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.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103