Again Austin paused and moved uneasily, and again Tanner had to admit to himself that so far the story they were hearing, while utterly unexpected and extraordinary, bore the impress of truth. Up to the present he had been unable to detect any inconsistency between it and the facts he had himself learnt. He was coming to the opinion that they were about to hear the truth of the tragedy itself, and he set himself to listen with renewed concentration as Austin resumed: ‘I bought the two pairs of shoes I required for my alibi, on that Monday afternoon. At home I locked one pair away, and took care the attention of my man should be called to the other. Then on the Wednesday evening I wrote the forged note from Miss Drew, and dropped it into the letter box on my hall door, where my man found it as I had intended. ‘Putting on the new shoes of which my man had had charge, I got a boat and rowed down to the boathouse. My statement about the hoax was obviously false, and the evidence of that girl and her lover in Dr Graham’s wood was true.’ It was evident that this admission, made in the calm matter-of-fact way in which Austin was speaking, came as a considerable shock to Lois Drew. But she made no remark, listening motionless and intent to what was coming—as indeed were they all. ‘The water gate was closed, and as I did not want Dale to see my boat and perhaps take fright, I went into the boathouse to open it. My father was there already, and he opened the gate, and I took the boat in. Presently Cosgrove turned up. He had motored from London. ‘We waited for a few moments and then Dale arrived. Directly he entered Cosgrove slipped behind him and locked the door, putting the key in his pocket. Dale was obviously taken aback when he saw three persons waiting for him, and when he observed the door being locked he got very white and frightened looking. But my father spoke to him quietly. ‘“You need not be afraid, Dale,” he said. “If you are reasonable, no harm will befall you. These are my son and nephew, who are as much interested in the affair as I am. We are going to make you a proposal, but I am afraid we are not going to give you the option of declining it.” ‘My father then explained clearly and quietly that he was willing to pay well for the preservation of the secret, and promised to purchase an annuity which would bring Dale in £320 a year for life. Dale interrupted that it was £500 he wanted, but my father replied that £320 was the sum he had decided on. I think it was the quiet, final way my father spoke, as if the reopening of the matter was by his decision made impossible, that first gave Dale a hint of what he was up against.