ish" upon the sand
brought with it something round and shiny that rolled back again as
the wave receded. The next influx beached it clear, and Geddie picked
it up. The thing was a long-necked wine bottle of colourless glass.
The cork had been driven in tightly to the level of the mouth, and
the end covered with dark-red sealing-wax. The bottle contained only
what seemed to be a sheet of paper, much curled from the manipulation
it had undergone while being inserted. In the sealing-wax was the
impression of a seal--probably of a signet-ring, bearing the initials
of a monogram; but the impression had been hastily made, and the
letters were past anything more certain than a shrewd conjecture. Ida
Payne had always worn a signet-ring in preference to any other finger
decoration. Geddie thought he could make out the familiar "I P"; and
a queer sensation of disquietude went over him. More personal and
intimate was this reminder of her than had been the sight of the
vessel she was doubtless on. He walked back to his house, and set the
bottle on his desk.

Throwing off his hat and coat, and lighting a lamp--for the night had
crowded precipitately upon the brief twilight--he began to examine
his piece of sea salvage.

By holding the bottle near the light and turning it judiciously, he
made out that it contained a double sheet of note-paper filled with
close writing; further, that the paper was of the same size and shade
as that always used by Ida; and that, to the best of his belief, the
handwriting was hers. The imperfect glass of the bottle so distorted
the rays of light that he could read no word of the writing; but
certain capital letters, of which he caught comprehensive glimpses,
were Ida's, he felt sure.

There was a little smile both of perplexity and amusement in Geddie's
eyes as he set the bottle down, and laid three cigars side by side
on his desk. He fetched his steamer chair from the gallery, and
stretched himself comfortably. He would smoke those three cigars
while considering the problem.

For it amounted to a problem. He almost wished that he had not found
the bottle; but the bottle was there. Why should it have drifted in
from the sea, whence come so many disquieting things, to disturb his
peace?

In this dreamy land, where time seemed so redundant, he had fallen
into the habit of bestowing much thought upon even trifling matters.

He began to speculate upon many fanciful theories concerning the
story of