Chapter XV.In the Luce Manor BoathouseThat same evening Daunt paid his promised visit to Austin Ponson. He found his client seated despondently in his cell, his head resting on his hands. Like Dale, he had aged since his arrest. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes weary, and as he moved his head a suspicion of grey showed at his temples. His manner had lost its old ease and lightness, and it was evident that the crisis through which he was passing would leave its mark on him for many a day to come.‘I have something for you, Mr Ponson,’ the solicitor said as he sat down and felt in his pocket for Lois’s letter. ‘You are to let me have an answer.’Austin’s eyes lit up as he saw the handwriting, and he seized the note with eagerness. To let him read it in peace, Daunt drew some papers from his pocket and began to study them. But he hadn’t done so for many seconds when an exclamation drew his attention back to the other.Austin Ponson had risen to his feet and was excitedly pacing the cell. He was a transformed man. A smile was on his lips, his eyes were shining, and his face had a rapt and beatific expression, like that of a man who sees a vision of angels.‘My Heavens!’ he cried, ‘Whata girl! She’s beyond anything I could have imagined. One in a thousand millions! I can hardly realise it. I tell you, Daunt, if I never get out of this hell again, it’s been worth it. It would be worth any suffering to get such a letter. Tell her—But you can’t tell her. Nor I. No one could ever tell her what I feel.’He paused and looked at the other, then resumed his hurried pacing.‘I swear that if I get out of this place, I’ll make it up to her. I’ll live for her day and night, and for nothing else. She’ll never regret what she has done—that is,’ he sank into his chair and the dejected look returned to his face, ‘if I ever do get out.’‘You forget, Mr Ponson, that I don’t know what’s in your note.’Austin stared.‘You don’t?’ he queried in surprise. ‘Why, she tells me the whole thing’s out—that Tom Dale has been found, and that she knows about my father’s marriage and my birth. And’—his face lit up and he spoke triumphantly—‘she says she doesn’t mind—that it will make no difference to’—he paused as if for a word, then concluded—‘her feelings towards me. What do you think of that?’‘I congratulate you very heartily, Mr Ponson,’ Daunt replied, though with a mental reservation. ‘But I can assure you that so far as I am aware, the whole thing is anything but “out”. It is true the identity of William Douglas with Tom Dale has been discovered, and the effect his existence has on the validity of your father’s marriage is known. But that is all. No explanation of the murder has yet come to light. And, after all, that is really what matters.’‘Has Dale admitted his identity?’‘Yes.’‘And has he made no statement about what took place in the boathouse?’‘None. But, Mr Ponson, that remark implies to me that you were there yourself and know.’Austin looked sharply at the speaker.‘I didn’t say so,’ he answered dryly, ‘but—stop, let me think a moment.’For some minutes silence reigned in the gloomy cell. To Daunt it had seemed as if his client was on the verge of a confession, and he wondered if one more sordid story was to be added to the list of those to which the grey walls of this grim apartment had in all probability listened. Austin sat motionless, his mind evidently engrossed with some problem, the solution of which eluded him. But at last he seemed to find it. Straightening himself up, he faced the solicitor.‘This news you have brought makes a tremendous difference to me,’ he said. ‘From my point of view there is no longer any reason why the events of that tragic night should not be known. I have remained silent for two reasons. First, because of my mother. The thought of her learning that she was still the wife of that drunken scoundrel was more than I could bear. You’ll understand my feelings—the whole thing is so painful I hate to speak of it. Then there was another reason. I made the unforgivable blunder of being afraid to tell Miss Drew. I have paid for that already, and every bit of that payment I deserve ten times over. I distrusted her. I thought if the circumstances of my birth came out she might have nothing more to do with me. And I just couldn’t risk that. You see, it was not as if there had been any deliberate evil on my parents’ part. Both were utterly innocent, and even ignorant that anything was wrong. Therefore I could not see that I was called upon to chance the wrecking of my happiness on what was after all a mere technical matter only. God forgive me, I did not intend to tell that angel. I feared the stigma would remain. Well, I have suffered for it. As I ought to have known, she was above a petty feeling of that sort. I should have told her the moment I knew of the matter myself. I should have told Tanner everything at the start. Much trouble would have been saved. And now it may be too late. I may not be believed.’‘I don’t know, of course, what you propose to tell,’ said Daunt as the other paused, ‘but as your legal adviser I should warn you to be very careful of what you say to anyone. If you care to tell your story to me, I shall be pleased to advise you as to what, if any of it, should be made public.’‘I suppose that would be wisest,’ Austin returned, ‘but I have quite made up my mind. From the first I decided to tell all I knew if the secret of my parentage came out. That was the only reason for my silence. Indeed, I was coming to the conclusion I must tell in any case, even if I myself had to reveal it. I appreciate your offer and under other circumstances would gladly avail myself of your advice, but whatever the consequences, I am going to tell. But I by no means wish the affair to be made public. I want most of all to tell Miss Drew, I would like to tell you, and I must tell Tanner. If you will help me by making this possible, I will be for ever your debtor. One other thing, I should like Cosgrove to know my decision. It is only due to him. Can you arrange these matters?’‘I think so. But I cannot but feel you may be making a mistake in not first taking, I don’t say my advice, but the advice of some legal man. I cannot move you on that point?’‘My dear fellow,’ said Austin warmly, ‘there is no one whose advice I would take more readily than yours. But in this case we need not discuss it. If you will not help me to the interview I want, I will send for Tanner and tell him here.’Daunt saw there was no more to be said. He waited till Austin had written his reply to Lois—a lengthy and complicated proceeding—then, promising he would see Tanner without delay, he left the cell.Inspector Tanner was keenly interested by the news.‘At last!’ he exclaimed in a satisfied tone. ‘We shall get the truth this time. He’s getting frightened. He’ll not bluff us any more.’‘I don’t see that you’ve any right to say that,’ Daunt returned hotly. ‘It will be time enough to accuse him of lying when you hear what he has to say.’Tanner smiled.‘Very good, Mr Daunt. I’ll not say a word—till then.’It was arranged that the proceedings of that morning should be repeated next day. Austin would be brought to Scotland Yard, and there in the presence of Lois, Daunt, Tanner, and a stenographer, he could make his statement.At eleven o’clock next day Lois and Jimmy Daunt drove up to the Yard, and were shown without delay to Tanner’s room. There they met the Inspector and his Chief, Mr Edgar, who had expressed a wish to be present on this occasion also. At the desk was a shorthand writer.It was cool in the grey walled room. The open window allowed a current of fresh air to flow gently in, carrying with it the subdued hum of the great city without. In the sunny courtyard the sparrows were twittering angrily, while a bluebottle buzzed endlessly up and down the window pane. The little group, after the first brief greetings, sat silent. Expectancy showed on every face, but whereas Tanner’s and the Chief Inspector’s also indicated satisfaction, uneasiness was marked on Daunt’s and positive apprehension on Lois’s. To her at least, the coming meeting with her lover was obviously no light ordeal. On it, as was evident to them all, largely depended the future happiness of both.They had not waited long before a knock came to the door and a sergeant of police admitted Austin Ponson. The young man was dressed in a suit of navy blue, and bore himself quietly and with some dignity. In the bright light of the room the lines of suffering showed more clearly on his face, and his eyes looked still more weary.Instantly on entering they swept over those present, fixing themselves immediately on Lois. In spite of an evident effort for self control, the light of an absolute adoration shone in them for a moment, then he withdrew them, bowed generally to the company, and sat down.But this was not enough for Lois. She sprang to her feet, and going over to him, held out her hand. He rose and clasped it, and though neither would trust themselves to speak, they saw that in each other’s eyes which satisfied them.Tanner with some delicacy busied himself for a few moments in giving directions to the stenographer, then turning to the others, he spoke.