“Diary,” repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support the third, and opening it. “H’m⁠—no name on the flyleaf. Bother!⁠—cipher. And figures.”

The vicar came round to look over his shoulder.

Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed. “I’m⁠—dear me! It’s all cipher, Bunting.”

“There are no diagrams?” asked Mr. Bunting. “No illustrations throwing light⁠—”

“See for yourself,” said Mr. Cuss. “Some of it’s mathematical and some of it’s Russian or some such language (to judge by the letters), and some of it’s Greek. Now the Greek I thought you ⁠—”