"His last. I have never heard his given name. He is very reticent about his past, though I do know that he is an orphan. But he is of Creole descent and he does have breeding as well as ambition. Unfortunately he had quite an unpleasant experience with a boy who was visiting the Harrisons last summer. The visitor accused Jeems of taking a fine rifle which was later discovered right where the boy had left it in his own canoe. Jeems has a certain pride and he was turned against all the plantation people. His attitude is unfortunate because he longs so for a different sort of life and yet has no contact with young people except those of the swamp. I think he is beginning to trust me, for he will come in the mornings to pose for my picture of the swamp hunter. Do you know," she hesitated, "I think that you would find a real friend in Jeems if you could overcome his hatred of plantation people. You would gain as much as he from such an association. He can tell you things about the swamp--stories which go back to the old pirate days. Perhaps--" Ricky looked up from the uncompleted picture. "I think he'd be nice to know. But why does he look so--so sort of starved?" "Probably because the bill of fare in a swamp cabin is not as varied as it might be," answered Charity Biglow. "But you can't offer him anything, of course. I don't even know where he lives. And now, tell me about yourselves. Are you planning to live here?" Her frank interest seemed perfectly natural. One simply couldn't resent Charity Biglow. "Well," Ricky laughed ruefully, "we can't very well live anywhere else. I think Rupert still has ten dollars--" "After his expedition this morning, I would have my doubts of that," Val cut in. "You see, Miss Biglow, we are back to the soil now." "Charity is the name," she corrected him. "So you're down--" "But not out!" Ricky hastened to assure her. "But we might be that." And then and there she told their tenant of the rival claimant. Charity listened closely, absent-mindedly sucking the wooden shaft of one of her brushes. When Ricky had done, she nodded. "Nice mess you've dropped into. But I think that your lawyer has the right idea. This is a neat piece of blackmail and your claimant will disappear into thin air if you have a few concrete facts to face him down with. Are you sure you've looked through all the family papers? No hiding-places or safes--" "One," said Ricky calmly, "but we don't know where that is. 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. And a while back my maid Rose left because she saw something in the garden one night."