‘I don’t think it is necessary, Miss Drew and gentlemen, for me to explain our presence here. Last night Mr Daunt intimated to me that Mr Ponson had a communication to make, at which he wished Miss Drew, Mr Daunt, and myself to be present. This meeting has therefore been arranged. I have only to make known to you, Mr Ponson, Chief Inspector Edgar’—he indicated his colleague—‘and to ask you to proceed with your statement. It is, of course, understood by you that you make it voluntarily and that it may be used against you?’‘I understand that right enough, Inspector,’ began Austin, ‘and I wish to say I have no quarrel with your treatment of me. You have been fair all through.’He paused, settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and went on:‘The only thing I should like to ask is whether my cousin, Cosgrove, has been told that I am going to make this statement?’‘He has been told,’ Tanner answered.‘And may I learn if he was satisfied?’‘He seemed so.’‘Thank you. I am not quite sure how much of my story you know, but I shall tell you everything. When I have finished I shall have a request to make of you—that you will keep what I am about to tell private—but I do not know whether or not you will find that possible.’Tanner nodded without speaking.‘Of my early life,’ went on Austin, ‘I do not think I need say much. I expect’—he looked at Tanner—‘you know all about it. You know that, while we never had an open breach, my father and I did not pull well together. We looked at things from such different points of view that our intercourse only produced irritation. My father wished me to read for the bar with the idea of entering Parliament, and trying for a seat in the Ministry. I was not ambitious in that direction, but preferred literary work, and scientific research. Therefore, as you no doubt are aware, I found it irksome at home, and I set up my own establishment in Halford. But that we remained good friends was proved by my father’s moving to Luce Manor at my suggestion. With my mother I was always in sympathy. She was easygoing, and deferred without protest to my father’s decisions, but never at any time was there the slightest cloud between us. So things had gone on for years, and so they went on until this terrible business began.’Austin moved nervously in his chair, glancing quickly round the little group.‘On Sunday, 4th July,’ he resumed, ‘occurred the first event of this unhappy tragedy, so far as I was concerned. I received by that morning’s post a letter from my father, saying he wished to see me on very private business, and asking me to dine and spend that evening with him. He directed me to destroy his letter, and not refer to the matter to anyone.‘Considerably surprised, I burnt the note, and duly went out to Luce Manor in time for dinner. When the meal was over my father and I retired to his study, and there when our cigars were alight, he said he had a very grievous and terrible secret to impart to me which would doubtless give me considerable pain. He locked the door, then sitting down he told me what I believe you already know.‘ “My boy,” he said, “we have not perhaps pulled it off together as well as I could have wished, and when you hear what I have to tell you, I fear you may be tempted to think more bitterly of me than I deserve. But I can assure you on my honour, that in this terrible affair I acted in perfectly good faith all through. Until four years ago I was as ignorant as you are still that there was anything wrong.”‘ “I don’t understand,” I said.‘ “No,” he answered, “but you will soon.”‘Then he told me of his early life, and that of the two Dales; of his falling in love with my mother, Ethel Osborne; of the rivalry between himself and Tom Dale for her hand; of Dale’s success; of the miserable married life of the couple; of Dale’s mission to Canada, and of his presumed death in theNumidiandisaster, and of my father’s own marriage with the widow. All this I had known more or less vaguely before, and I could not understand why my father recited the circumstances in such detail. But he soon made it clear to me.‘ “As you know,” he went on, “your dear mother and I have lived happily together ever since. She had her time of suffering, but thank God, she has enjoyed her after-life, and please God, she shall never learn what I am about to tell you.”‘ “Some four years ago,” continued my father, “I happened to be in London, and walking down Cheapside I met a man whose face seemed vaguely familiar. He was short and slight, with small features, rather delicately moulded, white hair, and a short goatee beard. He saw me at the same time, and his eyes fixed themselves on my face with an expression of almost incredulous recognition. For a few seconds we stood facing each other, while I racked my brains to recall his identity. And then suddenly I knew him. It was Tom Dale!”‘My father paused, but for some seconds I did not grasp the full meaning of his statement. Then gradually its significance dawned on me. I need not repeat it. You have heard what it involved. I was appalled and horrified. Though upset on my own account, I ask you to believe that what distressed me most was its possible effect on my mother and sister. Of my mother I just couldn’t bear to think, and it also hurt me beyond words to believe that any such secret should have power to throw a shadow over Enid’s life.’‘Did you speak to your father on this particular point?’ Tanner interjected.‘Speak? I should rather think so. I was beside myself with horror.’‘Can you recollect the exact words you used?’Austin considered.‘I hardly think so,’ he said at last, ‘though every detail of the scene is fixed in my memory; I said as the thing began to dawn on me, “And my mother—it can’t be that she—?” I did not wish to speak the words, and my father completed my sentence for me. “Yes,” he said, “there’s no escape from it; she is the wife of that drunken ruffian.” Then I cried, “Good Heavens! She can’t be,” or something to that effect, and he answered that it was only too true.’‘Might the words you used have been, “My God, sir, she isn’t?” ’‘Yes, I believe those were the words. That was the sense anyway.’‘Continue, please.’‘It appeared that upon their recognition there was a scene between my father and Dale. Eventually, however, they took a private room at a neighbouring bar, and there talked the matter over. Then to my father’s amazement it came out that Dale had not known of my mother’s second marriage. But when the latter realised how matters stood, his manner changed. He said it was my father, and not himself, who had come within the reach of the law, and that if the affair became known, even if my father escaped imprisonment, he would still have public opinion to reckon with. Was he prepared to face the scandal?‘My father was not. His good name and that of his family were very precious to him. In his agitation he did a weak thing. He offered to buy Dale’s silence.‘My father then told of his negotiations with Dale, with the details of which I think I need hardly trouble you. Suffice it to say that Dale put on the screw and got several hundreds that year. But that did not satisfy him. His demands grew more and more outrageous till at last my father came to the conclusion that some step must be taken to rid himself of the incubus.‘ “It is not the actual money he is now getting,” said my father, “it is the uncertainty under which I am living that is making me ill. He will continue to bleed me, and after I am gone he will bleed your mother and yourself, and perhaps Enid. Besides, we don’t know if he really will preserve the secret. I have been thinking for some time that I must tell you and Cosgrove the whole story, so that we may devise some plan to protect ourselves, but now events have been precipitated by a fresh demand from Dale. Read that.”‘My father handed me a letter headed “Myrtle Cottage, Yelverton, South Devon”. It was from Dale, and in it he said the existing arrangements with my father were unsatisfactory, that instead of a hundred or two now and then, he would rather have one large sum which should close the account between them. He demanded my father should buy him an annuity which should bring him in £500 a year for life. In peremptory words he required an immediate answer, adding that he was coming to town that day and would stay in a small hotel near Gower Street, where my father could see him.‘That letter had come on the previous Thursday, and on the Saturday—that was the day before our interview—my father had gone to town and seen Dale. The man, it seemed, had been more truculent and overbearing than ever before, and had presented what amounted to an ultimatum. Either he would have the money for his annuity, or he would tell. After a long wrangle my father had promised to consider the matter until the following Monday, when he would see Dale again and let him know his decision.‘My father went on to say he would willingly pay the demand to be rid of the whole business, but his difficulty was, of course, that he had no guarantee the payment would rid him of it. He would still be, to precisely the same extent, in Dale’s power.