My father laid his trembling hands upon them.
"They have nothing to do with you," he explained; "nothing at all! It is a little family matter-between Guy and me. Nothing more. They belong to me. Damn you, Ray, why are you always interfering in my concerns?"
Ray turned to me. There was a look in his eyes which I readily understood. At that moment I think that I hated him.
"What are those papers?" he asked.
"Take them and see," I answered. "If I told you you would not believe me."
He moved a few steps towards them, and then paused. I saw that my father was leaning forward, and in his shaking hand was a tiny gleaming revolver. A certain desperate courage seemed to have come to him.
"Ray," he cried hoarsely, "touch them at your peril!"
There was a moment's breathless silence. Then with an incredibly swift movement my stepmother stepped in between and snatched up the little roll. She glanced behind at the grate, but the fire was almost extinct. With a little gesture of despair she held them out to me. "Take them, Guy," she cried.
Ray stood by my side, and I felt his hand descend like a vice upon my shoulder.
"Give me those papers," he demanded.