Louisiana more than one hundred years ago?"

The Judge smiled.

"Quite true. This grant of ours was practically his last official act.
Alphonse de Beaucaire took possession in 1712, one hundred and twenty
years ago, sir. I was myself born at Beaucaire, sixty-eight years ago."

"I should have guessed you as ten years younger. And the estate still
remains in its original grant?"

The smile of condescension deserted his eyes, and his thin lips pressed
tightly together.

"I--I regret not; many of the later years have proven disastrous in the
extreme," he admitted, hesitatingly. "You will pardon me, sir, if I
decline to discuss misfortune. Ah, Monsieur Kirby! I have been
awaiting you. Have you met with this young man who came aboard at Fort
Armstrong? I--I am unable to recall the name."

"Steven Knox."

I felt the firm, strong grip of the other's hand, and looked straight
into his dark eyes. They were like a mask. While, indeed, they seemed
to smile in friendly greeting, they yet remained expressionless, and I
was glad when the gripping fingers released mine. The face into which
I looked was long, firm-jawed, slightly swarthy, a tightly-clipped
black moustache shadowing the upper lip. It was a reckless face, yet
appeared carved from marble.