‘He continued that he felt that as Cosgrove and I were also interested in the affair, the time had now come to take us into his confidence, in order to see if some joint action could not be taken to bring the matter to an end. He had not yet spoken to Cosgrove, but he suggested that on the following day, Monday, we should both go to town and have an interview with my cousin, after which he could go on and see Dale. We decided to travel separately, to meet at a little French restaurant in Soho, and to keep the matter perfectly private.’Austin once again paused and glanced round the little group. He was speaking quietly, but there was a ring of truth in his voice. Tanner, who sat checking his every statement in the light of what he had himself learnt, and watching like a lynx for discrepancies, had to admit to himself that the story they were hearing was consistent with the facts. If Austin could explain away all the damaging points in an equally convincing manner, the Inspector felt that the case against him might easily collapse.‘Early next morning I made the appointment with Cosgrove by telephone,’ Austin resumed, ‘and by different trains my father and I went to town. We took a private room at the restaurant, and there my father told Cosgrove. He was not so upset as I had been, and recommended refusing to meet Dale and letting him do his worst. Though the matter did not affect Cosgrove so closely as it did me, I would have agreed to this proposal, but for my mother and sister. After all, I thought, my father has plenty of money. He will not feel what he may give to this Dale, and there can be no doubt it would be better for all concerned if the affair remained a secret.‘The question then became, “How could we ensure that a further payment would really have the desired effect?”‘My father had a plan—a wild, unpractical, even farcical plan—or so it struck me at first. He said that as we could not adopt the only infallible scheme to silence Dale—to murder him—we must be content with one which promised at least a reasonable chance of success. He said the man was a coward, and that we must work on that. If we could frighten him enough we would get what we wanted, and by his plan he thought we could frighten him so much that he would not dare to reveal what he knew. The plan was as follows:‘My father was to see Dale the same afternoon, hand him £100 as a pledge of good faith, and promise to pay the annuity, though not for the amount claimed. The refusal was to be made more or less doubtfully so as to convey the impression to Dale’s mind that he had only to negotiate further and he would get what he wanted. In fact, the interview was to terminate with the principle agreed on, but the precise sum unsettled.‘ “But why do that?” interrupted Cosgrove. “If you pay the lump sum you lose your hold on him.”‘ “I think not,” returned my father. “It is part of my scheme that he should have a strong temptation to fall in with our wishes, and the annuity will provide that.”‘Cosgrove nodded, and my father went on with his explanation.‘Dale was to be told to get further figures from the insurance company, giving the cost of annuities for smaller annual amounts. At the same time another meeting would be arranged at which the matter would be settled and the money paid. My father was to explain to him that he didn’t want to make any more mysterious visits to town, and that Dale must therefore bring the information to Luce Manor. To keep the visit secret he was not to come to the house, but was to be at the boathouse at 9.30 in the evening, where my father would slip out and meet him. Owing to the fact that my mother and sister were going away on a visit on the following day, Tuesday, the meeting was provisionally fixed for Wednesday.‘Without letting Dale know, Cosgrove and I were also to be at the boathouse, and with our support my father was to take a strong line with Dale. The following proposition would be made him. My father would recognise the value of the secret, and would pay Dale, through some agency which would conceal his identity, a sum to the insurance company which would bring Dale in an annuity of about a pound a working day—say £320 per annum. This he would do on condition that Dale would give us an incriminating weapon against himself, which would take the value out of his secret, but which would not be used if he held his tongue. He was to sign a document stating that he was Edward Dale, not Tom; that he admitted having blackmailed my father by falsely representing himself as Tom; that he further admitted my father’s power and right to send him to penal servitude, but that he begged that on this full admission of guilt, coupled with an immediate and total cessation of all annoyance, my father would refrain from ruining and embittering the closing years of his life.‘ “He’ll never sign,” Cosgrove interrupted again.‘ “Wait a moment,” my father answered, and he went on to explain that if Dale refused to sign, he was to be threatened with immediate death by being tied up, gagged, and drowned in the water basin in the boathouse, it being explained to him that, after being unbound, his body would be sent down over the falls, whereby his death would be put down to accident.‘I was amazed at my father seriously suggesting such a proceeding, and I felt strongly opposed to it.‘ “No, no,” I cried, “we can’t do that,” and Cosgrove nodded his agreement.‘ “Why not?” my father queried, and set himself to overcome our scruples. He argued that if our objection was to making the man sign a false statement, we must remember it was only a bluff, and said that for the sake of my mother and sister we must be willing to do what we might otherwise reasonably object to. If, on the other hand, we were considering Dale’s feelings, we should not forget we were suggesting no harm to him—on the contrary we were about to offer him a large sum of money. The intention was not to injure him, but to prevent him injuring us.‘ “It’s not that,” said Cosgrove. “I don’t give a fig for the false statement, nor the man’s feelings either. As you say, he more than deserves far worse treatment than what you suggest. Nor do I care if the thing brings us within reach of the law—I would risk that for my aunt, and so would we all. But I don’t like your plan because it will not work.”‘ “Why not?” asked my father.‘ “Why not?” Cosgrove repeated. “Because Dale has only to inform the police of the whole affair. He would be believed. How would we account for our meeting here, to take one point only?”‘ “Ah,” my father rejoined, “you always go too fast. I meet that difficulty in two ways. If Dale informed, I would say he signed the confession when I saw him in London—I shall see him this afternoon—under my threat of otherwise immediately exposing his blackmail to the police. Secondly, alibis are easy to fake. Each of the three of us must work out a false alibi, so that we can deny the meeting in the boathousein toto.”‘ “No, no, I don’t like it,” Cosgrove demurred.‘ “None of us like it,” answered my father, “and I admit my plan is far from perfect. But can you suggest anything better?”‘I was even more strongly against the whole business than Cosgrove, and both of us began raising objections to it. We argued that even if we obtained the false confession, it would not ensure our immunity from annoyance. To this my father replied that that was where Dale’s cowardly nature came in. The man would not be sure how the confession would affect him if it fell into the hands of the police, and he would be afraid to risk its becoming known.‘We discussed the matter at great length, but neither Cosgrove nor I had an alternative proposal to offer, and at last my father persuaded us against our better judgment to fall in with his.‘I need not weary you by telling you all the arguments used, but at last the details were settled and we turned to the consideration of the false alibis.‘In my father’s case it was considered sufficient that there should be no evidence of the visit, lest overmuch proof of our statements should show an element of design. Owing to my mother and sister being from home, he would in the evening be left alone in his study, from which he could slip down to the river with the practical certainty of his absence being unnoticed.‘Cosgrove and I worked out the plans which, I believe, you know. Cosgrove’s required the help of his friend, Miss Belcher. Mine was dependent on footprints, and I proposed to report the alleged hoax played on me to the local police, so that these marks might be observed by them while still fresh.‘Our plans had taken nearly three hours to work out, and we parted at the restaurant door. Later in the evening my father telephoned—we had arranged club calls—that Wednesday night would suit Dale.’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.‘My father went on to point out that on his side he required an end of the annoyance, and explained about the confession. Dale then blustered and said he would see us all in a warm place before he signed. My father, still speaking very gently, said we would give him five minutes to make up his mind. He took a revolver from his pocket—he had previously shown us it was unloaded—and pointing it at Dale warned him that if he tried any tricks he would instantly be shot. And so we waited, my father calm and placid though keeping a wary eye on the other, Cosgrove nervous and smoking cigarette after cigarette, while I, also a little excited, kept pacing up and down the edge of the basin.‘At long last the five minutes was up and my father spoke.