"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?" 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--