep them talking there until he had time to think
of some way of getting that slender blade of steel into hiding.
"We're movin' in," Red answered casually for them all.
"How interesting. I think that the police will enjoy hearing that," Val
commented.
"It's perfectly legal," bleated the lawyer. "We possess a court order to
view the place with the purpose of appraising it for sale." He drew a
stiff paper from the inside pocket of his coat and waved it toward the
boy.
"Bunk! I don't know much about the law but I do know that you could have
obtained nothing of the kind without our being notified. And just which
one of you has been selected to do the appraising?"
"Him," answered Red laconically and jerked his thumb at the Boss.
"So," Jeems stared at him, "since yo' couldn't git what yo' want by
thievin' at night, yo're goin' to try and git it by day."
"But what are you really after? I'm curious to know. You certainly don't
want a sugar plantation which hasn't been paying its way since the Civil
War. That just isn't reasonable. And you ought to know that we can't
afford to buy you off. We must be living over a gold-mine that we
haven't discovered. Come on, tell us where it is," Val prodded.
"Cut the cackle," advised Red, "an' le's git down to it."
"I would advise you to get back in your car and drive out." Val wondered
if his face looked as stiff as it felt. "This visit isn't going to get
you anywhere."
"We ain't goin' any place, kid," remarked the rival. "You don't seem to
understand. We're stayin' right here. I got rights and the judge has
recognized them. I'm top guy here now."
"Yeah. Yuh ain't so smart as yuh think yuh are," contributed Red,
scowling at Val. "We ain't gonna leave."
It wasn't Red's speech, however, that straightened the boy's back and
made Jeems shift his position an inch or two. There was another car
coming up the drive. And since their enemies were all gathered before
them, they could only be receiving friends, or at the worst neutrals.
But the car which came from between the live-oaks to park behind the
first contained only two passengers. LeFleur and Creighton got out,
stopped in surprise to view the party on the terrace, and then came up,
shoving by Red.
"Quite a party," Val observed. "But how did you manage to arrive so
opportunely?"
"We have made a discovery," panted the Creole lawyer; "a very important
discovery. What are these men doing here?"
"We got a court order to view this house for sale." The rival was
truculent. "An' it's all legal. The mouthpiece says so," he indicated
his counselor.
"Perhaps," Creighton's cool tones cut through, "you had better introduce
us." There was a decided change in his manner. Gone was his shy
nervousness, his slightly hesitant reserve. It was a keen business man
who stood there now.
Val grinned. "You see before you the family skeleton. May I introduce
Mr. Ralestone, who firmly believes that he is the Ralestone of Pirate's
Haven? And three other--shall we say gentlemen--whom I myself have never
met formally. Though I did have the pleasure, I believe," he addressed
the Boss directly, "of blackening your eye."
"Yeah, I'm Ralestone, and I'm gonna have my rights," stated the rival
briskly.
"You are a descendant of Roderick Ralestone?" asked LeFleur.
"Yuh know I am. I got proofs!"
"The man is a liar," Creighton said calmly.
As they stared at him, LeFleur nodded. Val saw an ugly grin begin to
curve Red's thick lips.
"Yeah? An how do yuh know that, wise guy?" he asked.
"Because there is only one Roderick Ralestone in this generation and he
is standing right there. Permit me to introduce Roderick St. Jean
Ralestone!"
The person he turned to was Jeems!