An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

Heit on the telephone. And then, after explaining to the

newspapers about a reported double drowning at Big

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Bittern, he seized his own blue-banded straw hat, some two

sizes too large for him, and hurried down the hall, only to

encounter, opposite the wide-open office door of the district

attorney, Zillah Saunders, spinster and solitary

stenographer to the locally somewhat famous and mercurial

Orville W. Mason, district attorney. She was on her way to

the auditor’s office, but being struck by the preoccupation

and haste of Mr. Newcomb, usually so much more

deliberate, she now called: “Hello, Earl. What’s the rush?

Where you going so fast?”

“Double drowning up at Big Bittern, we hear. Maybe

something worse. Mr. Heit’s going up and I’m going along.

We have to make that 3:10.”

“Who said so? Is it anyone from here?”

“Don’t know yet, but don’t think so. There was a letter in the

girl’s pocket addressed to some one in Biltz, Mimico

County, a Mrs. Alden. I’ll tell you when we get back or I’ll

telephone you.”

“My goodness, if it’s a crime, Mr. Mason’ll be interested,

won’t he?”

“Sure, I’ll telephone him, or Mr. Heit will. If you see Bud

Parker or Karel Badnell, tell ’em I had to go out of town, and

call up my mother for me, will you, Zillah, and tell her, too.

I’m afraid I won’t have time.”

“Sure I will, Earl.”

“Thanks.”

And, highly interested by this latest development in the

ordinary humdrum life of his chief, he skipped gayly and

even eagerly down the south steps of the Cataraqui County

Courthouse, while Miss Saunders, knowing that her own

chief was off on some business connected with the

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approaching County Republican Convention, and there

being no one else in his office with whom she could

communicate at this time, went on to the auditor’s office,

where it was possible to retail to any who might be

assembled there, all that she had gathered concerning this

seemingly important lake tragedy.

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Chapter 2

THE information obtained by Coroner Heit and his assistant

was of a singular and disturbing character. In the first

instance, because of the disappearance of a boat and an

apparently happy and attractive couple bent on sight-

seeing, an early morning search, instigated by the inn-

keeper of this region, had revealed, in Moon Cove, the

presence of the overturned canoe, also the hat and veil.

And immediately such available employees, as well as

guides and guests of the Inn, as could be impressed, had

begun diving into the waters or by means of long poles

equipped with hooks attempting to bring one or both bodies

to the surface. The fact, as reported by Sim Shoop, the

guide, as well as the innkeeper and the boat-house lessee,

that the lost girl was both young and attractive and her

companion seemingly a youth of some means, was

sufficient to whet the interest of this lake group of

woodsmen and inn employees to a point which verged on

sorrow. And in addition, there was intense curiosity as to

how, on so fair and windless a day, so strange an accident

could have occurred.

But what created far more excitement after a very little time

was the fact that at high noon one of the men who trolled—

John Pole—a woodsman, was at last successful in bringing

to the surface Roberta herself, drawn upward by the skirt of

her dress, obviously bruised about the face—the lips and

nose and above and below the right eye—a fact which to

those who were assisting at once seemed to be suspicious.

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Indeed, John Pole, who with Joe Rainer at the oars was the

one who had succeeded in bringing her to the surface, had

exclaimed at once on seeing her: “Why, the pore little thing!

She don’t seem to weigh more’n nothin’ at all. It’s a wonder

tuh me she coulda sunk.” And then reaching over and

gathering her in his strong arms, he drew her in, dripping

and lifeless, while his companions signaled to the other

searchers, who came swiftly. And putting back from her

face the long, brown, thick hair which the action of the

water had swirled concealingly across it, he had added: “I

do declare, Joe! Looka here. It does look like the child

mighta been hit by somethin’! Looka here, Joe!” And soon

the group of woodsmen and inn guests in their boats

alongside were looking at the brownish-blue marks on

Roberta’s face.

And forthwith, even while the body of Roberta was being

taken north to the boat-house, and the dragging for the

body of the lost man was resumed, suspicions were being

voiced in such phrases as: “Well, it looks kinda queer—

them marks—an’ all,—don’t it? It’s curious a boat like that

coulda upset on a day like yesterday.”“We’ll soon know if

he’s down there or not!”; the feeling, following failure after

hours of fruitless search for him, definitely coalescing at last

into the conclusion that more than likely he was not down

there at all—a hard and stirring thought to all.

Subsequent to this, the guide who had brought Clyde and

Roberta from Gun Lodge conferring with the inn-keepers at

Big Bittern and Grass Lake, it was factually determined: (1)

that the drowned girl had left her bag at Gun Lodge

whereas Clifford Golden had taken his with him; (2) that

there was a disturbing discrepancy between the registration

at Grass Lake and that at Big Bittern, the names Carl

Graham and Clifford Golden being carefully discussed by

the two inn-keepers and the identity of the bearer as to

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looks established; and (3) that the said Clifford Golden or

Carl Graham had asked of the guide who had driven him

over to Big Bittern whether there were many people on the

lake that day. And thereafter the suspicions thus far

engendered further coalescing into the certainty that there

had been foul play. There was scarcely any doubt of it.

Immediately upon his arrival Coroner Heit was made to

understand that these men of the north woods were deeply

moved and in addition determined in their suspicions. They

did not believe that the body of Clifford Golden or Carl

Graham had ever sunk to the bottom of the lake. With the

result that Heit on viewing the body of the unknown girl laid

carefully on a cot in the boat-house, and finding her young

and attractive, was strangely affected, not only by her looks

but this circumambient atmosphere of suspicion. Worse yet,

on retiring to the office of the manager of the inn, and being

handed the letter found in the pocket of Roberta’s coat, he

was definitely swayed in the direction of a somber and

unshakable suspicion. For he read:

Grass Lake, N.Y.,July 8th.

DEAREST MAMMA

We’re up here and we’re going to be married, but this is for your

eyes alone. Please don’t show it to papa or any one, for it mustn’t

become known yet. I told you why at Christmas. And you’re not

to worry or ask any questions or tell any one except just that you’ve heard from me and know where I am—not anybody. And

you mustn’t think I won’t be getting along all right because I will be. Here’s a big hug and kiss for each cheek, mamma. Be sure

and make father understand that it’s all right without telling him anything, or Emily or Tom or Gifford, either, do you hear? I’m sending you nice, big kisses.

Lovingly,

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BERT.

P.S. This must be your secret and mine until I write you different

a little later on.

And in the upper right-hand corner of the paper, as well as

on the envelope, were printed the words: “Grass Lake Inn,

Grass Lake, N. Y., Jack Evans, Prop.” And the letter had

evidently been written the morning after the night they had

spent at Grass Lake as Mr. and Mrs. Carl Graham.

The waywardness of young girls!

For plainly, as this letter indicated, these two had stayed

together as man and wife at that inn when they were not as

yet married. He winced as he read, for he had daughters of

his own of whom he was exceedingly fond. But at this point

he had a thought. A quadrennial county election was

impending, the voting to take place the following

November, at which were to be chosen for three years

more the entire roster of county offices, his own included,

and in addition this year a county judge whose term was for

six years. In August, some six weeks further on, were to be

held the county Republican and Democratic conventions at

which were to be chosen the regular party nominees for

these respective offices. Yet for no one of these places,

thus far, other than that of the county judgeship, could the

present incumbent of the office of district attorney possibly