He held out to Val a chain of gold mesh ending in a carnelian carved into a seal. "This is youah crest," he pointed to the seal. "Ah took it in town an' a man at the museum tol' me about it. An' this heah is Ralestone, too," he indicated a small miniature painted on a slip of yellowed ivory. Val was looking at the face of the Ralestone rebel, as near like the water-color copy Charity had made of the museum portrait as one pea is to its pod-mate. Creighton took up the small painting. "Hm-m," he looked from the ivory to Jeems and then to Val, "this is the final proof. Either one of you might have sat for this. You have the same coloring and features. If it were not for a slight difference of expression you might pass for twins. At any rate, there is no denying that you are both Ralestones." "I don't think that we'll ever attempt to deny it," Val laughed. "But you were right, Jeems--I mean Roderick," he said to his newly discovered cousin, "you do have as much right here as we do." Jeems colored. "Ah'm sorry for sayin' that," he confessed. "Ah thought yo' were right smart and too good for us. An' Ah'm sorry Ah played ha'nt. But Ah didn't expec' yo' would evah see me, only the niggahs, an' I didn't care 'bout them. Ah always came when yo' were 'way or in bed." "Well, you've explained your interest in the place," Val assented, "but what about the rival? Why did he appear?" "It started in a blackmail plot. Your family have been wealthy, you know," explained LeFleur. "But then the scheme became more serious when the oil prospectors aroused interest in the swamp. Already several men whose property bounds yours have been approached by the Central American Oil Company with an offer for their land. It would not at all surprise me if you were asked to dispose of your swamp wasteland for a good price. And the rumor of oil is what made the rival, as you call him, try to press his false claim instead of merely holding it over you as a threat." "The Luck is certainly doing its stuff," Val observed. "Here's the lost heir found, oil-wells bubbling at our back door--" "I would hardly say that, Mr. Valerius," remonstrated LeFleur. "They may bubble yet," the boy assured him airily. "I wouldn't put it beyond the power of that length of Damascus steel to make wells bubble. Oil-wells bubbling," Val continued from the point where the lawyer had interrupted him, "Rupert turning out to be the missing author--" "What was that?" demanded Creighton sharply. He was on the point of handing a small book to Jeems. "We just discovered that Rupert is your missing author," Val explained. "Didn't you guess when you heard the story of the missing Ralestone? The family went into town to tell you all about it; that's why we were alone when the invaders arrived."