He turned his head slowly. On the hearth-stone stood Charity talking quietly to Holmes. Just within the circle of the firelight lay a bundle which he had seen before. But of course, that was the thing they had found in the passage, which Ricky had used to pound out their answer to Rupert. "Ricky--" Val always believed that it was some instinct out of the past which forced that whisper out of him--"Ricky, open that package." "Why--" she began, but then she got to her feet and went to the bundle, twisting the tarred rope that fastened it in a vain attempt to undo the intricate knots. It was Holmes who produced a knife and sawed through the tough cord. And it was Holmes who unrolled the strips of canvas, oil-silk, and greasy skins. But it was Ricky who took up what lay within and held it out so that it reflected both red firelight and golden room light. Her brother's sigh was one of satisfaction. For Ricky held aloft by its ponderous hilt a great war sword. There could be no doubt in any of them--the Luck of Lorne had returned. [Illustration: _Ricky held aloft a great war sword. There could be no doubt in any of them--the Luck of Lorne had returned._] "We found it!" breathed Ricky. "Put it in its place," Val ordered. Without a word, Rupert drew out a chair and scrambled up. Taking from Ricky's hands the ancient weapon, he slipped it into the niche their pirate ancestor had made for it. In spite of the years underground, the metal of hilt and blade was clear. Seven hundred years of history--their Luck! "Everything will come right again," Val repeated as Ricky came back to him. "You'll see. Everything--will--be--all--right." His eyes closed in spite of his efforts. He was back in the darkness where he could only feel the warmth of Ricky's hands clasped about his. CHAPTER XVI 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--"