From Friday morning until the following Tuesday noon, moving amid such
scenes as previously had so exhilarated and enthralled him, Clyde was
now compelled to suffer the most frightful fears and dreads. For,
although met by Sondra, as well as Bertine, at the door of the Cranston
lodge, and shown by them to the room he was to occupy, he could not
help but contrast every present delight here with the danger of his
immediate and complete destruction.
As he had entered, Sondra had poutingly whispered, so that Bertine
might not hear: "Baddie! Staying down there a whole week when you might
have been up here. And Sondra planning everything for you! You ought to
have a good spanking. I was going to call up to-day to see where you
were." Yet at the same time her eyes conveying the infatuation that now
dominated her.
And he, in spite of his troubled thoughts achieving a gay smile,--for
once in her presence even the terror of Roberta's death, his
own present danger appeared to dwindle. If only all went well,
now,--nothing were traced to him! A clear path! A marvelous future! Her
beauty! Her love! Her wealth. And yet, after being ushered to his room,
his bag having been carried in before him, at once becoming nervous as
to the suit. It was damp and wrinkled. He must hide it on one of the
upper shelves of a closet, maybe. And the moment he was alone and the
door locked, taking it out, wet and wrinkled, the mud of the shores of
Big Bittern still about the legs--yet deciding perhaps not--perhaps he
had better keep it locked in his bag until night when he could better
decide what to do. Yet tying up in a single bundle, in order to have
them laundered, other odds and ends he had worn that day. And, as he
did so, terribly, sickeningly conscious of the mystery and drama as
well as the pathos of his life--all he had contacted since his arrival
in the east, how little he had in his youth. How little he had now,
really. The spaciousness and grandeur of this room as contrasted with
the one he occupied in Lycurgus. The strangeness of his being here at
all after yesterday. The blue waters of this bright lake without as
contrasted with the darker ones of Big Bittern. And on the green-sward
that reached from this bright, strong, rambling house, with its wide
veranda and striped awnings to the shore of the lake itself, Stuart
Finchley and Violet Taylor, together with Frank Harriet and Wynette
Phant, in the smartest of sport clothes, playing tennis, while Bertine
and Harley Baggott lolled in the shade of a striped marquee swing.
And, he himself, after bathing and dressing, assuming a jocular air
although his nerves remained tense and his mood apprehensive. And then
descending to where Sondra and Burchard Taylor and Jill Trumbull were
laughing over some amusing experiences in connection with motor-boating
the day before. Jill Trumbull called to him as he came out: "Hello,
Clyde! Been playing hookey or what? I haven't seen you in I don't know
when." And he, after smiling wistfully at Sondra, craving as never
before her sympathy as well as her affection, drawing himself up on the
railing of the veranda and replying, as smoothly as he could: "Been
working over at Albany since Tuesday. Hot down there. It's certainly
fine to be up here to-day. Who's all up?" And Jill Trumbull, smiling:
"Oh, nearly every one, I guess. I saw Vanda over at the Randalls'
yesterday. And Scott wrote Bertine he was coming to the Point next
Tuesday. It looks to me as though no one was going over to Greenwood
much this year." And then a long and intense discussion as to why
Greenwood was no longer what it had been. And then Sondra exclaiming:
"That reminds me! I have to phone Bella to-day. She promised to come
up to that horse show over at Bristol week after next, sure." And then
more talk of horses and dogs. And Clyde, listening intently in his
anxiety to seem an integral part of it all, yet brooding on all that
so desperately concerned him. Those three men. Roberta. Maybe they
had found her body by now--who could tell, yet saying to himself--why
so fearsome? Was it likely that in that depth of water--fifty feet
maybe, for all he knew--that they would find her? Or that they could
ever identify him with Clifford Golden or Carl Graham? How could they?
Hadn't he really and truly covered his tracks except for those three
men? _Those three men!_ He shivered, as with cold, in spite of himself.
