There were nineteen of them.
"Counting from either end," I went on, "the centre tack will be ten. It 's as simple as A-B-C. That's our starting-point from which to find the others. Find the fourth one to the right of the centre tack—number ten."
She placed the tip of one forefinger upon it—a bit gingerly, I smiled to see.
"Why, it gives!" she announced in surprise.
"I 'd be terribly cut up if it did n't," said I. "Now, then, the eleventh to the right."
This carried her to the third one around the side; number thirteen was the fifth on the left side, number seventeen the ninth on the right side, while number five was on the front edge, of course, close to the centre. Each of them yielded a trifle beneath her pressure—until she came to number five. Here she drew back and clasped her hands tightly together.
"Oh, I can't!" she cried excitedly. "I'm just so nervous that I can't put my finger upon it. You do it."
"Nonsense!" said I. "If you don't find the ruby, it will never be found. That's the last one."
At last, with shining eyes and parted lips, the little finger went slowly down upon the fateful tack-head. She screwed up her eyes and closed her lips tightly, as if she feared something would explode, then pushed with all her might. The tack gave; but nothing else happened.
We stared at the table, our faces long with disappointment; then we looked at each other in unspoken questioning. Genevieve's expression was so woe-begone that I laughed. The nerve-racking suspense was broken.