In the absence of Clyde, the impressions taken by Mr. Mason of the
world in which he moved here, complementing and confirming those of
Lycurgus and Sharon, were sufficient to sober him in regard to the
ease (possibly) with which previously he had imagined it might be
possible to convict him. For about him was such a scene as suggested
all the means as well as the impulse to quiet such a scandal as this.
Wealth. Luxury. Important names and connections to protect no doubt.
Was it not possible that the rich and powerful Griffiths, their nephew
seized in this way and whatever his crime, would take steps to secure
the best legal talent available, in order to protect their name?
Unquestionably--and then with such adjournments as it was possible for
such talent to secure, might it not be possible that long before he
could hope to convict him, he himself would automatically be disposed
of as a prosecutor and without being nominated for and elected to the
judgeship he so craved and needed.
Sitting before the circle of attractive tents that faced the lake and
putting in order a fishing-pole and reel, was Harley Baggott, in a
brightly-colored sweater and flannel trousers. And through the open
flies of several tents, glimpses of individuals--Sondra, Bertine,
Wynette and others--busy about toilets necessitated by the recent swim.
Being dubious because of the smartness of the company as to whether
it was politically or socially wise to proclaim openly the import
of his errand, he chose to remain silent for a time, reflecting on
the difference between the experiences of his early youth and that
of Roberta Alden and these others. Naturally as he saw it a man of
this Griffiths' connections would seek to use a girl of Roberta's
connections thus meanly and brutally and hope to get away with it. Yet,
eager to make as much progress as he could against whatever inimical
fates might now beset him, he finally approached Baggott, and, most
acidly, yet with as much show of genial and appreciative sociability as
he could muster, observed:
"A delightful place for a camp, eh?"
"Yeh, we think so."
"Just a group from the estates and hotels about Sharon, I suppose?"
"Yeh. The south and west shore principally."
"Not any of the Griffiths, other than Mr. Clyde, I presume?"
"No, they're still over at Greenwood, I think."
"You know Mr. Clyde Griffiths personally, I suppose?"
"Oh, sure--he's one of the party."
"You don't happen to know how long he's been up here this time, I
presume--up with the Cranstons, I mean."
"Since Friday, I think. I saw him Friday morning, anyhow. But he'll
be back here soon and you can ask him yourself," concluded Baggott,
beginning to sense that Mr. Mason was a little too inquisitive and in
addition not of either his or Clyde's world.
And just then, Frank Harriet, with a tennis racquet under his arm,
striding across the foreground.
"Where to, Frankie?"
"To try those courts Harrison laid out up here this morning."
"Who with?"
"Violet, Nadine and Stuart."
"Any room for another court?"
"Sure, there's two. Why not get Bert, and Clyde, and Sondra, and come
up?"
"Well, maybe, after I get this thing set."
And Mason at once thinking: Clyde and Sondra. Clyde Griffiths and
Sondra Finchley--the very girl whose notes and cards were in one of his
pockets now. And might he not see her here, along with Clyde--possibly
later talk to her about him?
But just then, Sondra and Bertine and Wynette coming out of their
respective tents. And Bertine calling: "Oh, say, Harley, seen Nadine
anywhere?"
"No, but Frank just went by. He said he was going up to the courts to
play with her and Violet and Stew."
"Yes? Well, then, come on, Sondra. You too, Wynette. We'll see how it
looks."
Bertine, as she pronounced Sondra's name, turned to take her arm, which
gave Mason the exact information and opportunity he desired--that of
seeing and studying for a moment the girl who had so tragically and no
doubt all unwittingly replaced Roberta in Clyde's affections. And, as
he could see for himself, more beautiful, more richly appareled than
ever the other could have hoped to be. And alive, as opposed to the
other now dead and in a morgue in Bridgeburg.
But even as he gazed, the three tripping off together arm in arm,
Sondra calling back to Harley: "If you see Clyde, tell him to come
on up, will you?" And he replying: "Do you think that shadow of yours
needs to be told?"
Mason, impressed by the color and the drama, looked intently and even
excitedly about. Now it was all so plain why he wanted to get rid of
the girl--the true, underlying motive. That beautiful girl there, as
well as this luxury to which he aspired. And to think that a young man
of his years and opportunities would stoop to such a horrible trick as
that! Unbelievable! And only four days after the murder of the other
poor girl, playing about with this beautiful girl in this fashion,
and hoping to marry her, as Roberta had hoped to marry him. The
unbelievable villainies of life!
