"Glad it did," growled Jim, in disgust, "for being such a fool. I confess I have no sympathy for a man who gives himself away like that."
"Perhaps not, Jim; but there seems to be a peculiar fascination about confession which some of these men can't resist. It may be that there is great relief for them in unburdening their minds, even on paper. If we can judge Michael Trall's character from Carson's story, he has heaped up a goodly pile of wickedness these thirty and more years. Moreover, if his diary were guileless reading, he would not resort to cipher. No, Jim, I believe the man has sought to ease his conscience by setting down his sins."
"May have, Mallow; but the cipher's a teaser."
"No doubt. I don't anticipate it will be child's play, by any means. Still, it is a fact that there is no cipher invented by the ingenuity of man which--given time and application--cannot be unravelled. This diary may take days, even months, to straighten into Queen's English; but, sooner or later, I shall master its contents, if only to learn why Brock killed Carson."
"You speak confidently, Mallow. But Brock may be innocent, even yet."
"Possible; but, to my mind, improbable. If Brock be not guilty, I don't know who is. However, it's no use theorizing when we have facts before us. Brock's keys are under the pillow."
"Sure we have the right to search, Mallow?"
"I'll take the risk of that," said Laurence, with composure, and forthwith went to work, assisted by Aldean.
Manifestly, the most promising hunting-ground was the escritoire near the window, at which Michael Trall in clerical capacity had been accustomed to compile his sermons. Mallow first explored the pigeon-holes and their papers, scrutinizing the writing of each in turn; but, so far, failed to find anything at all incriminating. He unlocked the drawers, and went through them systematically from top to bottom. In the right-hand corner of the lowest drawer they found the diary carelessly thrown in without attempt at concealment. It was contained in a stout volume, bound in red cloth, and on the back was written, in ink, "No. 21."
"Oh!" said Mallow, examining the neat cipher writing. "The rogue evidently posted his criminal ledgers with the utmost regularity. Where are the other twenty?"