‘ “Well, Dale?” he queried.‘The man showed his teeth like an animal.‘ “I’ll see you in Hades first,” he snarled.‘At a sign from my father Cosgrove and I sprang forward and seized the blackmailer. He was, as you know, small and elderly, and weakened from drink, and he was like a child in our hands. I held him while Cosgrove tied his hands and feet, in each case with silk handkerchiefs which would leave no mark on the skin. He grew very white, and a look of terror shone in his eyes, but he would not give way, and we felt that we had still failed to make him believe we were in earnest. My father tried to frighten him still further. He spoke again in a matter-of-fact tone.‘ “You think, Dale, we’re not going to carry the thing through? I can assure you all the details have been carefully worked out. If you do not sign we shall make that anchor”—he indicated that belonging to the largest boat which was standing in the corner with its rope attached—“fast to your shoulders and lower you into the basin. After ten minutes we’ll pull your body up, take off the handkerchiefs, carry your body out in the boat and slip it overboard where it will be swept down over the falls. There will be nothing to indicate your death was not an accident. Then I may tell you for your information we have all arranged carefully planned false alibis, so that we can prove we were not here tonight at all. On the other hand, if you sign, you get your freedom, and here”—my father took a paper from his pocket and held it so that Dale could read it—“is a cheque for £3000 for your annuity. So now, do you still refuse?”‘ “Your scheme won’t wash,” growled Dale. “No one would believe I would sign such a confession except under compulsion.”‘ “Quite right,” my father answered. “We wouldn’t suggest that you did it of your own free will. I would explain that the compulsion I employed was a threat to hand you over to the police. Come now, we can’t spend the night here. Will you sign or will you not?”‘Dale did not move.‘ “Very well. Gag him and get the anchor on,” said my father.‘Cosgrove gagged him, while I brought over the anchor, and the two of us then made it fast to Dale’s shoulders.‘ “Now over with him.”‘We lifted our victim towards the edge. We intended really to duck him if he remained obdurate. But he didn’t. He couldn’t stand any more. Furiously he nodded his head.‘ “Stop,” said my father, and to Dale: “Do you agree?”‘The little man again nodded.‘We released him, and bringing him over to a shelf at the side of the room, gave him paper and ink and a draft of the confession, and ordered him to copy and sign it.‘The man was shivering with fright and rage, but he did as he was told. At last we had a weapon, which, we believed, would save us from further annoyance.‘ “Don’t imagine you can report this to the police,” my father warned him. “You would not be believed against our word and alibis, but we could prove the blackmail, and you would go to penal servitude. And now,” he went on, “we’ll deal as straight with you in the matter of payment. Here is a bearer cheque for £3000, which I hand to Mr Cosgrove Ponson. You and he can go up to town tonight, and he will cash it in the morning and hand you the money, seeing that you pay it into your bank and then send a cheque for it to the insurance company. The transaction will not therefore be traceable to me, as if any question arises Mr Cosgrove and I will swear the money was a gift from me to him to help to pay a pressing debt. That, I think, is everything.”‘It was just quarter to ten. The whole business had only taken little more than ten minutes, and now nothing remained but to slip away quietly from the boathouse and establish our alibis. And then suddenly occurred that frightful business which robbed my father of his life, and has caused all this sorrow and suffering and trouble to the remainder of us.’For the first time since he began to speak, Austin showed signs of emotion. He moved uneasily and seemed to find it difficult to continue. But he pulled himself together, and it was with a breathless interest that the others listened as he resumed.‘I suppose you know the plan of the boathouse?’ He paused, and Tanner nodded. ‘Then I needn’t describe it. Before the tragedy my father and Dale were standing facing each other at the angle of the L-shaped wharf, that is, close beside the corner of the basin. Cosgrove and I had been beside Dale, but on the conclusion of the business we had moved away. Cosgrove had unlocked the door and gone out to see that no one was in the vicinity, and I was engaged in raising the water gate preparatory to getting out my boat.‘My father was holding the confession in his hand, and it was probably the sight of it that gave Dale the idea that he might recover his lost hold on us. Presumably he thought he could seize the paper and bolt with it before either Cosgrove or I could stop him. However, be that as it may, I saw Dale suddenly spring forward and attempt to snatch the paper from my father’s hand. My father stepped quickly back. But as he did so, his heel caught in the rope by which my boat was moored, and he fell backwards, his head striking the granolithic floor with terrible force. He never moved again. We rushed forward, but he was dead.’Austin paused and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, while his hearers sat motionless, amazed beyond speech at this unexpecteddénouement. So this was the explanation of all these mysteries! No murder had been committed. The affair was an accident! If this story were true, the case against all these men would break down.But was it true? Tanner, at least, had his doubts. These men had shown considerable ingenuity in constructing false alibis. Maybe this story also was only a clever invention. But on the whole the Inspector was inclined to believe it. It certainly rang true, and it was consistent with what he had otherwise learnt.Austin had waited a moment, but now he continued:‘I need hardly say we were speechless from consternation. Our first thought was to run for help—Cosgrove to Luce Manor, while I took my boat across for Dr Graham. But this, we saw, would involve disclosing the secret, and we hurriedly consulted in the hope of finding a way of avoiding the revelation. And then it flashed across our minds what a dreadful position we ourselves occupied. Might we not be suspected of murder? Here we had come secretly to the boathouse, having devised elaborate alibis to prove ourselves elsewhere. Though these alibis were not completed, enough had been done to make the whole business exceedingly fishy. We recollected that both Cosgrove and I not only stood to gain fortunes by the death, but were also, both of us, in special need of money at the moment. Then it was known I did not get on well with my father …‘I need not elaborate the case; no doubt, Mr Tanner, you considered these matters before you arrested us. All I have to say is that we became panic-stricken and lost our heads. We made an appalling blunder. Instead of going for help and telling the truth, we decided to arrange the circumstances to suggest accident, and trust to our alibis in case suspicion should be aroused. It was so easy, for the plan had already been worked out to frighten Dale. We talked it over quickly, and thought we might improve on it.‘We saw at once that it would seem much more natural if we suggested that my father had taken out a boat of which he had lost control, and had been carried over the falls. The injuries the body would get in the rapids below, would, we imagined, account for the bruise on the back of the head. By throwing the oars into the water nearer the other side of the river, they would not go ashore with the boat, indicating that my father had lost them, and thus explaining the accident.‘The only thing unaccounted for was the motive which had caused my father to take out a boat at this hour. To meet this difficulty I made an entry in a small engagement book I found in his pocket, “Graham, 9.00 p.m.” I hoped it would be assumed he wished to make a private call on the doctor.‘There is little more to be told. We lifted the body into one of my father’s boats, and I towed it out and set it adrift, dropping the oars in some distance away. Then I returned to the Halford Clubhouse, knocked up the attendant, and called on Miss Drew, all as you know. About three in the morning I put on the shoes I had kept hidden, slipped out of the house and made the tracks to the Abbey ruin, returning without my absence having been noticed. I put the shoes back in their hiding-place and next day, having sent my man on an errand, I cleaned them and changed them for the other pair. This latter pair I afterwards destroyed. The pair which had made the traces at the Abbey (the sole of one of which I had marked) was thus left in my man’s charge, and he was prepared to swear—quite honestly—that they had only been out of his possession at the time of the alleged hoax. Is there anything else you wish to know?’Tanner asked a few questions, all of which Austin answered with the utmost readiness. Then, after receiving an assurance that his statement would receive the most careful attention of the authorities, the meeting came to an end. Austin was led out, and after a few words of conversation, Lois and Daunt took their leave.
