‘I am not surprised at your suspicions. They are reasonable, though absolutely unfounded, and your precautions cannot therefore be offensive to me. As I try to do everything thoroughly, I may admit this cut on my hand was also faked. I simply squeezed a tube of liquid red paint on to the handkerchief. I did it to account for my being alone in the hall when you arrived, which I thought necessary, lest you might refuse to enter.’ La Touche nodded. ‘Pray proceed with your statement,’ he said again. For a man of his years, Boirac looked strangely old and worn. His black hair was flecked with white, his face drawn and unhappy and his eyes weary and sombre. Though he had been speaking quietly enough, he seemed deeply moved and at a loss how to proceed. At last, with a gesture of despair, he went on:-- ‘What I have to say is not easy, but, alas, I deserve that. I may tell you at once without any beating about the bush--I brought you here to-night to make my confession. Yes, gentlemen, you see before you the miserable, guilty man. I killed her, gentlemen. I did it that awful night of the dinner party. And since then I have never known one moment’s ease. What I have suffered no living being could describe. I have been in hell ever since. I have aged more in these last few weeks than in ten years of ordinary life. And now, when to the gnawings of remorse the certainty of the result of your researches is looming before me--I can bear it no longer. The suspense must end. Therefore, after much thought I have decided to make my confession.’ That the man was in earnest and his emotion genuine La Touche could no longer doubt. But his suspicions still remained. He asked a question. ‘Why have you brought us here to tell us, M. Boirac? Surely the obvious thing would have been for you to go to the Sûreté and see M. Chauvet.’ ‘I know. I should have done that. But this was easier. I tell you, gentlemen, it is bad enough to have to say this to you here, sitting quietly in my own house. There--with several and perhaps stupid officials, with typists--I just couldn’t face it. What I want you to do is this: I will tell you everything. Any questions you ask I will answer. Then I don’t want to be bothered with it again. All I now hope for is that the end will come quickly. You do what is necessary and at the trial I will plead guilty. You will agree?’ ‘We will hear what you have to say.’ ‘For that, at least, I am grateful.’ He pulled himself together with an obvious effort and continued in a low tone, without showing very evident traces of emotion.