"No--o--o," replied Trall. "He was clever, but he was not a good man. He deserted his wife and poor little Clara. But I was fond of him; a brother is always a brother." "Oh!" Mallow paused. He did not wish to reflect in any way upon the dead man, and he was afraid to trust Jeremiah out of his sight, lest in his weakness he should reveal his connection with the late vicar. "I wish to speak privately with Lord Aldean," he said at length. "Go you, Trall, into the next room for half an hour. Stay there, and, mind, not a word to any one about what has happened." "Very well, Mr. Mallow," replied Jeremiah, submissively, creeping towards the door. Laurence followed him and made him comfortable in the dining-room. The sour spinster--now a very Niobe--all tears--was informed that Mr. Trall was suffering from shock at the unexpected death of the vicar, and was not on any account to be disturbed. Having arranged thus for Jeremiah's seclusion, Mallow returned to the study, where he found Aldean in a state of intense expectancy. The situation and hints of mystery puzzled him. "What's all this business about?" he asked, when he saw his friend lock the door. "It's about Michael Trall, alias Brock, who, I truly believe, Jim, is the murderer for whom we have searched so long." "Mr. Brock the murderer of Carson! Impossible! You must be mistaken, surely!" "Well, perhaps; but I don't think so. I will give you my grounds for saying so, and I think you will agree, Jim, that they are pretty strong." Rapidly, but tersely, Mallow related the story as set forth by Dr. Carson. He concealed nothing, not even Bellairs' guilt. Finally he expressed his conviction that in Mr. Brock's diary would be found the key to the whole mystery. Jim was amazed; still, he could not agree with his friend. "Murderers don't write accounts of their crimes," he pronounced, decisively; "not such fools as to make up their own brief for the prosecution." "That's just where you're wrong, Jim. There are not a few cases on record," said Mallow. "I can recollect one, in particular, where a clerk wrote in his diary: 'To-day, fine and hot; killed a little girl in Croft's spinney.' That line hanged him." "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."