That same evening Daunt paid his promised visit to Austin Ponson. He found his client seated despondently in his cell, his head resting on his hands. Like Dale, he had aged since his arrest. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes weary, and as he moved his head a suspicion of grey showed at his temples. His manner had lost its old ease and lightness, and it was evident that the crisis through which he was passing would leave its mark on him for many a day to come.
‘I have something for you, Mr Ponson,’ the solicitor said as he sat down and felt in his pocket for Lois’s letter. ‘You are to let me have an answer.’
Austin’s eyes lit up as he saw the handwriting, and he seized the note with eagerness. To let him read it in peace, Daunt drew some papers from his pocket and began to study them. But he hadn’t done so for many seconds when an exclamation drew his attention back to the other.
Austin Ponson had risen to his feet and was excitedly pacing the cell. He was a transformed man. A smile was on his lips, his eyes were shining, and his face had a rapt and beatific expression, like that of a man who sees a vision of angels.
‘My Heavens!’ he cried, ‘Whata girl! She’s beyond anything I could have imagined. One in a thousand millions! I can hardly realise it. I tell you, Daunt, if I never get out of this hell again, it’s been worth it. It would be worth any suffering to get such a letter. Tell her—But you can’t tell her. Nor I. No one could ever tell her what I feel.’
He paused and looked at the other, then resumed his hurried pacing.
‘I swear that if I get out of this place, I’ll make it up to her. I’ll live for her day and night, and for nothing else. She’ll never regret what she has done—that is,’ he sank into his chair and the dejected look returned to his face, ‘if I ever do get out.’
‘You forget, Mr Ponson, that I don’t know what’s in your note.’
Austin stared.
‘You don’t?’ he queried in surprise. ‘Why, she tells me the whole thing’s out—that Tom Dale has been found, and that she knows about my father’s marriage and my birth. And’—his face lit up and he spoke triumphantly—‘she says she doesn’t mind—that it will make no difference to’—he paused as if for a word, then concluded—‘her feelings towards me. What do you think of that?’
‘I congratulate you very heartily, Mr Ponson,’ Daunt replied, though with a mental reservation. ‘But I can assure you that so far as I am aware, the whole thing is anything but “out”. It is true the identity of William Douglas with Tom Dale has been discovered, and the effect his existence has on the validity of your father’s marriage is known. But that is all. No explanation of the murder has yet come to light. And, after all, that is really what matters.’
‘Has Dale admitted his identity?’
‘Yes.’
‘And has he made no statement about what took place in the boathouse?’
‘None. But, Mr Ponson, that remark implies to me that you were there yourself and know.’
Austin looked sharply at the speaker.
‘I didn’t say so,’ he answered dryly, ‘but—stop, let me think a moment.’
For some minutes silence reigned in the gloomy cell. To Daunt it had seemed as if his client was on the verge of a confession, and he wondered if one more sordid story was to be added to the list of those to which the grey walls of this grim apartment had in all probability listened. Austin sat motionless, his mind evidently engrossed with some problem, the solution of which eluded him. But at last he seemed to find it. Straightening himself up, he faced the solicitor.
‘This news you have brought makes a tremendous difference to me,’ he said. ‘From my point of view there is no longer any reason why the events of that tragic night should not be known. I have remained silent for two reasons. First, because of my mother. The thought of her learning that she was still the wife of that drunken scoundrel was more than I could bear. You’ll understand my feelings—the whole thing is so painful I hate to speak of it. Then there was another reason. I made the unforgivable blunder of being afraid to tell Miss Drew. I have paid for that already, and every bit of that payment I deserve ten times over. I distrusted her. I thought if the circumstances of my birth came out she might have nothing more to do with me. And I just couldn’t risk that. You see, it was not as if there had been any deliberate evil on my parents’ part. Both were utterly innocent, and even ignorant that anything was wrong. Therefore I could not see that I was called upon to chance the wrecking of my happiness on what was after all a mere technical matter only. God forgive me, I did not intend to tell that angel. I feared the stigma would remain. Well, I have suffered for it. As I ought to have known, she was above a petty feeling of that sort. I should have told her the moment I knew of the matter myself. I should have told Tanner everything at the start. Much trouble would have been saved. And now it may be too late. I may not be believed.’
‘I don’t know, of course, what you propose to tell,’ said Daunt as the other paused, ‘but as your legal adviser I should warn you to be very careful of what you say to anyone. If you care to tell your story to me, I shall be pleased to advise you as to what, if any of it, should be made public.’
‘I suppose that would be wisest,’ Austin returned, ‘but I have quite made up my mind. From the first I decided to tell all I knew if the secret of my parentage came out. That was the only reason for my silence. Indeed, I was coming to the conclusion I must tell in any case, even if I myself had to reveal it. I appreciate your offer and under other circumstances would gladly avail myself of your advice, but whatever the consequences, I am going to tell. But I by no means wish the affair to be made public. I want most of all to tell Miss Drew, I would like to tell you, and I must tell Tanner. If you will help me by making this possible, I will be for ever your debtor. One other thing, I should like Cosgrove to know my decision. It is only due to him. Can you arrange these matters?’
‘I think so. But I cannot but feel you may be making a mistake in not first taking, I don’t say my advice, but the advice of some legal man. I cannot move you on that point?’
‘My dear fellow,’ said Austin warmly, ‘there is no one whose advice I would take more readily than yours. But in this case we need not discuss it. If you will not help me to the interview I want, I will send for Tanner and tell him here.’
Daunt saw there was no more to be said. He waited till Austin had written his reply to Lois—a lengthy and complicated proceeding—then, promising he would see Tanner without delay, he left the cell.
Inspector Tanner was keenly interested by the news.
‘At last!’ he exclaimed in a satisfied tone. ‘We shall get the truth this time. He’s getting frightened. He’ll not bluff us any more.’
‘I don’t see that you’ve any right to say that,’ Daunt returned hotly. ‘It will be time enough to accuse him of lying when you hear what he has to say.’
Tanner smiled.
‘Very good, Mr Daunt. I’ll not say a word—till then.’
It was arranged that the proceedings of that morning should be repeated next day. Austin would be brought to Scotland Yard, and there in the presence of Lois, Daunt, Tanner, and a stenographer, he could make his statement.
At eleven o’clock next day Lois and Jimmy Daunt drove up to the Yard, and were shown without delay to Tanner’s room. There they met the Inspector and his Chief, Mr Edgar, who had expressed a wish to be present on this occasion also. At the desk was a shorthand writer.
It was cool in the grey walled room. The open window allowed a current of fresh air to flow gently in, carrying with it the subdued hum of the great city without. In the sunny courtyard the sparrows were twittering angrily, while a bluebottle buzzed endlessly up and down the window pane. The little group, after the first brief greetings, sat silent. Expectancy showed on every face, but whereas Tanner’s and the Chief Inspector’s also indicated satisfaction, uneasiness was marked on Daunt’s and positive apprehension on Lois’s. To her at least, the coming meeting with her lover was obviously no light ordeal. On it, as was evident to them all, largely depended the future happiness of both.
They had not waited long before a knock came to the door and a sergeant of police admitted Austin Ponson. The young man was dressed in a suit of navy blue, and bore himself quietly and with some dignity. In the bright light of the room the lines of suffering showed more clearly on his face, and his eyes looked still more weary.
Instantly on entering they swept over those present, fixing themselves immediately on Lois. In spite of an evident effort for self control, the light of an absolute adoration shone in them for a moment, then he withdrew them, bowed generally to the company, and sat down.
But this was not enough for Lois. She sprang to her feet, and going over to him, held out her hand. He rose and clasped it, and though neither would trust themselves to speak, they saw that in each other’s eyes which satisfied them.
