To their
joint surprise, LeFleur pounced upon it and withdrew to the window of
the room into which he had conducted them. There he spread out the four
sheets of yellowed paper which the envelope had contained.
"What were we carrying?" whispered Ricky. "Part of Rupert's deep, dark
secret?"
"No," her brother hissed back, "those are the plans of the Patagonian
fort which were stolen from the Russian Embassy last Thursday by the
beautiful woman spy disguised with a long green beard. You know, the
proper first chapter of an international espionage thriller. You are the
dumb but beautiful newspaper reporter on the scent, and I--"
"The even dumber G-man who spends most of his time running three steps
ahead of Fu Chew Chow and his gang of oriental demons. In the second
chapter--"
But a glance at Mr. LeFleur's face as he turned away from the window put
an end to their nonsense. Gone was his smile, his beaming good-will
toward the world. He seemed a little tired, a trifle stooped. "Not here
then," he said slowly to himself as he slipped the papers back into the
envelope.
"Mr. Valerius," he looked up at the boy very seriously, "the LeFleurs
have served the Ralestones, acting as their men of business, for over a
hundred years. We owe your family a great debt. When young Denys LeFleur
was shipped over here to New Orleans under false accusation of his
enemies, the first Richard Ralestone became his patron.
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