Now, half-determining since Clyde did not appear, that he would
proclaim himself and proceed to search for and seize his belongings
here, Ed Swenk re-appearing and with a motion of the head indicating
that Mason was to follow him. And once well within the shadow of the
surrounding trees, indicating no less an individual than Nicholas
Kraut, attended by a slim, neatly-dressed youth of about Clyde's
reported years, who, on the instant and because of the waxy paleness of
his face, he assumed must be Clyde. And at once he now approached him,
as might an angry wasp or hornet, only pausing first to ask of Swenk
where he had been captured and by whom--then gazing at Clyde critically
and austerely as befitted one who represented the power and majesty of
the law.
"So you are Clyde Griffiths, are you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Mr. Griffiths, my name is Orville Mason. I am the district
attorney of the county in which Big Bittern and Grass Lake are
situated. I suppose you are familiar enough with those two places by
now, aren't you?"
He paused to see the effect of this sardonic bit of commentary. Yet
although he expected to see him wince and quail, Clyde merely gazed at
him, his nervous, dark eyes showing enormous strain. "No, sir, I can't
say that I am."
For with each step through the woods thus far back, there had been
growing within him the utter and unshakable conviction that in the
face of whatever seeming proof or charges might now appear, he dared
not tell anything in regard to himself, his connection with Roberta,
his visit to Big Bittern or Grass Lake. He dared not. For that would
be the same as a confession of guilt in connection with something of
which he was not really guilty. And no one must believe--never--Sondra,
or the Griffiths, or any of these fine friends of his, that he could
ever have been guilty of such a thought, even. And yet here they were,
all within call, and at any moment might approach and so learn the
meaning of his arrest. And while he felt the necessity for so denying
any knowledge in connection with all this, at the same time he stood in
absolute terror of this man--the opposition and irritated mood such an
attitude might arouse in him. That broken nose. His large, stern eyes.
And then Mason, eyeing him as one might an unheard-of and yet desperate
animal and irritated also by his denial, yet assuming from his blanched
expression that he might and no doubt would shortly be compelled to
confess his guilt, continuing with: "You know what you are charged
with, Mr. Griffiths, of course."
"Yes, sir, I just heard it from this man here."
"And you admit it?"
"Why, no, sir, of course I don't admit it," replied Clyde, his thin
and now white lips drawn tight over his even teeth, his eyes full of a
deep, tremulous yet evasive terror.
"Why, what nonsense! What effrontery! You deny being up to Grass Lake
and Big Bittern on last Wednesday and Thursday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then," and now Mason stiffened himself in an angry and at the
same time inquisitorial way, "I suppose you are going to deny knowing
Roberta Alden--the girl you took to Grass Lake, and then out on Big
Bittern in that boat last Thursday--the girl you knew in Lycurgus all
last year, who lived at Mrs. Gilpin's and worked under you in your
department at Griffiths & Company--the girl to whom you gave that
toilet set last Christmas! I suppose you're going to say that your
name isn't Clyde Griffiths and that you haven't been living with Mrs.
Peyton in Taylor Street, and that these aren't letters and cards from
your trunk there--from Roberta Alden and from Miss Finchley, all these
cards and notes." And extracting the letters and cards as he spoke and
waving them before Clyde. And at each point in this harangue, thrusting
his broad face, with its flat, broken nose and somewhat aggressive chin
directly before Clyde's, and blazing at him with sultry, contemptuous
eyes, while the latter leaned away from him, wincing almost perceptibly
and with icy chills running up and down his spine and affecting his
heart and brain. Those letters! All this information concerning him!
And back in his bag in the tent there, all those more recent letters
of Sondra's in which she dwelt on how they were to elope together this
coming fall. If only he had destroyed them! And now this man might
find those--would--and question Sondra maybe, and all these others.
He shrunk and congealed spiritually, the revealing effects of his so
poorly conceived and executed scheme weighing upon him as the world
upon the shoulders of an inadequate Atlas.
And yet, feeling that he must say something and yet not admit anything.
And finally replying: "My name's Clyde Griffiths all right, but the
rest of this isn't true. I don't know anything about the rest of it."
"Oh, come now, Mr. Griffiths! Don't begin by trying to play fast and
loose with me. We won't get anywhere that way. You won't help yourself
one bit by that with me, and besides I haven't any time for that now.
Remember these men here are witnesses to what you say. I've just come
from Lycurgus--your room at Mrs. Peyton's--and I have in my possession
your trunk and this Miss Alden's letters to you--indisputable proof
that you did know this girl, that you courted and seduced her last
winter, and that since then--this spring--when she became pregnant on
your account, you induced her first to go home and then later to go
away with you on this trip in order, as you told her, to marry her.
