And then on the following morning Samuel Griffiths, with his own son
Gilbert standing by, in the large drawing room of their Wykeagy Avenue
mansion, listening to Smillie's report of his conference with Clyde
and Mason. And Smillie reporting all he had heard and seen. And with
Gilbert Griffiths, unbelievably shaken and infuriated by all this,
exclaiming at one point:
"Why, the little devil! The little beast! But what did I tell you, dad?
Didn't I warn you against bringing him on?"
And Samuel Griffiths after meditating on this reference to his earlier
sympathetic folly now giving Gilbert a most suggestive and intensely
troubled look, which said: Are we here to discuss the folly of my
original, if foolish, good intentions, or the present crisis? And
Gilbert thinking: The murderer! And that wretched little show-off,
Sondra Finchley, trying to make something of him in order to spite me,
Gilbert, principally, and so getting herself smirched. The little fool!
But it served her right. She would get her share of this now. Only it
would cause him and his father and all of them infinite trouble also.
For was this not an ineradicable stain which was likely to defile
all--himself, his fiancée, Bella, Myra, his parents--and perhaps cost
them their position here in Lycurgus society? The tragedy! Maybe an
execution! And in this family!
Yet Samuel Griffiths, on his part, going back in his mind to all that
had occurred since Clyde had arrived in Lycurgus.
His being left to work in that basement at first and ignored by the
family. Left to his own devices for fully eight months. Might not that
have been at least a contributing cause to all this horror? And then
being put over all those girls! Was not that a mistake? He could see
all this now clearly, although by no means condoning Clyde's deed in
any way--far from it. The wretchedness of such a mind as that--the
ungoverned and carnal desires! The uncontrollable brutality of seducing
that girl and then because of Sondra--the pleasant, agreeable little
Sondra--plotting to get rid of her! And now in jail, and offering no
better explanation of all the amazing circumstances, as reported by
Smillie, than that he had not intended to kill her at all--had not even
plotted to do so--that the wind had blown his hat off! How impossibly
weak! And with no suitable explanation for the two hats, or the missing
suit, or of not going to the aid of the drowning girl. And those
unexplained marks on her face. How strongly all these things pointed to
his guilt.
"For God's sake," exclaimed Gilbert, "hasn't he anything better than
that to offer, the little fool!" And Smillie replied that that was all
he could get him to say, and that Mr. Mason was absolutely and quite
dispassionately convinced of his guilt. "Dreadful! Dreadful!" put in
Samuel. "I really can't grasp it yet. I can't! It doesn't seem possible
that any one of my blood could be guilty of such a thing!" And then
getting up and walking the floor in real and crushing distress and
fear. His family! Gilbert and his future! Bella, with all her ambitions
and dreams! And Sondra! And Finchley!
He clinched his hands. He knitted his brows and tightened his lips.
He looked at Smillie, who, immaculate and sleek, showed nevertheless
the immense strain that was on him, shaking his head dismally whenever
Griffiths looked at him.
And then after nearly an hour and a half more of such questioning and
requestioning as to the possibility of some other interpretation than
the data furnished by Smillie would permit, Griffiths, senior, pausing
and declaring: "Well, it does look bad, I must say. Still, in the
face of what you tell me, I can't find it in me to condemn completely
without more knowledge than we have here. There may be some other
facts not as yet come to light--he won't talk, you say, about most
things--some little details we don't know about--some slight excuse of
some kind--for without that this does appear to be a most atrocious
crime. Has Mr. Brookhart got in from Boston?"
"Yes, sir, he's here," replied Gilbert "He telephoned Mr. Smillie."
"Well, have him come out here at two this afternoon to see me. I'm too
tired to talk more about this right now. Tell him all that you have
told me, Smillie. And then come back here with him at two. It may be
that he will have some suggestion to make that will be of value to us,
although just what I can't see. Only one thing I want to say--I hope he
isn't guilty. And I want every proper step taken to discover whether he
is or not, and if not, to defend him to the limit of the law. But no
more than that. No trying to save anybody who is guilty of such a thing
as this--no, no, no!--not even if he is my nephew! Not me! I'm not that
kind of a man! Trouble or no trouble--disgrace or no disgrace--I'll do
what I can to help him if he's innocent--if there's even the faintest
reason for believing so. But guilty? No! Never! If this boy is really
guilty, he'll have to take the consequences. Not a dollar--not a
penny--of my money will I devote to any one who could be guilty of such
a crime, even if he is my nephew!"
