"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?"