"No. If you are satisfied that he at least recognized the debt, pass on to the other marked pages," answered the writer's daughter.
I set my lips as I did so, for there was only one inference to be drawn from the following entries, which ran dated in a series: "Demand for fifteen hundred dollars from Lane. No credit, ten dollars in the house. Lane came over, and part renewed the loan in return for services to be rendered. Black curses on the pitiless devil! Took twenty head of prime stock, to be driven to the hollow with Ormesby's. Started out with the stock for Gaspard's Trail."
There were no further entries, and Miss Redmond, who had been watching me, said, with a perceptible effort:
"You will remember all those dates well. Now read what is written on the loose leaf. When I came in one night the book lay on the table with that leaf projecting; but as my father was always fretting over the accounts, I did not glance at it as I replaced the book."
The writing was blurred and scrawling—the work of an unstable man in a moment of agony; and some of the half-coherent sentences ran: "It was Lane and his master the devil who drove me. I did not mean to do what I did; but when the fire came down, remembered he said 'any convenient accident.' I knew it was murder when I saw Ormesby with the blood on his face." Further lines were almost unintelligible, but I made out, "Judas. No room on earth. Lane says he is dying fast. You will hate the man who drove me for ever and ever."
I folded up the paper, and, not having read the whole of it, handed it to the girl. "I am almost sorry you were brave enough to show me this; but I can only try to forget it," I said.
Miss Redmond's eyes were dry; but she moved as if in physical pain, and clenched one hand as she said: "That secret has worn me down for weary months, and I dare not change my mind again. I shall never rest until it is certain that wicked man shall drive no one else to destruction. You must show Mr. Haldane all you have read."
Haldane laid down the book, and sat silent for at least a minute. "Will you please tell us, Miss Redmond, how far you can allow us to make use of this?" he said.
The girl shuddered before she answered: "It must not be made public; but if in any other way you can strike Lane down, I will leave it you. You can hardly guess what all this has cost me; but, God forgive me, the hate I feel is stronger than shame—and his last words are burned into my brain."
Ailin Redmond rose as she spoke, and I saw that part of Père Louis's admonition had fallen upon stony ground. Her face and pose were what they had been when she had bidden us bring the dead man in. She came of a passionate race; but there had also been a signal lack of balance in her father's temperament, and perhaps it was this very strain of wildness which had made her singing a success.