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that house,” Bess said with a shudder.
    Alex suggested that probably they would be more interested in the pirates, anyway. To Donna Mae, he said, “How about showing the girls the place where Pierre Lafitte was a prisoner?”
    Donna Mae led the way to Jackson Square, the heart of the Vieux Carré. In the center of this grassy esplanade stood a statue of Andrew Jackson, the seventh president of the United States. The general sat astride a rearing horse.
    When George remarked that it was amazing how the forelegs of the horse remained in space with no support, Donna Mae said that this had been accomplished by making the statue perfectly balanced. “An unusual and difficult feat in this case.”
    Donna Mae went on, “The government of New Orleans has been in the hands of different ruling groups five times. Sometimes it was the Spanish, sometimes the French, sometimes the United States, and once the city was independent.”
    Around Jackson Square were numerous public buildings and apartment houses. Alex, who had been on the tour before, led the way to the Cabildo. This large, many-arched building had originally been the municipal hall for old New Orleans. Now it was a museum.
    Off the center courtyard around which the Cabildo had been built was the small cell in which Pierre Lafitte, the pirate, had been jailed. At the moment there was little in it—the most interesting objects being two ancient safes with decorated crosspieces of a hobnailed design.
    “Are these what the pirates kept their gold in?” George asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
    “So the legend goes,” Donna Mae answered. “Pierre and his brother Jean had a blacksmith shop a few blocks from here. They didn’t do much blacksmithing, though. They were too busy smuggling in slaves from Africa and selling them.
    “Jean and Pierre Lafitte were in trouble with the law most of the time,” Donna Mae continued, “but somehow, they were always able to get out of it. But, strange though it seems, they turned out to be very patriotic citizens during the War of 1812 in the Battle of New Orleans.”
    “Well, I’m glad they made up for their miserable deeds,” said Bess.
    “Let’s walk up Pirates’ Alley,” Alex suggested. “That’s the street where the pirates carried on their nefarious schemes.”
    As the group walked across Jackson Square to Pirates’ Alley, the girls became interested in the many sidewalk artists. The men and women lined one side of the square. Many wore smocks and jaunty berets. Some sat on stools, sketching portraits of tourists, and all had pictures on display to sell.
    One aggressive man smiled at Nancy, “May I paint your portrait, miss?” he asked. “Your face would be lovely on canvas!”
    Nancy laughed. “Not today, thank you,” she answered.
    Alex led the way into the narrow street nicknamed Pirates’ Alley. It was so attractive, with its quaint architecture and flowering plants, that it was hard for the girls to think of sinister plans once being made there by scheming pirates.
    Just as the sight-seers emerged from the alley, Nancy grabbed George’s arm. “I just turned around and saw a man who looks exactly like the one who stole my car! He must be following us!”
    George suggested getting a policeman, but Nancy said, “No. I’d like to follow him if possible. We may learn something. Suppose you and Bess and I duck into the first antique store we come to and let him pass us.”
    George whispered directions to Bess, as Nancy glanced over her shoulder to be sure the man was still following. He was!
    Coming to a gift shop, she announced quickly to Donna Mae and Alex, “Bess and George and I are going to do a little shopping. Suppose we meet you later at Antoine’s.”
    Without further explanation, the three girls ducked into the shop. Donna Mae, looking impatient, followed them, but Alex remained outside. When the proprietor came forward, Bess and George engaged him in conversation about a flowered plate. Nancy