RALESTONES STAND TOGETHER
"I like Louisiana," drawled Holmes lazily from his perch on the window-seat. "The most improbable things happen here. One finds secret passages under houses and medieval war swords stuck in drains. Then there are 'things that go boomp in the night,' too. It might be worth settling down here—"
"Not for you," cut in Charity briskly. "Too far from the bright lights for you, my man."
"Just for that," he triumphed, "I shall not return this lost property found under a cushion of the couch in the hall."
At the sight of that familiar black note-book, Val shifted uneasily on his pillows. Rupert got up.
"Tired, old man?" he asked and reached to straighten one of his brother's feather-stuffed supports.
Val shook his head. Being bandaged like a mummy was wearying, but one had to humor two broken ribs and a fractured collar-bone.
"Sometimes," replied Charity, "you are just too clever, Mr. Judson Holmes. That does not happen to be my property."
"No?" He flipped it open and held it up so that she might see what lay within. "I'll admit that it isn't your usual sort of stuff, but—"
She was staring at the drawings. "No, that isn't mine. But who—"