Tanner with some delicacy busied himself for a few moments in giving directions to the stenographer, then turning to the others, he spoke.
‘I don’t think it is necessary, Miss Drew and gentlemen, for me to explain our presence here. Last night Mr Daunt intimated to me that Mr Ponson had a communication to make, at which he wished Miss Drew, Mr Daunt, and myself to be present. This meeting has therefore been arranged. I have only to make known to you, Mr Ponson, Chief Inspector Edgar’—he indicated his colleague—‘and to ask you to proceed with your statement. It is, of course, understood by you that you make it voluntarily and that it may be used against you?’
‘I understand that right enough, Inspector,’ began Austin, ‘and I wish to say I have no quarrel with your treatment of me. You have been fair all through.’
He paused, settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and went on:
‘The only thing I should like to ask is whether my cousin, Cosgrove, has been told that I am going to make this statement?’
‘He has been told,’ Tanner answered.
‘And may I learn if he was satisfied?’
‘He seemed so.’
‘Thank you. I am not quite sure how much of my story you know, but I shall tell you everything. When I have finished I shall have a request to make of you—that you will keep what I am about to tell private—but I do not know whether or not you will find that possible.’
Tanner nodded without speaking.
‘Of my early life,’ went on Austin, ‘I do not think I need say much. I expect’—he looked at Tanner—‘you know all about it. You know that, while we never had an open breach, my father and I did not pull well together. We looked at things from such different points of view that our intercourse only produced irritation. My father wished me to read for the bar with the idea of entering Parliament, and trying for a seat in the Ministry. I was not ambitious in that direction, but preferred literary work, and scientific research. Therefore, as you no doubt are aware, I found it irksome at home, and I set up my own establishment in Halford. But that we remained good friends was proved by my father’s moving to Luce Manor at my suggestion. With my mother I was always in sympathy. She was easygoing, and deferred without protest to my father’s decisions, but never at any time was there the slightest cloud between us. So things had gone on for years, and so they went on until this terrible business began.’
Austin moved nervously in his chair, glancing quickly round the little group.
‘On Sunday, 4th July,’ he resumed, ‘occurred the first event of this unhappy tragedy, so far as I was concerned. I received by that morning’s post a letter from my father, saying he wished to see me on very private business, and asking me to dine and spend that evening with him. He directed me to destroy his letter, and not refer to the matter to anyone.
‘Considerably surprised, I burnt the note, and duly went out to Luce Manor in time for dinner. When the meal was over my father and I retired to his study, and there when our cigars were alight, he said he had a very grievous and terrible secret to impart to me which would doubtless give me considerable pain. He locked the door, then sitting down he told me what I believe you already know.
‘ “My boy,” he said, “we have not perhaps pulled it off together as well as I could have wished, and when you hear what I have to tell you, I fear you may be tempted to think more bitterly of me than I deserve. But I can assure you on my honour, that in this terrible affair I acted in perfectly good faith all through. Until four years ago I was as ignorant as you are still that there was anything wrong.”
‘ “I don’t understand,” I said.
‘ “No,” he answered, “but you will soon.”
‘Then he told me of his early life, and that of the two Dales; of his falling in love with my mother, Ethel Osborne; of the rivalry between himself and Tom Dale for her hand; of Dale’s success; of the miserable married life of the couple; of Dale’s mission to Canada, and of his presumed death in theNumidiandisaster, and of my father’s own marriage with the widow. All this I had known more or less vaguely before, and I could not understand why my father recited the circumstances in such detail. But he soon made it clear to me.
‘ “As you know,” he went on, “your dear mother and I have lived happily together ever since. She had her time of suffering, but thank God, she has enjoyed her after-life, and please God, she shall never learn what I am about to tell you.”
‘ “Some four years ago,” continued my father, “I happened to be in London, and walking down Cheapside I met a man whose face seemed vaguely familiar. He was short and slight, with small features, rather delicately moulded, white hair, and a short goatee beard. He saw me at the same time, and his eyes fixed themselves on my face with an expression of almost incredulous recognition. For a few seconds we stood facing each other, while I racked my brains to recall his identity. And then suddenly I knew him. It was Tom Dale!”
‘My father paused, but for some seconds I did not grasp the full meaning of his statement. Then gradually its significance dawned on me. I need not repeat it. You have heard what it involved. I was appalled and horrified. Though upset on my own account, I ask you to believe that what distressed me most was its possible effect on my mother and sister. Of my mother I just couldn’t bear to think, and it also hurt me beyond words to believe that any such secret should have power to throw a shadow over Enid’s life.’
‘Did you speak to your father on this particular point?’ Tanner interjected.
‘Speak? I should rather think so. I was beside myself with horror.’
‘Can you recollect the exact words you used?’
Austin considered.
‘I hardly think so,’ he said at last, ‘though every detail of the scene is fixed in my memory; I said as the thing began to dawn on me, “And my mother—it can’t be that she—?” I did not wish to speak the words, and my father completed my sentence for me. “Yes,” he said, “there’s no escape from it; she is the wife of that drunken ruffian.” Then I cried, “Good Heavens! She can’t be,” or something to that effect, and he answered that it was only too true.’
‘Might the words you used have been, “My God, sir, she isn’t?” ’
‘Yes, I believe those were the words. That was the sense anyway.’
‘Continue, please.’
‘It appeared that upon their recognition there was a scene between my father and Dale. Eventually, however, they took a private room at a neighbouring bar, and there talked the matter over. Then to my father’s amazement it came out that Dale had not known of my mother’s second marriage. But when the latter realised how matters stood, his manner changed. He said it was my father, and not himself, who had come within the reach of the law, and that if the affair became known, even if my father escaped imprisonment, he would still have public opinion to reckon with. Was he prepared to face the scandal?
‘My father was not. His good name and that of his family were very precious to him. In his agitation he did a weak thing. He offered to buy Dale’s silence.
‘My father then told of his negotiations with Dale, with the details of which I think I need hardly trouble you. Suffice it to say that Dale put on the screw and got several hundreds that year. But that did not satisfy him. His demands grew more and more outrageous till at last my father came to the conclusion that some step must be taken to rid himself of the incubus.
‘ “It is not the actual money he is now getting,” said my father, “it is the uncertainty under which I am living that is making me ill. He will continue to bleed me, and after I am gone he will bleed your mother and yourself, and perhaps Enid. Besides, we don’t know if he really will preserve the secret. I have been thinking for some time that I must tell you and Cosgrove the whole story, so that we may devise some plan to protect ourselves, but now events have been precipitated by a fresh demand from Dale. Read that.”
‘My father handed me a letter headed “Myrtle Cottage, Yelverton, South Devon”. It was from Dale, and in it he said the existing arrangements with my father were unsatisfactory, that instead of a hundred or two now and then, he would rather have one large sum which should close the account between them. He demanded my father should buy him an annuity which should bring him in £500 a year for life. In peremptory words he required an immediate answer, adding that he was coming to town that day and would stay in a small hotel near Gower Street, where my father could see him.
‘That letter had come on the previous Thursday, and on the Saturday—that was the day before our interview—my father had gone to town and seen Dale. The man, it seemed, had been more truculent and overbearing than ever before, and had presented what amounted to an ultimatum. Either he would have the money for his annuity, or he would tell. After a long wrangle my father had promised to consider the matter until the following Monday, when he would see Dale again and let him know his decision.
‘My father went on to say he would willingly pay the demand to be rid of the whole business, but his difficulty was, of course, that he had no guarantee the payment would rid him of it. He would still be, to precisely the same extent, in Dale’s power.