Well, you married her all right--to the grave--that's how you married
her--to the water at the bottom of Big Bittern Lake! And you can
actually stand here before me now, when I tell you that I have all the
evidence I need right on my person, and say that you don't even know
her! Well, I'll be damned!"
And as he spoke his voice grew so loud that Clyde feared that it
could be clearly heard in the camp beyond. And that Sondra herself
might hear it and come over. And although at the out-rush and jab and
slash of such dooming facts as Mason so rapidly outlined, his throat
tightened and his hands were with difficulty restrained from closing
and clinching vise-wise, at the conclusion of it all he merely replied:
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'll be damned!" reiterated Mason. "I can well believe now that
you would kill a girl and sneak away in just such a way as you did--and
with her in that condition! But then to try to deny her own letters to
you! Why, you might as well try to deny that you're here and alive.
These cards and notes here--what about them? I suppose they're not from
Miss Finchley? How about those? Do you mean to tell me these are not
from her either?"
He waved them before Clyde's eyes. And Clyde, seeing that the truth
concerning these, Sondra being within call, was capable of being
substantiated here and now, replied: "No, I don't deny that those are
from her."
"Very good. But these others from your trunk in the same room are not
from Miss Alden to you?"
"I don't care to say as to that," he replied, blinking feebly as Mason
waved Roberta's letters before him.
"Tst! Tst! Tst! Of all things," clicked Mason in high dudgeon. "Such
nonsense! Such effrontery! Oh, very well, we won't worry about all that
now. I can easily prove it all when the time comes. But how you can
stand there and deny it, knowing that I have the evidence, is beyond
me! A card in your own handwriting which you forgot to take out of the
bag you had her leave at Gun Lodge while you took yours with you, Mr.
Carl Graham, Mr. Clifford Golden, Mr. Clyde Griffiths,--a card on which
you wrote 'From Clyde to Bert, Merry Xmas.' Do you remember that? Well,
here it is." And here he reached into his pocket and drew forth the
small card taken from the toilet set and waved it under Clyde's nose.
"Have you forgotten that, too? Your own handwriting!" And then pausing
and getting no reply, finally adding: "Why, what a dunce you are!--what
a poor plotter, without even the brains not to use your own initials in
getting up those fake names you had hoped to masquerade under--Mr. Carl
Graham--Mr. Clifford Golden!"
At the same time, fully realizing the importance of a confession
and wondering how it was to be brought about here and now, Mason
suddenly--Clyde's expression, his frozen-faced terror, suggesting the
thought that perhaps he was too frightened to talk at once changed his
tactics--at least to the extent of lowering his voice, smoothing the
formidable wrinkles from his forehead and about his mouth.
"You see, it's this way, Griffiths," he now began, much more calmly
and simply. "Lying or just foolish thoughtless denial under such
circumstances as these can't help you in the least. It can only harm
you, and that's the truth. You may think I've been a little rough so
far, but it was only because I've been under a great strain myself in
connection with this case, trying to catch up with some one I thought
would be a very different type from yourself. But now that I see you
and see how you feel about it all--how really frightened you are by
what has happened--it just occurs to me that there may be something in
connection with this case, some extenuating circumstances, which, if
they were related by you now, might throw a slightly different light
on all this. Of course, I don't know. You yourself ought to be the
best judge, but I'm laying the thought before you for what it's worth.
For, of course, here are these letters. Besides, when we get to Three
Mile Bay to-morrow, as we will, I hope, there will be those three men
who met you the other night walking south from Big Bittern. And not
only those, but the innkeeper from Grass Lake, the innkeeper from Big
Bittern, the boatkeeper up there who rented that boat, and the driver
who drove you and Roberta Alden over from Gun Lodge. They will identify
you. Do you think they won't know you--not any of them--not be able to
say whether you were up there with her or not, or that a jury when the
time comes won't believe them?"
And all this Clyde registered mentally like a machine clicking to a
coin, yet said nothing,--merely staring, frozen.
"And not only that," went on Mason, very softly and most
ingratiatingly, "but there's Mrs. Peyton. She saw me take these letters
and cards out of that trunk of yours in your room and from the top
drawer of your chiffonier. Next, there are all those girls in that
factory where you and Miss Alden worked. Do you suppose they're not
going to remember all about you and her when they learn that she is
dead? Oh, what nonsense! You ought to be able to see that for yourself,
whatever you think. You certainly can't expect to get away with that.
