We ought to be seeing the
gate-posts any moment now."
"Prophet!" Ricky leaned forward between them. "See there!"
Two gray stone posts, as firmly planted by time as the avenue of
live-oaks they headed, showed clearly in the afternoon light. And from
the nearest, deep carven in the stone, a jagged-toothed skull, crowned
and grinning, stared blankly at the three in the shabby car. Beneath it
ran the insolent motto of an ancient and disreputable clan, "What I
want--I take!"
"This is the place all right--I recognize Joe there." Val pointed to the
crest. "Good old Joe, always laughing."
Ricky made a face. "Horrid old thing. I don't see why we couldn't have
had a swan or something nice to swank about."
"But then the Lords of Lorne were hardly a nice lot in their prime," Val
reminded her. "Well, Rupert, let's see the rest."
The car followed a graveled drive between tall bushes which would have
been the better for a pruning. Then the road made a sudden curve and
they came out upon a crescent of lawn bordering upon a stone-paved
terrace three steps above. And on the terrace stood the home a Ralestone
had not set foot in for over fifty years--Pirate's Haven.
"It looks--" Ricky stared up, "why, it looks just like the picture Mr.
Harrison painted!"
"Which proves why he is now in Italy," Val returned. "But he did capture
it on canvas."
"Gray stone--and those diamond-paned windows--and that squatty tower.
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