And turning and slowly and heavily moving toward the rear staircase,
while Smillie, wide-eyed, gazed after him in awe. The power of him!
The decision of him! The fairness of him in such a deadly crisis! And
Gilbert equally impressed, also sitting and staring. His father was a
man, really. He might be cruelly wounded and distressed, but, unlike
himself, he was neither petty nor revengeful.
And next Mr. Darrah Brookhart, a large, well-dressed, well-fed,
ponderous and cautious corporation lawyer, with one eye half concealed
by a drooping lid and his stomach rather protuberant, giving one the
impression of being mentally if not exactly physically suspended,
balloon-wise, in some highly rarefied atmosphere where he was moved
easily hither and yon by the lightest breath of previous legal
interpretations or decisions of any kind. In the absence of additional
facts, the guilt of Clyde (to him) seemed obvious. Or, waiving that,
as he saw it after carefully listening to Smillie's recounting of all
the suspicious and incriminating circumstances, he would think it very
difficult to construct an even partially satisfactory defense, unless
there were some facts favoring Clyde which had not thus far appeared.
Those two hats, that bag--his slipping away like that. Those letters.
But he would prefer to read them. For upon the face of the data so
far, unquestionably public sentiment would be all against Clyde and in
favor of the dead girl and her poverty and her class, a situation which
made a favorable verdict in such a backwoods county seat as Bridgeburg
almost impossible. For Clyde, although himself poor, was the nephew
of a rich man and hitherto in good standing in Lycurgus society. That
would most certainly tend to prejudice country-born people against
him. It would probably be better to ask for a change of venue so as to
nullify the force of such a prejudice.
On the other hand, without first sending a trained cross-examiner
to Clyde--one, who being about to undertake the defense should be
able to extract the facts from him on the plea that on his truthful
answers depended his life--he would not be able to say whether there
was any hope or not. In his office was a certain Mr. Catchuman, a
very able man, who might be sent on such a mission and on whose final
report one could base a reasonable opinion. However, there were now
various other aspects of such a case as this which, in his estimation,
needed to be carefully looked into and decided upon. For, of course,
as Mr. Griffiths and his son so well knew, in Utica, New York City,
Albany (and now that he came to think of it, more particularly in
Albany, where were two brothers, Canavan & Canavan, most able if
dubious individuals), there were criminal lawyers deeply versed in
the abstrusities and tricks of the criminal law. And any of them--no
doubt--for a sufficient retainer, and irrespective of the primary look
of a situation of this kind, might be induced to undertake such a
defense. And, no doubt, via change of venue, motions, appeals, etc.,
they might and no doubt would be able to delay and eventually effect
an ultimate verdict of something less than death, if such were the
wish of the head of this very important family. On the other hand,
there was the undeniable fact that such a hotly contested trial as this
would most assuredly prove to be would result in an enormous amount of
publicity, and did Mr. Samuel Griffiths want that? For again, under
such circumstances, was it not likely to be said, if most unjustly, of
course, that he was using his great wealth to frustrate justice? The
public was so prejudiced against wealth in such cases. Yet, some sort
of a defense on the part of the Griffiths would certainly be expected
by the public, whether subsequently the same necessity for such defense
was criticized by them or not.
And in consequence, it was now necessary for Mr. Griffiths and his
son to decide how they would prefer to proceed--whether with very
distinguished criminal lawyers such as the two he had just named,
or with less forceful counsel, or none. For, of course, it would be
possible, and that quite inconspicuously, to supply Clyde with a
capable and yet thoroughly conservative trial lawyer--some one residing
and practising in Bridgeburg possibly--whose duty it would be to see
that all blatant and unjustified reference to the family on the part of
the newspapers was minimized.
And so, after three more hours of conference, it was finally decided
by Samuel himself that at once Mr. Brookhart was to despatch his Mr.
Catchuman to Bridgeburg to interview Clyde, and thereafter, whatever
his conclusions as to his guilt or innocence, he was to select from the
local array of legal talent--for the present, anyhow--such a lawyer as
would best represent Clyde fairly. Yet with no assurances of means or
encouragement to do more than extract from Clyde the true details of
his relationship to this charge. And those once ascertained to center
upon such a defense as would most honestly tend to establish only such
facts as were honestly favorable to Clyde--in short, in no way, either
by legal chicane or casuistry or trickery of any kind, to seek to
establish a false innocence and so defeat the ends of justice.