An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

look forward with any hope, since already he had held the

position of district attorney for two consecutive terms, a

length of office due to the fact that not only was he a good

orator of the inland political stripe but also, as the chief legal

official of the county, he was in a position to do one and

another of his friends a favor. But now, unless he were so

fortunate as to be nominated and subsequently elected to

this county judgeship, defeat and political doldrums loomed

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ahead. For during all his term of office thus far, there had

been no really important case in connection with which he

had been able to distinguish himself and so rightfully and

hopefully demand further recognition from the people. But

this …

But now, as the Coroner shrewdly foresaw, might not this

case prove the very thing to fix the attention and favor of

the people upon one man—the incumbent district attorney—

a close and helpful friend of his, thus far—and so

sufficiently redound to his credit and strength, and through

him to the party ticket itself, so that at the coming election

all might be elected—the reigning district attorney thus

winning for himself not only the nomination for but his

election to the six-year term judgeship. Stranger things than

this had happened in the political world.

Immediately he decided not to answer any questions in

regard to this letter, since it promised a quick solution of the

mystery of the perpetrator of the crime, if there had been

one, plus exceptional credit in the present political situation

to whosoever should appear to be instrumental in the

same. At the same time he at once ordered Earl Newcomb,

as well as the guide who had brought Roberta and Clyde to

Big Bittern, to return to Gun Lodge station from where the

couple had come and say that under no circumstances was

the bag held there to be surrendered to any one save

himself or a representative of the district attorney. Then,

when he was about to telephone to Biltz to ascertain

whether there was such a family as Alden possessing a

daughter by the name of Bert, or possibly Alberta, he was

most providentially, as it seemed to him, interrupted by two

men and a boy, trappers and hunters of this region, who,

accompanied by a crowd of those now familiar with the

tragedy, were almost tumultuously ushered into his

presence. For they had news—news of the utmost

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importance! As they now related, with many interruptions

and corrections, at about five o’clock of the afternoon of the

day on which Roberta was drowned, they were setting out

from Three Mile Bay, some twelve miles south of Big

Bittern, to hunt and fish in and near this lake. And, as they

now unanimously testified, on the night in question, at

about nine o’clock, as they were nearing the south shore of

Big Bittern—perhaps three miles to the south of it—they

had encountered a young man, whom they took to be some

stranger making his way from the inn at Big Bittern south to

the village at Three Mile Bay. He was a smartishly and

decidedly well dressed youth for these parts, as they now

said—wearing a straw hat and carrying a bag, and at the

time they wondered why such a trip on foot and at such an

hour since there was a train south early next morning which

reached Three Mile Bay in an hour’s time. And why, too,

should he have been so startled at meeting them? For as

they described it, on his encountering them in the woods

thus, he had jumped back as though startled and worse—

terrified—as though about to run. To be sure, the lantern

one of them was carrying was turned exceedingly low, the

moon being still bright, and they had walked quietly, as

became men who were listening for wild life of any kind. At

the same time, surely this was a perfectly safe part of the

country, traversed for the most part by honest citizens such

as themselves, and there was no need for a young man to

jump as though he were seeking to hide in the brush.

However, when the youth, Bud Brunig, who carried the

light, turned it up the stranger seemed to recover his poise

and after a moment in response to their “Howdy” had

replied: “How do you do? How far is it to Three Mile Bay?”

and they had replied, “About seven mile.” And then he had

gone on and they also, discussing the encounter.

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739

And now, since the description of this youth tallied almost

exactly with that given by the guide who had driven Clyde

over from Gun Lodge, as well as that furnished by the

innkeepers at Big Bittern and Grass Lake, it seemed all too

plain that he must be the same youth who had been in that

boat with the mysterious dead girl.

At once Earl Newcomb suggested to his chief that he be

permitted to telephone to the one inn-keeper at Three Mile

Bay to see if by any chance this mysterious stranger had

been seen or had registered there. He had not. Nor

apparently at that time had he been seen by any other than

the three men. In fact, he had vanished as though into air,

although by nightfall of this same day it was established

that on the morning following the chance meeting of the

men with the stranger, a youth of somewhat the same

description and carrying a bag, but wearing a cap—not a

straw hat—had taken passage for Sharon on the small lake

steamer “Cygnus” plying between that place and Three Mile

Bay. But again, beyond that point, the trail appeared to be

lost. No one at Sharon, at least up to this time, seemed to

recall either the arrival or departure of any such person.

Even the captain himself, as he later testified, had not

particularly noted his debarkation—there were some

fourteen others going down the lake that day and he could

not be sure of any one person.

But in so far as the group at Big Bittern was concerned, the

conclusion slowly but definitely impressed itself upon all

those present that whoever this individual was, he was an

unmitigated villain—a reptilian villain! And forthwith there

was doubled and trebled in the minds of all a most urgent

desire that he be overtaken and captured. The scoundrel!

The murderer! And at once there was broadcast throughout

this region by word of mouth, telephone, telegraph, to such

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740

papers as The Argus and Times-Union of Albany, and The Star of Lycurgus, the news of this pathetic tragedy with the

added hint that it might conceal a crime of the gravest

character.

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741

Chapter 3

CORONER HEIT, his official duties completed for the time

being, found himself pondering, as he traveled south on the

lake train, how he was to proceed farther. What was the

next step he should take in this pathetic affair? For the

coroner, as he had looked at Roberta before he left was

really deeply moved. She seemed so young and innocent-

looking and pretty. The little blue serge dress lying heavily

and clinging tightly to her, her very small hands folded

across her breast, her warm, brown hair still damp from its

twenty-four hours in the water, yet somehow suggesting

some of the vivacity and passion that had invested her in life

—all seemed to indicate a sweetness which had nothing to

do with crime.

But deplorable as it might be, and undoubtedly was, there

was another aspect of the case that more vitally concerned

himself. Should he go to Biltz and convey to the Mrs. Alden

of the letter the dreadful intelligence of her daughter’s

death, at the same time inquiring about the character and

whereabouts of the man who had been with her, or should

he proceed first to District Attorney Mason’s office in

Bridgeburg and having imparted to him all of the details of

the case, allow that gentleman to assume the painful

responsibility of devastating a probably utterly respectable

home? For there was the political situation to be

considered. And while he himself might act and so take

personal credit, still there was this general party situation to

be thought of. A strong man should undoubtedly head and

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742

so strengthen the party ticket this fall and here was the

golden opportunity. The latter course seemed wiser. It

would provide his friend, the district attorney, with his great

chance. Arriving in Bridgeburg in this mood, he ponderously

invaded the office of Orville W. Mason, the district attorney,

who immediately sat up, all attention, sensing something of

import in the coroner’s manner.

Mason was a short, broad-chested, broad-backed and

vigorous individual physically, but in his late youth had been

so unfortunate as to have an otherwise pleasant and even