And then Sondra, sensing a note of depression about him. (She had
determined from his obvious lack of equipment on his first visit that
perhaps the want of money was at the bottom of his present mood,
and so proposed later this day to extract seventy-five dollars from
her purse and force that upon him in order that at no point where
petty expenditures should be required, should he feel the least bit
embarrassed during his stay this time.) And after a few moments,
thinking of the short golf course, with its variety of concealing
hazards for unseen kisses and embraces, she now jumped up with: "Who's
for a mixed foursome? Come on, Jill, Clyde, Burch! I'll bet Clyde and I
can turn in a lower card than you two can!"
"I'll take that!" exclaimed Burchard Taylor, rising and straightening
his yellow and blue striped sweater, "even if I didn't get in until
four this morning. How about you, Jilly? If you want to make that for
the lunches, Sonny, I'll take it."
And at once Clyde wincing and chilling, for he was thinking of the
miserable twenty-five dollars left him from all his recent ghastly
adventures. And a lunch for four here would cost not less than eight
or ten dollars! Perhaps more. At the same time, Sondra, noting his
expression, exclaimed: "That's a go!" and drawing near to Clyde tapped
him gently with her toe, exclaiming: "But I have to change. I'll be
right down. In the meantime, Clyde, I'll tell you what you do--go and
find Andrew and tell him to get the clubs, will you? We can go over
in your boat, can't we, Burchy?" And Clyde, hurrying to find Andrew,
and thinking of the probable cost of the lunch if he and Sondra were
defeated, but being caught up with by Sondra and seized by the arm.
"Wait a minute, honey, I'll be right back." Then dashing up the steps
to her room, and in a moment down again, a handful of bills she had
reserved shut tightly in her little fist: "Here, darling, quick!" she
whispered, taking hold of one of Clyde's coat pockets and putting the
money into it. "Ssh! Not a word, now! Hurry! It's to pay for the lunch
in case we lose, and some other things. I'll tell you afterwards. Oh,
but I do love you, baby boy!" And then, her warm, brown eyes fixed on
him for a moment in profound admiration, dashing up the stairs again,
from where she called: "Don't stand there, silly! Get the golf clubs!
The golf clubs!" And she was gone.
And Clyde, feeling his pocket and realizing that she had given him
much--plenty, no doubt, for all of his needs while here, as well as to
escape if need be. And exclaiming to himself: "Darling!" "Baby girl!"
His beautiful, warm, generous Sondra! She loved him so--truly loved
him. But if ever she should find out! Oh, God! And yet all for her, if
she only knew. All for her! And then finding Andrew and returning with
him carrying the bags.
And here was Sondra again, dancing down in a smart green knitted sports
costume. And Jill in a new cap and blouse which made her look like
a jockey, laughing at Burchard who was at the wheel of the boat. And
Sondra calling back to Bertine and Harley Baggott in the swing as she
was passing: "Hey, fellows! You won't come, eh?"
"Where?"
"Casino Golf Club."
"Oh, too far. See you after lunch on the beach, though."
And then Burchard shooting the boat out in the lake with a whir that
set it bounding like a porpoise--and Clyde gazing half in a dream, half
delight and hope and the other half a cloud of shadow and terror, with
arrest and death, maybe, stalking close behind. For in spite of all
his preliminary planning, he was beginning to feel that he had made a
mistake in openly coming out of the wood this morning. And yet had it
not been best, since the only alternative was that of remaining there
by day and coming out at night and following the shore road on foot to
Sharon? That would have required two or three days. And Sondra, anxious
as well as curious about the delay, might have telephoned to Lycurgus,
thereby raising some question in regard to him which might have proved
dangerous later might it not?
But here now, this bright day, with seemingly no cares of any kind, for
these others at least, however dark and bleak his own background might
be. And Sondra, all gayety because of his presence, now jumping up,
her bright scarf held aloft in one hand like a pennant, and exclaiming
foolishly and gayly: "Cleopatra sailing to meet--to meet--who was it
she was sailing to meet, anyhow?"
"Charlie Chaplin," volunteered Taylor, at the same time proceeding to
ricochet the boat as roughly and erratically as possible in order to
make her lose her balance.
"Oh, you silly!" returned Sondra, spreading her feet sufficiently apart
to maintain her equilibrium, and adding for the benefit of Burchard:
"No, you don't either, Burchy," then continuing: "Cleopatra sailing,
a-a-oh, I know, aquaplaning," and throwing her head back and her arms
wide, while the boat continued to jump and lurch like a frightened
horse.
