"The city had always been more or less lawless and intolerant of control. Like the New Englanders of the eighteenth century, many respected merchants were also smugglers." "And pirates," suggested Val. "The king of smugglers was Jean Lafitte. His forge--where his slaves shaped the wrought-iron which was one of the wonders of the city--was a fashionable meeting-place for the young bloods. He was the height of wit and fashion--daring openly to placard the walls of the town with his notices of smugglers' sales. "And Roderick Ralestone, the younger of the twins, became one of Lafitte's men. In spite of the remonstrances of his brother Richard, young Rick withdrew to Barataria with Dominque You and the rest of the outlawed captains. "In the winter of 1814 matters came to a head. Richard wanted to marry an American girl, the daughter of one of Governor Claiborne's friends. Her father told him very pointedly that since the owners of Pirate's Haven seemed to be indulging in law breaking, such a marriage was out of the question. Aroused, Richard made a secret inspection of certain underground storehouses which had been built by his pirate great-grandfather and discovered that Rick had put them in use again for the very same purpose for which they had been first intended--the storing of loot. "He waited there for his brother, determined to have it decided once and for all. They quarreled bitterly. Both were young, both had bad tempers, and each saw his side as the right of the matter--" "Regular Ralestones, weren't they?" commented Val slyly. "Undoubtedly," agreed Rupert. "Well, at last Richard started for the house, his brother in pursuit. "Then they fought, here in this very hall. And not with words this time, but with the rapiers Richard had brought back from France. A slave named Falesse, who had been the twins' childhood nurse, was the only witness to the end of that duel. Richard lay face down across the hearth-stone as she came screaming down the stairs." Ricky was studying the gray stone. "By rights," Val agreed with her unspoken thought, "there ought to be a stain there. Unfortunately for romance, there isn't." "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. "After almost a year of invalidism, Richard recovered. He never married his American beauty. But in 1819 he took a wife, a young Creole lady widowed by the Battle of New Orleans. Of Rick nothing was heard again, although his brother searched diligently for more than thirty years." "How," Val grinned at his brother, "did Richard explain the little matter of the ghost which is supposed to walk at night?"