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--"
Ricky got up from the end of Val's cot and went to look. Then she
turned, her eyes shining with excitement. "You're trying them again!
But, Val, you said you never would."
"Give me that book!" he ordered grimly. But Rupert had calmly collected
the trophy and was turning over the pages one by one. Val made a
horrible face at Ricky and resigned himself to the inevitable.
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