‘He continued that he felt that as Cosgrove and I were also interested in the affair, the time had now come to take us into his confidence, in order to see if some joint action could not be taken to bring the matter to an end. He had not yet spoken to Cosgrove, but he suggested that on the following day, Monday, we should both go to town and have an interview with my cousin, after which he could go on and see Dale. We decided to travel separately, to meet at a little French restaurant in Soho, and to keep the matter perfectly private.’
Austin once again paused and glanced round the little group. He was speaking quietly, but there was a ring of truth in his voice. Tanner, who sat checking his every statement in the light of what he had himself learnt, and watching like a lynx for discrepancies, had to admit to himself that the story they were hearing was consistent with the facts. If Austin could explain away all the damaging points in an equally convincing manner, the Inspector felt that the case against him might easily collapse.
‘Early next morning I made the appointment with Cosgrove by telephone,’ Austin resumed, ‘and by different trains my father and I went to town. We took a private room at the restaurant, and there my father told Cosgrove. He was not so upset as I had been, and recommended refusing to meet Dale and letting him do his worst. Though the matter did not affect Cosgrove so closely as it did me, I would have agreed to this proposal, but for my mother and sister. After all, I thought, my father has plenty of money. He will not feel what he may give to this Dale, and there can be no doubt it would be better for all concerned if the affair remained a secret.
‘The question then became, “How could we ensure that a further payment would really have the desired effect?”
‘My father had a plan—a wild, unpractical, even farcical plan—or so it struck me at first. He said that as we could not adopt the only infallible scheme to silence Dale—to murder him—we must be content with one which promised at least a reasonable chance of success. He said the man was a coward, and that we must work on that. If we could frighten him enough we would get what we wanted, and by his plan he thought we could frighten him so much that he would not dare to reveal what he knew. The plan was as follows:
‘My father was to see Dale the same afternoon, hand him £100 as a pledge of good faith, and promise to pay the annuity, though not for the amount claimed. The refusal was to be made more or less doubtfully so as to convey the impression to Dale’s mind that he had only to negotiate further and he would get what he wanted. In fact, the interview was to terminate with the principle agreed on, but the precise sum unsettled.
‘ “But why do that?” interrupted Cosgrove. “If you pay the lump sum you lose your hold on him.”
‘ “I think not,” returned my father. “It is part of my scheme that he should have a strong temptation to fall in with our wishes, and the annuity will provide that.”
‘Cosgrove nodded, and my father went on with his explanation.
‘Dale was to be told to get further figures from the insurance company, giving the cost of annuities for smaller annual amounts. At the same time another meeting would be arranged at which the matter would be settled and the money paid. My father was to explain to him that he didn’t want to make any more mysterious visits to town, and that Dale must therefore bring the information to Luce Manor. To keep the visit secret he was not to come to the house, but was to be at the boathouse at 9.30 in the evening, where my father would slip out and meet him. Owing to the fact that my mother and sister were going away on a visit on the following day, Tuesday, the meeting was provisionally fixed for Wednesday.
‘Without letting Dale know, Cosgrove and I were also to be at the boathouse, and with our support my father was to take a strong line with Dale. The following proposition would be made him. My father would recognise the value of the secret, and would pay Dale, through some agency which would conceal his identity, a sum to the insurance company which would bring Dale in an annuity of about a pound a working day—say £320 per annum. This he would do on condition that Dale would give us an incriminating weapon against himself, which would take the value out of his secret, but which would not be used if he held his tongue. He was to sign a document stating that he was Edward Dale, not Tom; that he admitted having blackmailed my father by falsely representing himself as Tom; that he further admitted my father’s power and right to send him to penal servitude, but that he begged that on this full admission of guilt, coupled with an immediate and total cessation of all annoyance, my father would refrain from ruining and embittering the closing years of his life.
‘ “He’ll never sign,” Cosgrove interrupted again.
‘ “Wait a moment,” my father answered, and he went on to explain that if Dale refused to sign, he was to be threatened with immediate death by being tied up, gagged, and drowned in the water basin in the boathouse, it being explained to him that, after being unbound, his body would be sent down over the falls, whereby his death would be put down to accident.
‘I was amazed at my father seriously suggesting such a proceeding, and I felt strongly opposed to it.
‘ “No, no,” I cried, “we can’t do that,” and Cosgrove nodded his agreement.
‘ “Why not?” my father queried, and set himself to overcome our scruples. He argued that if our objection was to making the man sign a false statement, we must remember it was only a bluff, and said that for the sake of my mother and sister we must be willing to do what we might otherwise reasonably object to. If, on the other hand, we were considering Dale’s feelings, we should not forget we were suggesting no harm to him—on the contrary we were about to offer him a large sum of money. The intention was not to injure him, but to prevent him injuring us.
‘ “It’s not that,” said Cosgrove. “I don’t give a fig for the false statement, nor the man’s feelings either. As you say, he more than deserves far worse treatment than what you suggest. Nor do I care if the thing brings us within reach of the law—I would risk that for my aunt, and so would we all. But I don’t like your plan because it will not work.”
‘ “Why not?” asked my father.
‘ “Why not?” Cosgrove repeated. “Because Dale has only to inform the police of the whole affair. He would be believed. How would we account for our meeting here, to take one point only?”
‘ “Ah,” my father rejoined, “you always go too fast. I meet that difficulty in two ways. If Dale informed, I would say he signed the confession when I saw him in London—I shall see him this afternoon—under my threat of otherwise immediately exposing his blackmail to the police. Secondly, alibis are easy to fake. Each of the three of us must work out a false alibi, so that we can deny the meeting in the boathousein toto.”
‘ “No, no, I don’t like it,” Cosgrove demurred.
‘ “None of us like it,” answered my father, “and I admit my plan is far from perfect. But can you suggest anything better?”
‘I was even more strongly against the whole business than Cosgrove, and both of us began raising objections to it. We argued that even if we obtained the false confession, it would not ensure our immunity from annoyance. To this my father replied that that was where Dale’s cowardly nature came in. The man would not be sure how the confession would affect him if it fell into the hands of the police, and he would be afraid to risk its becoming known.
‘We discussed the matter at great length, but neither Cosgrove nor I had an alternative proposal to offer, and at last my father persuaded us against our better judgment to fall in with his.
‘I need not weary you by telling you all the arguments used, but at last the details were settled and we turned to the consideration of the false alibis.
‘In my father’s case it was considered sufficient that there should be no evidence of the visit, lest overmuch proof of our statements should show an element of design. Owing to my mother and sister being from home, he would in the evening be left alone in his study, from which he could slip down to the river with the practical certainty of his absence being unnoticed.
‘Cosgrove and I worked out the plans which, I believe, you know. Cosgrove’s required the help of his friend, Miss Belcher. Mine was dependent on footprints, and I proposed to report the alleged hoax played on me to the local police, so that these marks might be observed by them while still fresh.
‘Our plans had taken nearly three hours to work out, and we parted at the restaurant door. Later in the evening my father telephoned—we had arranged club calls—that Wednesday night would suit Dale.’
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.
‘My father went on to point out that on his side he required an end of the annoyance, and explained about the confession. Dale then blustered and said he would see us all in a warm place before he signed. My father, still speaking very gently, said we would give him five minutes to make up his mind. He took a revolver from his pocket—he had previously shown us it was unloaded—and pointing it at Dale warned him that if he tried any tricks he would instantly be shot. And so we waited, my father calm and placid though keeping a wary eye on the other, Cosgrove nervous and smoking cigarette after cigarette, while I, also a little excited, kept pacing up and down the edge of the basin.
‘At long last the five minutes was up and my father spoke.
