They were not in his desk, for by this time they had searched every inch of it. Jim examined the bookcases filled to overflowing, and occupying three walls of the room. Near the top of one of them he found, shamelessly exposed, the remaining twenty volumes. The astute Mr. Brock had evidently acted upon the conviction that in attempting no concealment he aroused no curiosity. His readings had no doubt included the stories of Edgar Allan Poe.
"Cheek of the beggar," grumbled Aldean, tumbling down these ledgers promptly; "he had every faith in his cipher."
"And in his reputation as the Rev. Manners Brock," said Mallow, receiving the books below, and arranging them on the table. "I expect there is material enough for a dozen detective novels in this lot. Eh! What's up now, Jim? Don't swear!"
Aldean, suppressing further imprecation, scrambled down the ladder.
"Look here, Mallow! Just look!"
"Watch, chain, studs, and the missing wrist-button," counted Laurence, coolly; "it is no more than I expected. There can be no doubt after this, Jim. Here is the dead man's jewellery. The lying brute--he said that Drabble gave him the other wrist-button as a curiosity."
They surveyed the tarnished gold and the double pile of red books in silence. Then said Aldean slowly--
"God! to think of that murderous scoundrel saying he was a parson. Makes me sick to think of it. Might have lived to marry Tui and me. By Gum!" Jim started as the discovery slowly evolved itself in his brain. "Say, Mallow, all the marriages in this parish must be wrong 'uns. What's to be done about them?"
"We must wait until we read the diary before considering matters of such minor importance as that," said Mallow, tapping the books. "I expect it won't be easy to straighten out Brock's crooked ways."
"Don't call him Brock. Makes me feel bad."