It makes a sort of a fool out of you. You can see that for yourself."
He paused again, hoping for a confession. But Clyde still convinced
that any admission in connection with Roberta or Big Bittern spelled
ruin, merely stared while Mason proceeded to add:
"All right, Griffiths, I'm now going to tell you one more thing, and I
couldn't give you better advice if you were my own son or brother and
I were trying to get you out of this instead of merely trying to get
you to tell the truth. If you hope to do anything at all for yourself
now, it's not going to help you to deny everything in the way you are
doing. You are simply making trouble and condemning yourself in other
people's eyes. Why not say that you did know her and that you were up
there with her and that she wrote you those letters, and be done with
it? You can't get out of that, whatever else you may hope to get out
of. Any sane person--your own mother, if she were here--would tell you
the same thing. It's too ridiculous and indicates guilt rather than
innocence. Why not come clean here and now as to those facts, anyhow,
before it's too late to take advantage of any mitigating circumstances
in connection with all this--if there are any? And if you do _now_, and
I can help you in any way, I promise you here and now that I'll be
only too glad to do so. For, after all, I'm not out here just to hound
a man to death or make him confess to something that he hasn't done,
but merely to get at the truth in the case. But if you're going to deny
that you even knew this girl when I tell you I have all the evidence
and can prove it, why then----" and here the district attorney lifted
his hands aloft most wearily and disgustedly.
But now as before Clyde remained silent and pale. In spite of all Mason
had revealed, and all that this seemingly friendly, intimate advice
seemed to imply, still he could not conceive that it would be anything
less than disastrous for him to admit that he even knew Roberta. The
fatality of such a confession in the eyes of these others here. The
conclusion of all his dreams in connection with Sondra and this life.
And so, in the face of this--silence, still. And at this, Mason,
irritated beyond measure, finally exclaiming: "Oh, very well, then.
So you've finally decided not to talk, have you?" And Clyde, blue and
weak, replied: "I had nothing to do with her death. That's all I can
say now," yet even as he said it thinking that perhaps he had better
not say that--that perhaps he had better say--well, what? That he knew
Roberta, of course, had been up there with her, for that matter--but
that he had never intended to kill her--that her drowning was an
accident. For he had not struck her at all, except by accident, had he?
Only it was best not to confess to having struck her at all, wasn't it?
For who under such circumstances would believe that he had struck her
with a camera by accident. Best not to mention the camera, since there
was no mention anywhere in the papers that he had had one with him.
And he was still cogitating while Mason was exclaiming: "Then you admit
that you knew her?"
"No, sir."
"Very well, then," he now added, turning to the others, "I suppose
there's nothing for it but to take him back there and see what they
know about him. Perhaps that will get something out of this fine
bird--to confront him with his friends. His bag and things are still
back there in one of those tents, I believe. Suppose we take him down
there, gentlemen, and see what these other people know about him."
And now, swiftly and coldly he turned, while Clyde, already shrinking
at the horror of what was coming, exclaimed: "Oh, please, no! You don't
mean to do that, do you? Oh, you won't do that! Oh, please, no!"
And at this point Kraut speaking up and saying: "He asked me back there
in the woods if I wouldn't ask you not to take him in there." "Oh,
so that's the way the wind blows, is it?" exclaimed Mason at this.
"Too thin-skinned to be shown up before ladies and gentlemen of the
Twelfth Lake colony, but not even willing to admit that you knew the
poor little working-girl who worked for you. Very good. Well, then,
my fine friend, suppose you come through with what you really do know
now, or down there you go." And he paused a moment to see what effect
that would have. "We'll call all those people together and explain just
how things are, and then see if you will be willing to stand there
and deny everything!" But noting still a touch of hesitation in Clyde
he now added: "Bring him along, boys." And turning toward the camp he
proceeded to walk in that direction a few paces while Kraut taking
one arm, and Swenk another, and beginning to move Clyde he ended by
exclaiming:
"Oh, please, no! Oh, I hope you won't do anything like that, will you,
Mr. Mason? Oh, I don't want to go back there if you don't mind. It
isn't that I'm guilty, but you can get all my things without my going
back there. And besides it will mean so much to me just now." Beads of
perspiration once more burst forth on his pale face and hands and he
was deadly cold.
"Don't want to go, eh?" exclaimed Mason, pausing as he heard this.
