"Brock he must be called, Jim, for the present. None of the ladies must know the truth until we get through these books. Manners Brock is dead, not Michael Trall."
"I understand. But Jeremiah----"
"I'll manage him. Ha! there he is, I expect. Open the door, Jim."
Aldean did so, and Trall, looking white and agitated, crept into the room. "I'm afraid to be alone," he whimpered. "Can't I stop here?"
"We must go home now, Trall," said Mallow, soothingly. "Can you read this cipher?" and he opened out a book to Jeremiah in the faint hope of receiving an affirmative answer.
To his surprise and delight it came.
"I can read it, Mr. Mallow. It's Michael's cipher. I taught it to him when we were boys."
"Hurrah!" sang Aldean, slapping Trall's back. "You shall translate it, then."
"Michael's diary!" said Jeremiah, quicker in understanding than might have been expected. "I see. Ah, Michael was always clever with his pen."
"Been a sight too clever this time," muttered Jim, assisting his friend to tie up the books in neat bundles.