‘ “Well, Dale?” he queried.
‘The man showed his teeth like an animal.
‘ “I’ll see you in Hades first,” he snarled.
‘At a sign from my father Cosgrove and I sprang forward and seized the blackmailer. He was, as you know, small and elderly, and weakened from drink, and he was like a child in our hands. I held him while Cosgrove tied his hands and feet, in each case with silk handkerchiefs which would leave no mark on the skin. He grew very white, and a look of terror shone in his eyes, but he would not give way, and we felt that we had still failed to make him believe we were in earnest. My father tried to frighten him still further. He spoke again in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘ “You think, Dale, we’re not going to carry the thing through? I can assure you all the details have been carefully worked out. If you do not sign we shall make that anchor”—he indicated that belonging to the largest boat which was standing in the corner with its rope attached—“fast to your shoulders and lower you into the basin. After ten minutes we’ll pull your body up, take off the handkerchiefs, carry your body out in the boat and slip it overboard where it will be swept down over the falls. There will be nothing to indicate your death was not an accident. Then I may tell you for your information we have all arranged carefully planned false alibis, so that we can prove we were not here tonight at all. On the other hand, if you sign, you get your freedom, and here”—my father took a paper from his pocket and held it so that Dale could read it—“is a cheque for £3000 for your annuity. So now, do you still refuse?”
‘ “Your scheme won’t wash,” growled Dale. “No one would believe I would sign such a confession except under compulsion.”
‘ “Quite right,” my father answered. “We wouldn’t suggest that you did it of your own free will. I would explain that the compulsion I employed was a threat to hand you over to the police. Come now, we can’t spend the night here. Will you sign or will you not?”
‘Dale did not move.
‘ “Very well. Gag him and get the anchor on,” said my father.
‘Cosgrove gagged him, while I brought over the anchor, and the two of us then made it fast to Dale’s shoulders.
‘ “Now over with him.”
‘We lifted our victim towards the edge. We intended really to duck him if he remained obdurate. But he didn’t. He couldn’t stand any more. Furiously he nodded his head.
‘ “Stop,” said my father, and to Dale: “Do you agree?”
‘The little man again nodded.
‘We released him, and bringing him over to a shelf at the side of the room, gave him paper and ink and a draft of the confession, and ordered him to copy and sign it.
‘The man was shivering with fright and rage, but he did as he was told. At last we had a weapon, which, we believed, would save us from further annoyance.
‘ “Don’t imagine you can report this to the police,” my father warned him. “You would not be believed against our word and alibis, but we could prove the blackmail, and you would go to penal servitude. And now,” he went on, “we’ll deal as straight with you in the matter of payment. Here is a bearer cheque for £3000, which I hand to Mr Cosgrove Ponson. You and he can go up to town tonight, and he will cash it in the morning and hand you the money, seeing that you pay it into your bank and then send a cheque for it to the insurance company. The transaction will not therefore be traceable to me, as if any question arises Mr Cosgrove and I will swear the money was a gift from me to him to help to pay a pressing debt. That, I think, is everything.”
‘It was just quarter to ten. The whole business had only taken little more than ten minutes, and now nothing remained but to slip away quietly from the boathouse and establish our alibis. And then suddenly occurred that frightful business which robbed my father of his life, and has caused all this sorrow and suffering and trouble to the remainder of us.’
For the first time since he began to speak, Austin showed signs of emotion. He moved uneasily and seemed to find it difficult to continue. But he pulled himself together, and it was with a breathless interest that the others listened as he resumed.
‘I suppose you know the plan of the boathouse?’ He paused, and Tanner nodded. ‘Then I needn’t describe it. Before the tragedy my father and Dale were standing facing each other at the angle of the L-shaped wharf, that is, close beside the corner of the basin. Cosgrove and I had been beside Dale, but on the conclusion of the business we had moved away. Cosgrove had unlocked the door and gone out to see that no one was in the vicinity, and I was engaged in raising the water gate preparatory to getting out my boat.
‘My father was holding the confession in his hand, and it was probably the sight of it that gave Dale the idea that he might recover his lost hold on us. Presumably he thought he could seize the paper and bolt with it before either Cosgrove or I could stop him. However, be that as it may, I saw Dale suddenly spring forward and attempt to snatch the paper from my father’s hand. My father stepped quickly back. But as he did so, his heel caught in the rope by which my boat was moored, and he fell backwards, his head striking the granolithic floor with terrible force. He never moved again. We rushed forward, but he was dead.’
Austin paused and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, while his hearers sat motionless, amazed beyond speech at this unexpecteddénouement. So this was the explanation of all these mysteries! No murder had been committed. The affair was an accident! If this story were true, the case against all these men would break down.
But was it true? Tanner, at least, had his doubts. These men had shown considerable ingenuity in constructing false alibis. Maybe this story also was only a clever invention. But on the whole the Inspector was inclined to believe it. It certainly rang true, and it was consistent with what he had otherwise learnt.
Austin had waited a moment, but now he continued:
‘I need hardly say we were speechless from consternation. Our first thought was to run for help—Cosgrove to Luce Manor, while I took my boat across for Dr Graham. But this, we saw, would involve disclosing the secret, and we hurriedly consulted in the hope of finding a way of avoiding the revelation. And then it flashed across our minds what a dreadful position we ourselves occupied. Might we not be suspected of murder? Here we had come secretly to the boathouse, having devised elaborate alibis to prove ourselves elsewhere. Though these alibis were not completed, enough had been done to make the whole business exceedingly fishy. We recollected that both Cosgrove and I not only stood to gain fortunes by the death, but were also, both of us, in special need of money at the moment. Then it was known I did not get on well with my father …
‘I need not elaborate the case; no doubt, Mr Tanner, you considered these matters before you arrested us. All I have to say is that we became panic-stricken and lost our heads. We made an appalling blunder. Instead of going for help and telling the truth, we decided to arrange the circumstances to suggest accident, and trust to our alibis in case suspicion should be aroused. It was so easy, for the plan had already been worked out to frighten Dale. We talked it over quickly, and thought we might improve on it.
‘We saw at once that it would seem much more natural if we suggested that my father had taken out a boat of which he had lost control, and had been carried over the falls. The injuries the body would get in the rapids below, would, we imagined, account for the bruise on the back of the head. By throwing the oars into the water nearer the other side of the river, they would not go ashore with the boat, indicating that my father had lost them, and thus explaining the accident.
‘The only thing unaccounted for was the motive which had caused my father to take out a boat at this hour. To meet this difficulty I made an entry in a small engagement book I found in his pocket, “Graham, 9.00 p.m.” I hoped it would be assumed he wished to make a private call on the doctor.
‘There is little more to be told. We lifted the body into one of my father’s boats, and I towed it out and set it adrift, dropping the oars in some distance away. Then I returned to the Halford Clubhouse, knocked up the attendant, and called on Miss Drew, all as you know. About three in the morning I put on the shoes I had kept hidden, slipped out of the house and made the tracks to the Abbey ruin, returning without my absence having been noticed. I put the shoes back in their hiding-place and next day, having sent my man on an errand, I cleaned them and changed them for the other pair. This latter pair I afterwards destroyed. The pair which had made the traces at the Abbey (the sole of one of which I had marked) was thus left in my man’s charge, and he was prepared to swear—quite honestly—that they had only been out of his possession at the time of the alleged hoax. Is there anything else you wish to know?’
Tanner asked a few questions, all of which Austin answered with the utmost readiness. Then, after receiving an assurance that his statement would receive the most careful attention of the authorities, the meeting came to an end. Austin was led out, and after a few words of conversation, Lois and Daunt took their leave.