"See if you can upset me now, Burchy," she called.
And Buchard, throwing the boat from side to side as swiftly as he
dared, with Jill Trumbull, anxious for her own safety, calling: "Oh,
say, what do you want to do? Drown us all?" at which Clyde winced and
blanched as though struck.
At once he felt sick, weak. He had never imagined that it was going to
be like this; that he was going to suffer so. He had imagined that
it was all going to be different. And yet here he was, blanching at
every accidental and unintended word! Why, if he were put to any real
test--an officer descending on him unexpectedly and asking him where he
had been yesterday and what he knew of Roberta's death--why, he would
mumble, shiver, not be able to talk, maybe--and so give his whole case
away wouldn't he! He must brace up, try to look natural, happy--mustn't
he--for this first day at least.
Fortunately in the speed and excitement of the play, the others seemed
not to notice the startling effect of the remark upon him, and he
managed by degrees to recover his outward composure. Then the launch
approached the Casino and Sondra, wishing to execute some last showy
stunt, jumped up and catching the rail pulled herself up, while the
boat rolled past only to reverse later. And Clyde, because of a happy
smile in his direction, was seized by an uncontrollable desire for
her--her love, sympathy, generosity, courage. And so now, to match her
smiles, he jumped up and after assisting Jill to the steps, quickly
climbed up after her, pretending a gayety and enthusiasm that was as
hollow inwardly as outwardly it was accurate.
"Gee! Some athlete you are!"
And then on the links a little later with her, and under her guidance
and direction, playing as successful a game as it was possible with
his little experience and as troubled as he was. And she, because of
the great delight of having him all to herself in shadowy hazards
where they might kiss and embrace, beginning to tell him of a proposed
camping trip which she, Frank Harriet, Wynette Phant, Burchard Taylor,
her brother Stuart, Grant Cranston and Bertine, as well as Harley
Baggott, Perly Hayes, Jill Trumbull and Violet Taylor, had been
organizing for a week, and which was to begin on the morrow afternoon,
with a motor trip thirty miles up the lake and then forty miles east
to a lake known as Bear, along which, with tents and equipment, they
were to canoe to certain beaches and scenes known only to Harley and
Frank. Different days, different points. The boys would kill squirrels
and catch fish for food. Also there would be moonlight trips to an inn
that could be reached by boat, so they said. A servant or two or three
from different homes was to accompany them, as well as a chaperon or
two. But, oh, the walks in the woods! The opportunities for love--canoe
trips on the lake--hours of uninterrupted love-making for at least a
week!
In spite of all that had occurred thus far to give him pause, he could
not help thinking that whatever happened, was it not best to go? How
wonderful to have her love him so! And what else here could he do? It
would take him out of this, would it not--farther and farther from the
scene of the--of the--accident and in case any one were looking for any
one who looked like him, for instance--well, he would not be around
where he could be seen and commented upon. _Those three men._
Yet, as it now instantly occurred to him, under no circumstances must
he leave here without first finding out as definitely as possible
whether any one was as yet suspected. And once at the Casino, and for
the moment left alone, he learned on inquiring at the news stand that
there would be no Albany, Utica, or any local afternoon paper here
until seven or seven-thirty. He must wait until then to know.
And so although after the lunch there was swimming and dancing, then a
return to the Cranstons with Harley Baggott and Bertine--Sondra going
to Pine Point, with an agreement to meet him afterwards at the Harriets
for dinner--still his mind was on the business of getting these papers
at the first possible opportunity. Yet unless, as he now saw, he was so
fortunate as to be able to stop on his way from the Cranstons' to the
Harriets' and so obtain one or all, he must manage to come over to this
Casino in the morning before leaving for Bear Lake. He must have them.
He must know what, if anything, was either being said or done so far in
regard to that drowned couple.
* * * * *
But on his way to Harriets' he was not able to get the papers. They
had not come. And none at the Harriets' either, when he first arrived.
