"He was one of Lafitte's men, wasn't he?" asked Charity. At their answering nods, she went on: "Lafitte was a business man, you know. Oh, I don't mean that forge he ran in town, but his establishment at Grande Terre. He was more smuggler than pirate, that's why he lasted so long. Even the most respected tradesmen had dealings with him. Why, he used to post notices right in town when he held auctions at Barataria, listing what he had to sell, mostly smuggled Negroes and a few cargoes of luxuries from Europe. He was a privateer under the rules of war, but he was never a real pirate. At least, that's the belief held nowadays." "We can't turn up our noses at pirates," laughed Ricky. "This house was built by pirate gold. We only wish--" From the hall came a dull thump. Ricky's napkin dropped from her hand into her coffee-cup. Rupert laid down his spoon deliberately enough, but there was a certain tension in his movements. Val felt a sudden chill. For Letty-Lou was in the kitchen, the family were in the dining-room. There should be no one in the hall. Rupert pushed back his chair. But Val was already half-way to the door when his brother joined him. And Ricky, suddenly sober, was at their heels. _Zzzzzrupp!_ The slitting sound was clear as they burst into the hall. On the fur rug by the couch lay the writing-desk. Its lid was thrown back and by it crouched Satan industriously ripping the remnants of lining from its interior. As Rupert came up, the cat drew back, his ears flattened and his lips a-snarl. [Illustration: Zzzzzrupp! _Satan was industriously ripping the remnants of lining from its interior._] "Cinders! What has he done?" demanded Charity, swooping down upon her pet. At her coming, he fled under the couch out of reach. Rupert picked up the desk. "Nothing much," he laughed. "Just torn all that lining loose, as I had planned to do." "What is this?" Ricky disentangled a small slip of white from the torn and musty velvet. "Why, it's a piece of paper," she answered her own question. "It must have been under the lining and Satan pulled it out with the cloth." "Here," Rupert took it from her, "let me see it." He scanned the faded lines of writing. "Val! Ricky!" He looked up, his face flushed with excitement. "Listen!" "Gatty has returned from the city. The raiders calling themselves the 'Buck Boys' are headed this way. Gatty tells me that Alexander is with them, having deserted the plantation a week ago. Since his malice towards us is well known, it is easy to believe that he means us open harm. I am making my preparations accordingly. The valuables now under this roof, together with the proceeds from the last voyage of the blockade runner, _Red Bird_, I am putting in that safe place discovered by me in childhood, of which I have sometimes spoken. Remember the hint I once gave you--By Our Luck. Having written this in haste, I shall intrust it to Gatty--"