A miniature breaker, spreading with a soft "swish" upon the sand
brought with its 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 colorless
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.