"See if there 's any entry along early in July—about the time of the inquest."
Bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events tabulated above. At last he stopped.
"Testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "I lied. Roady made me do it. I never saw anybody quarreling. Besides, I did it myself."
"What's she mean—did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "Guess we 'll have to go 'way back for that."
"First let's see how accurate the thing is," Fairchild interrupted. "See if there 's an item under November 9 of this year."
The sheriff searched, then read:
"I dug a grave to-night. It was not filled. The immortal thing left me. I knew it would. Roady had come and told me to dig a grave and put it in there. I did. We filled it with quicklime. Then we went upstairs and it was gone. I do not understand it. If Roady wanted me to kill him, why did n't he say so. I will kill if Roady will be good to me. I 've killed before for him."
"Still referring to somebody she 's killed," cut in Anita. "I wonder if it could be possible—"
"I 've just thought of the date!" Harry broke in excitedly. "It was along about June 7, 1892. I 'm sure it was around there."
The old books were mulled over, one after the other. At last Bardwell leaned forward and pointed to a certain page.