"What did you expect," Val asked her, "a skeleton? Do you know, I think that Rick's ghost, or whatever influence presides over this house, has a sense of humor. You find a room, or a trunk, or something which makes you feel that you are on the verge of getting what you want, and then it all fades into just nothing again. Now, by rights, that writing-desk should have contained the secret message which would have told us where to find a hidden passage or something. But what is in it? A couple of pieces of lining almost completely torn from the bottom. I'll wager that when you open those chests you'll find nothing but a brick or 'April Fool' scrawled across the inside. This isn't true to any fiction I ever read," he ended plaintively. "Good Heavens!" Charity was staring down at what lay within a portfolio she had opened. "Don't tell me you have really found something!" Val exclaimed. "It can't be true!" She still stared at what she held. Ricky looked over her shoulder. "Why, it's nothing but a picture of a bird," she observed. "It's a genuine Audubon," Charity corrected her. [Illustration: _"It's a genuine Audubon," Charity said._] "What!" With little regard for manners, Rupert snatched the portfolio from her hands. "Are you sure?" "Yes. But you must take it in to the museum and get an expert opinion. It's wonderful!" "Here's another." Reverently Rupert raised the first sketch and then the second. "Three, four, five, six," he counted. "Was Audubon ever here?" Charity looked about the hall, a sort of awe coloring her voice. "He might easily have been when he lived in New Orleans. Though we have no record of it," answered Rupert. "But these," he closed the portfolio carefully and knotted its strings, "speak for themselves. I'll take them to LeFleur tomorrow. We can't allow them to lie about here." "I should hope not!" Charity eyed the portfolio wistfully. "Imagine actually owning six of those--" "They won't pay our bills," said Ricky, practical for once in her life. Treasure to Ricky was not half a dozen sketches on yellowed paper but good old-fashioned gold with a few jewels thrown in for her own private satisfaction. The portfolio and its contents left her unmoved. Val admitted to himself that he, too, was disappointed. After all--well, treasure should be treasure. Rupert carried the portfolio into his bedroom and locked it in one of his mysterious brief-cases which had somehow found its way upstairs. The two chests they moved out farther into the hall and the trunk was placed back against the wall, ready for further investigation. "Mistuh Ralestone, suh," Letty-Lou, standing half-way up the back stairs, addressed Rupert, "lunch am on de table. Effen yo'all doan come now, de eatments will be spiled." "All right," he answered. "Letty-Lou," called Ricky, "put on another plate. Miss Charity is staying to lunch." "Dat's all ri', Miss 'Chanda. I'se done done dat. Yo'all comin' now?"