Yet sitting on the veranda about a half hour later, talking with the
others although brooding as to all this, Sondra herself appeared and
said: "Oh, say, people! I've got something to tell you. Two people
were drowned this morning or yesterday up at Big Bittern, so Blanche
Locke was telling me just now over the phone. She's up at Three Mile
Bay to-day and she says they've found the body of the girl but not the
man yet. They were drowned in the south part of the lake somewhere, she
said."
At once Clyde sat up, rigid and white, his lips a bloodless line, his
eyes fixed not on anything here but rather the distant scene at Big
Bittern---the tall pines, the dark water closing over Roberta. Then
they had found her body. And now would they believe that his body was
down there, too, as he had planned? But, listen! He must hear in spite
of his dizziness.
"Gee, that's tough!" observed Burchard Taylor, stopping his strumming
on a mandolin. "Anybody we know?"
"She says she didn't hear yet."
"I never did like that lake," put in Frank Harriet. "It's too lonely.
Dad and I and Mr. Randall were up there fishing last summer, but we
didn't stay long. It's too gloomy."
"We were up there three weeks ago--don't you remember, Sondra?" added
Harley Baggott. "You didn't care for it."
"Yes, I remember," replied Sondra. "A dreadfully lonely place. I can't
imagine any one wanting to go up there for anything."
"Well, I only hope it isn't any one we know from around here," added
Burchard, thoughtfully. "It would put a crimp in the fun around here
for a while, anyhow."
And Clyde unconsciously wet his dry lips with his tongue and swallowed
to moisten his already dry throat.
"I don't suppose any of to-day's papers would have anything about it
yet. Has any one looked?" inquired Wynette Phant, who had not heard
Sondra's opening remark.
"There ain't no papers," commented Burchard Taylor. "Besides, it's not
likely yet, didn't Sondra say she just heard it from Blanche Locke over
the phone? She's up near there."
"Oh, yes, that's right."
And yet might not that small local afternoon paper of Sharon--_The
Banner_, wasn't it--have something as to this? If only he could see it
yet to-night!
But another thought! For Heaven's sake! It came to him now for the
first time. His footprints! Were there any in the mud of that shore? He
had not even stopped to look, climbing out so hastily as he did. And
might there not have been? And then would they not know and proceed
to follow him--the man those three men saw? Clifford Golden! That
ride down this morning. His going out to the Cranstons' in their car.
That wet suit over in the room at the Cranstons'! Had any one in his
absence been in his room as yet to look, examine, inquire--open his
bag, maybe? An officer? God! It was there in his bag. But why in his
bag or anywhere else near him now? Why had he not hidden it before
this--thrown it in the lake here, maybe, with a stone in it? That would
keep it down. God! What was he thinking in the face of such a desperate
situation as this? Supposing he did need the suit!
He was now up, standing--mentally and physically frozen really--his
eyes touched with a stony glaze for the moment. He must get out of
here. He must go back there, at once, and dispose of that suit--drop
it in the lake--hide it somewhere in those woods beyond the house! And
yet--he could not do that so swiftly, either--leave so instantly after
this light conversation about the drowning of those two people. How
would that look?
And as instantly there came the thought--no--be calm--show no trace of
excitement of any kind, if you can manage it--appear cool--make some
unimportant remark, if you can.
And so now, mustering what nervous strength he had, and drawing
near to Sondra, he said: "Too bad, eh?" Yet in a voice that for all
its thinly-achieved normality was on the borderline of shaking and
trembling. His knees and his hands, also.
"Yes, it certainly is," replied Sondra, turning to him alone now. "I
always hate to hear of anything like that, don't you? Mother worries so
about Stuart and me fooling around these lakes as it is."
"Yes, I know." His voice was thick and heavy. He could scarcely form
the words. They were smothered, choked. His lips tightened to a thinner
white line than before. His face grew paler still.
"Why, what's the matter, Clydie?" Sondra asked, of a sudden, looking at
him more closely. "You look so pale! Your eyes. Anything wrong? Aren't
you feeling well to-night, or is it this light out here?"
