Ralestone Luck Part 6

"LeFleur probably told them all about us."

"Isn't it odd--" she turned off the gas, "'Ralestone folks.'"

"Loyalty to the Big House," her brother answered slowly. "I never thought that it really existed out of books."

"It makes me feel positively feudal. Val, I was born about a hundred years too late. I'd like to have been the mistress here when I could have ridden out in a victoria behind two matched bays, with a coachman and a footman up in front and my maid on the little seat facing me."

"And with a Dalmatian coach-hound running behind and at least three-fourths of the young bloods of the neighborhood as a mounted escort. I know. But those days are gone forever. Which leads me to another subject. What are we going to do today?"

"The dishes, for one thing," Ricky began ticking the items off on her fingers, "and then the beds. This afternoon Rupert wants us--that is, you and me--to drive to town and do some errands."

"Oh, yes, the list you two made out last night. Well, now that that's all settled, suppose we have some breakfast. Has Rupert been fed or is he thinking of going on a diet?"

"He'll be in--"

"Said she with perfect faith. All of which does not satisfy the pangs of hunger."

"Where's Lovey?"

"If you are using that sickening name to refer to Satan--he's out--hunting, probably. The last I saw of him he was shooting head first for a sort of bird apartment house over to the left of the front door.

Here's Rupert. Now maybe we may eat."

"I've got something to tell you," hissed Ricky as the missing member of the clan banged the screen door behind him. Having so aroused Val's curiosity, she demurely went around the table to pour the coffee.

"How's the carriage house?" Val asked.

"Sam thinks he can fix it with some of that lumber piled out back of the old smoke-house." Rupert reached for a piece of toast. "What do you think of our family retainer?"

"Seems a good chap."

"LeFleur says one of the best. Possesses a spark of ambition and is really trying to make a go of the farm, which is more than most of them do around here. His wife, by all accounts, is a wonder. Used to be the cook-housekeeper here when the Rafaels had the place. LeFleur still talks about the two meals he ate here then. Sam tells me that she is planning to take us in hand."

"But we can't afford--" began Ricky.

"I gathered that money does not come into the question. The lady is rather strong-willed. So, Ricky," he laughed, "we'll leave you two to fight it out. But Lucy may be able to find us a laundress."

"Which reminds me," Ricky took a crumpled piece of white cloth from her pocket, "if this is yours, Rupert, you deserve to do your own was.h.i.+ng. I don't know what you've got on it; looks like oil."

He took it from her and straightened out a handkerchief.

"Not guilty this time. Ask little brother here." He pa.s.sed over the dirty linen square. It was plain white--or it had been white before three large black splotches had colored it--without an initial or colored edge.

"I think he's prevaricating, Ricky," Val protested. "This isn't mine.

I'm down to one thin dozen and those are the ones you gave me last Christmas. They have my initials on."

Ricky took back the disputed square. "That's funny. It certainly isn't mine. I'm sure one of you must be mistaken."

"Why?" asked Rupert.

"Because I found it on the hearth-stone in the hall this morning. It wasn't there last night or one of us would have seen it and picked it up, 'cause it was right there in plain sight."

"Sure it isn't yours, Val?"

He shook his head. "Positive."

"Queer," murmured Rupert and reached for it again. "It's a good quality of linen and it's almost new." He held it to his nose. "That's oil on it. But how--?"

"I wonder--" Val mused.

"What do you know?" asked Ricky.

"Well--Oh, it isn't possible. He wouldn't carry a handkerchief," her brother said half to himself.

"Who wouldn't?" asked Rupert. Then Val told them of his meeting with the boy Jeems and what Sam had had to say of him.

"Don't know whether I exactly like this." Rupert folded the mysterious square of stained linen. "As you say, Val, a boy like that would hardly carry a handkerchief. Also, you met him in the garden, while--"

"The person who left that was in this house last night!" finished Ricky.

"And I don't like that!"

"The door was locked and bolted when I came down this morning," Val observed.

Rupert nodded. "Yes, I distinctly remember doing that before I went up to bed last night. But when I was going around the house this morning I discovered that there are French doors opening from the old ball-room to the terrace, and I didn't inspect their fastening last night."

"But who would want to come in here? There are no valuables left except furniture. And it would take three or four men and a truck to collect that. I don't see what he was after," puzzled Ricky.

Rupert arose from the table. "We have, it seems, a mystery on our hands.

If you want to amuse yourselves, my children, here's the first clue.

I've got to get back to the carriage house and my labors there."

He dropped the handkerchief on the table and left. Ricky reached for the "clue." "Awfully casual about it, isn't he?" she said. "Just the same, I believe that this is a clue and I know what our visitor was after, too,"

she finished triumphantly.

"What?"

"The treasure Richard Ralestone hid when the Yankee raiders came."

"Well, if our unknown visitor has as little in the way of clues as we have, he'll be a long time finding it."

"And we're going to beat him to it! It's somewhere in the Hall, and the secret--"

"See here," Val interrupted her, "what were you about to tell me when Rupert came in?"

She put the handkerchief in the breast pocket of her sport dress, b.u.t.toning the flap over it.

"Rupert's got a secret."

"What kind?"