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,
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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, Perley Haynes, 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
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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
there 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,
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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.
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“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?
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795
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.”