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Updated: June 26, 2025
You returned them today but there was nothing in them of any value to this case. "However, if you can find such proof, that Richard Ralestone was the elder and thus the legal heir under the laws of Spain, then we shall have a solid fact upon which to base our fight." "There is such a proof," began Ricky slowly. "What? Where?" demanded Mr. LeFleur.
Val shifted in the saddle and stared down at him. "And what might your name be?" he asked softly. "What d'yuh think it is? Hitler? I'm Ralestone, the owner of this place. On your way, kid, on your way." "So? Well, good morning, cousin." Val tightened rein. The invader eyed him cautiously. "What d'yuh mean cousin?" "I happen to be a Ralestone also," the boy answered grimly. "Huh?
"The log of the ship Annette Marie for the years 1814 and 1815 gave us what we wanted. The master was Captain Roderick Ralestone, although he concealed his name in a sort of an anagram. After his quarrel with his brother he apparently went to Lafitte and purchased the ship which he had once commanded for the smuggler.
"Rick was standing by the door," Rupert continued. "When Falesse reached his brother, he laughed unsteadily and half raised his sword in a duelist's salute. Then he was gone. But there were two swords on the floor. And that niche was empty. "When he fled into the night storm with his brother's blood staining his hands, Rick Ralestone took the Luck of his house with him.
"I've rented your old overseer's house and am using it for my studio. By the way, introductions are in order, I believe. I am Charity Biglow, from Boston as you might guess. Only beans and the Bunker Hill Monument are more Boston than the Biglows." "I'm Richanda Ralestone and this is my brother Valerius." Miss Biglow grinned cheerfully at Val. "That won't do, you know; too romantic by far.
In the Civil War days, after General Butler took over New Orleans, some family possessions were hidden somewhere in the Long Hall, but we don't know where. The secret was lost when Richard Ralestone was shot by Yankee raiders." "Is he the ghost?" asked Charity. "No. You ask that as if you know something," Val observed. "Nothing but talk. There have been lights seen, white ones.
Was dis boy big like yo'all, wi' black hair an' a thin face?" "Yes." "Dat's de Jeems boy. He ain't got no mammy nor pappy. He lives jest like de wil' man wi' a li'l huntin' an' a big lot stealin'. He talk big. Say he belongs in de big house, not wi' swamp folks. But jest yo'all pay no 'tenshun to him nohow." "Val! Val Ralestone! Where are you?" Ricky's voice sounded clear through the morning air.
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."
Generous to the point of self-beggary, loyal to a fault, and incurably romantic, that was a "Red" Ralestone. Val himself was a "Black" Ralestone, which was a very different thing. They were a new growth on the family tree, a growth which appeared after the Ralestones had been exiled to colonial America.
Not if they have their client's interest at heart. You know, of course, of the missing Ralestone Roderick?" Ricky and Val both nodded. Mr. LeFleur spread out his plump hands in a queer little gesture as if he were pushing something away. "This whole unfortunate business begins with him. As far as we know today, he and his brother were co-owners of Pirate's Haven.
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