"It would hurt your pride, would it, to have 'em know? Well, then,
supposing you just answer some of the things I want to know--and come
clean and quick, or off we go--and that without one more moment's
delay! Now, will you answer or won't you?" And again he turned to
confront Clyde, who, with lips trembling and eyes confused and
wavering, nervously and emphatically announced:
"Of course I knew her. Of course I did. Sure! Those letters show that.
But what of it? I didn't kill her. And I didn't go up there with her
with any intention of killing her, either. I didn't. I didn't, I tell
you! It was all an accident. I didn't even want to take her up there.
She wanted me to go--to go away with her somewhere, because--because,
well you know--her letters show. And I was only trying to get her to go
off somewhere by herself, so she would let me alone, because I didn't
want to marry her. That's all. And I took her out there, not to kill
her at all, but to try to persuade her, that's all. And I didn't upset
the boat--at least, I didn't mean to. The wind blew my hat off, and
we--she and I--got up at the same time to reach for it and the boat
upset--that's all. And the side of it hit her on the head. I saw it,
only I was too frightened the way she was struggling about in the water
to go near her, because I was afraid that if I did she might drag me
down. And then she went down. And I swam ashore. And that's the God's
truth!"
His face, as he talked, had suddenly become all flushed, and his hands
also. Yet his eyes were tortured, terrified pools of misery. He was
thinking--but maybe there wasn't any wind that afternoon and maybe
they would find that out. Or the tripod hidden under a log. If they
found that, wouldn't they think he hit her with that? He was wet and
trembling.
But already Mason was beginning to question him again.
"Now, let's see as to this a minute. You say you didn't take her up
there with any intention of killing her?"
"No, sir, I didn't"
"Well, then, how was it that you decided to write your name two
different ways on those registers up there at Big Bittern and Grass
Lake?"
"Because I didn't want any one to know that I was up there with her."
"Oh, I see. Didn't want any scandal in connection with the condition
she was in?"
"No, sir. Yes, sir, that is."
"But you didn't mind if her name was scandalized in case she was found
afterwards?"
"But I didn't know she was going to be drowned," replied Clyde, slyly
and shrewdly, sensing the trap in time.
"But you did know that you yourself weren't coming back, of course. You
knew that, didn't you?"
"Why, no, sir, I didn't know that I wasn't coming back. I thought I
was."
"Pretty clever. Pretty clever," thought Mason to himself, but not
saying so, and then, rapidly: "And so in order to make everything easy
and natural as possible for you to come back, you took your own bag
with you and left hers up there. Is that the way? How about that?"
"But I didn't take it because I was going away. We decided to put our
lunch in it."
"We, or you?"
"We."
"And so you had to carry that big bag in order to take a little lunch
along, eh? Couldn't you have taken it in a paper, or in her bag?"
"Well, her bag was full, and I didn't like to carry anything in a
paper."
"Oh, I see. Too proud and sensitive, eh? But not too proud to carry a
heavy bag all the way, say twelve miles, in the night to Three Mile
Bay, and not ashamed to be seen doing it, either, were you?"
"Well, after she was drowned and I didn't want to be known as having
been up there with her, and had to go along----"
He paused while Mason merely looked at him, thinking of the many,
many questions he wanted to ask him--so many, many more, and which,
as he knew or guessed, would be impossible for him to explain. Yet it
was getting late, and back in the camp were Clyde's as yet unclaimed
belongings--his bag and possibly that suit he had worn that day at Big
Bittern--a gray one as he had heard--not this one. And to catechize him
here this way in the dusk, while it might be productive of much if only
he could continue it long enough, still there was the trip back, and en
route he would have ample time to continue his questionings.
And so, although he disliked much so to do at the moment, he now
concluded with: "Oh, well, I tell you, Griffiths, we'll let you rest
here for the present. It may be that what you are saying is so--I don't
know. I most certainly hope it is, for your sake. At any rate, you go
along there with Mr. Kraut. He'll show you where to go."
And then turning to Swenk and Kraut, he exclaimed: "All right, boys.
I'll tell you how we'll do. It's getting late and we'll have to hurry
a little if we expect to get anywhere yet to-night. Mr. Kraut, suppose
you take this young man down where those other two boats are and wait
there. Just halloo a little as you go along to notify the sheriff and
Sissell that we're ready. And then Swenk and I'll be along in the other
boat as soon as we can."
And so saying and Kraut obeying, he and Swenk proceeded inward through
the gathering dusk to the camp, while Kraut with Clyde went west,
hallooing for the sheriff and his deputy until a response was had.