She turned to look at some of the others in order to make sure, then
back at him. And he, feeling the extreme importance of looking anything
but the way she was describing him, now drew himself up as best he
could, and replied: "Oh, no. It must be the light, I guess. Sure, it's
the light. I had a--a--hard day yesterday, that's all. I shouldn't have
come over to-night, I suppose." And then achieving the weirdest and
most impossible of smiles. And Sondra, gazing most sympathetically,
adding: "Was he so tired? My Clydie-mydie boy, after his work
yesterday. Why didn't my baby boy tell me that this morning instead of
doing all that we did to-day? Want me to get Frank to run you down to
the Cranstons' now? Or maybe you'd like to go up in his room and lie
down? He won't mind, I know. Shall I ask him?"
She turned as if to speak to Frank, but Clyde, all but panic-stricken
by this latest suggestion, and yet angling for an excuse to leave,
exclaimed earnestly and yet shakily: "Please, please don't, darling.
I--I--don't want you to. I'll be all right. I'll go up after a bit if I
want to, or maybe home a little early, if you're going after a while,
but not now. I'm not feeling as good as I should, but I'll be all
right."
Sondra, because of his strained and as she now fancied almost
peevish tone, desisted with: "All right, honey. All right. But if
you don't feel well, I wish you would let me get Frank to take you
down or go upstairs. He won't mind. And then after a while--about
ten-thirty--I'll excuse myself and you can go down with me to your
place. I'll take you there before I go home and whoever else wants to
go. Won't my baby boy do something like that?"
And Clyde saying: "Well, I think I'll go up and get a drink, anyhow."
And disappearing in one of the spacious baths of the Harriet home,
locking the door and sitting down and thinking, thinking--of Roberta's
body recovered, of the possibilities of a bruise of some kind, of the
possibility of the print of his own feet in the mud and sandy loam
of the shore; of that suit over at the Cranstons', the men in the
wood, Roberta's bag, hat and coat, his own liningless hat left on the
water--and wondering what next to do. How to act! How to talk! Whether
to go downstairs to Sondra now and persuade her to go, or whether to
stay and suffer and agonize? And what would the morrow's papers reveal?
What? What? And was it wise, in case there was any news which would
make it look as though eventually he was to be sought after, or in any
way connected with this, to go on that proposed camping trip to-morrow!
Or, wiser, to run away from here? He had some money now. He could go
to New York, Boston, New Orleans where Ratterer was--but oh, no,--not
where any one knew him.
Oh, God! The folly of all his planning in connection with all this to
date! The flaws! Had he ever really planned it right from the start?
Had he ever really imagined, for instance, that Roberta's body would
be found in that deep water? And yet, here it was--risen so soon--this
first day--to testify against him! And although he had signed as he
had on those registers up there, was it not possible now, on account
of those three men and that girl on that boat, for him to be traced?
He must think, think, think! And get out of here as soon as possible,
before anything really fatal in connection with that suit should happen.
Growing momentarily weaker and more terrorized, he now decided to
return to Sondra below, and say that he was really feeling quite sick
and that if she did not object he would prefer to go home with her, if
she could arrange it. And consequently, at ten-thirty, when the evening
still had hours to go, Sondra announced to Burchard that she was not
feeling well and would he run her and Clyde and Jill down to her place,
but that she would see them all on the morrow in time for the proposed
departure for Bear Lake.
And Clyde, though brooding as to whether this early leaving on his
part was not another of those wretched errors which had seemed to
mark every step of this desperate and murderous scheme so far, finally
entering the swift launch and being raced to the Cranston lodge in
no time. And once there, excusing himself to Burchard and Sondra as
nonchalantly and apologetically as might be, and then hurrying to his
own room only to find the suit as he had left it--no least evidence
that any one had been there to disturb the serenity of his chamber.
Just the same, nervously and suspiciously, he now took it out and tied
it up, and then waiting and listening for a silent moment in which to
slip from the house unobserved--finally ambled out as though going for
a short walk. And then, by the shore of the lake--about a quarter of a
mile distant from the house--seeking out a heavy stone and tying the
suit to that. And then throwing it out into the water, as far as his
strength would permit. And then returning, as silently and gloomily
and nervously as he had gone, and brooding and brooding as to what the
morrow might reveal and what, if any one appeared to question him, he
would say.