But there was no ruby yet, nor any aperture large enough to accommodate the one for which we were looking. I leaned over with a puzzled scowl and peered into the slit.
"There 's a folded paper in there," I announced. My fingers were too large to force into the opening, and Genevieve promptly produced a hat-pin. Next moment we had the paper out--or papers, for there were three sheets folded together.
Across the back, written in Felix Page's small cramped hand, was this inscription:
_Memorandum of Agreement between_ _Felix Page_ _and_ _Cristofano Paternostro, Michele Paternostro_ _and Filippo Paternostro._
"Well, we 're hot on the scent, at any rate," was my comment, as I unfolded the papers. Then I quickly folded them again, without a glance inside.
"Wait!" said I. "This is a solemn occasion, and it should be recognized with some fitting observance."
"Oh, don't tease!" cried Genevieve, dancing up and down with impatience, and trying to pluck the papers from my hand.
"I 'm not teasing, my dear," said I; "I 'm terribly serious. We are pretty near the end of the trail, little girl; after we have read this imposing document we will have reached the end. I 'm halfway sorry, too, notwithstanding the grim tragedy that has hung over us. We must celebrate the last event with an appropriate rite--a fire upon the library hearth."
She flushed with delight, and consented to wait until I had the fire going properly. It was a most successful fire. We dragged the library table up close; I jumped Genevieve to a seat upon it, and then seated myself beside her. She placed a hand upon my shoulder, and our heads were again very close together.
The more imposing one--the agreement--I placed beneath; its dry legal phraseology was not at all inviting. The other sheets were, however. They too were written all over in Felix Page's hand, but bore the blunt, direct phrases of a man used to expressing himself without any rhetorical embellishment or nonsense.
This explanation is written to clear up any misunderstanding or doubt, that may arise after my death, over the stone called the Paternoster Ruby.
In June, 1884, I learned that Alfred Fluette was trying to buy it from the Paternostros. I at once determined that he should not have the stone if money could prevent it. So I too became a bidder.