immediate vicinity of the spot where Roberta’s body had
been found, with the result that after an entire day’s diving
on the part of six—and because of a promised and
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substantial reward, one Jack Bogart arose with the very
camera which Clyde, as the boat had turned over, had let
fall. Worse, after examination it proved to contain a roll of
films, which upon being submitted to an expert chemist for
development, showed finally to be a series of pictures of
Roberta, made on shore—one sitting on a log, a second
posed by the side of the boat on shore, a third reaching up
toward the branches of a tree—all very dim and water-
soaked but still decipherable. And the exact measurements
of the broadest side of the camera corresponding in a
general way to the length and breadth of the wounds upon
Roberta’s face, which caused it now to seem positive that
they had discovered the implement wherewith Clyde had
delivered the blows.
Yet no trace of blood upon the camera itself. And none
upon the side or bottom of the boat, which had been
brought to Bridgeburg for examination. And none upon the
rug which had lain in the bottom of the boat.
In Burton Burleigh there existed as sly a person as might
have been found in a score of such backwoods counties as
this, and soon he found himself meditating on how easy it
would be, supposing irrefragable evidence were necessary,
for him or any one to cut a finger and let it bleed on the rug
or the side of the boat or the edge of the camera. Also, how
easy to take from the head of Roberta two or three hairs
and thread them between the sides of the camera, or about
the rowlock to which her veil had been attached. And after
due and secret meditation, he actually deciding to visit the
Lutz Brothers morgue and secure a few threads of
Roberta’s hair. For he himself was convinced that Clyde
had murdered the girl in cold blood. And for want of a bit of
incriminating proof, was such a young, silent, vain crook as
this to be allowed to escape? Not if he himself had to twine
the hairs about the rowlock or inside the lid of the cameras
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847
and then call Mason’s attention to them as something
overlooked!
And in consequence, upon the same day that Heit and
Mason were personally re-measuring the wounds upon
Roberta’s face and head, Burleigh slyly threading two of
Roberta’s hairs in between the door and the lens of the
camera, so that Mason and Heit a little while later
unexpectedly coming upon them, and wondering why they
had not seen them before—nevertheless accepting them
immediately as conclusive evidence of Clyde’s guilt.
Indeed, Mason thereupon announcing that in so far as he
was concerned, his case was complete. He had truly traced
out every step in this crime and if need be was prepared to
go to trial on the morrow.
Yet, because of the very completeness of the testimony,
deciding for the present, at least, not to say anything in
connection with the camera—to seal, if possible, the mouth
of every one who knew. For, assuming that Clyde persisted
in denying that he had carried a camera, or that his own
lawyer should be unaware of the existence of such
evidence, then how damning in court, and out of a clear
sky, to produce this camera, these photographs of Roberta
made by him, and the proof that the very measurements of
one side of the camera coincided with the size of the
wounds upon her face! How complete! How incriminating!
Also since he personally having gathered the testimony was
the one best fitted to present it, he decided to communicate
with the governor of the state for the purpose of obtaining a
special term of the Supreme Court for this district, with its
accompanying special session of the local grand jury, which
would then be subject to his call at any time. For with this
granted, he would be able to impanel a grand jury and in
the event of a true bill being returned against Clyde, then
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848
within a month or six weeks, proceed to trial. Strictly to
himself, however, he kept the fact that in view of his own
approaching nomination in the ensuing November election
this should all prove most opportune, since in the absence
of any such special term the case could not possibly be
tried before the succeeding regular January term of the
Supreme Court, by which time he would be out of office and
although possibly elected to the local judgeship still not able
to try the case in person. And in view of the state of public
opinion, which was most bitterly and vigorously anti-Clyde,
a quick trial would seem fair and logical to every one in this
local world. For why delay? Why permit such a criminal to
sit about and speculate on some plan of escape? And
especially when his trial by him, Mason, was certain to
rebound to his legal and political and social fame the
country over.
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Chapter 12
AND then out of the north woods a crime sensation of the
first magnitude, with all of those intriguingly colorful, and yet
morally and spiritually atrocious, elements—love, romance,
wealth, poverty, death. And at once picturesque accounts
of where and how Clyde had lived in Lycurgus, with whom
he had been connected, how he had managed to conceal
his relations with one girl while obviously planning to elope
with another—being wired for and published by that type of
editor so quick to sense the national news value of crimes
such as this. And telegrams of inquiry pouring in from New
York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, San Francisco and
other large American cities east and west, either to Mason
direct or the representatives of the Associated or United
Press in this area, asking for further and more complete
details of the crime. Who was this beautiful wealthy girl with
whom it was said this Griffiths was in love? Where did she
live? What were Clyde’s exact relations with her? Yet
Mason, over-awed by the wealth of the Finchleys and the
Griffiths, loath to part with Sondra’s name, simply asserting
for the present that she was the daughter of a very wealthy
manufacturer in Lycurgus, whose name he did not care to
furnish—yet not hesitating to show the bundle of letters
carefully tied with a ribbon by Clyde.
But Roberta’s letters on the other hand being described in
detail,—even excerpts of some of them—the more poetic
and gloomy being furnished the Press for use, for who was
there to protect her. And on their publication a wave of
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hatred for Clyde as well as a wave of pity for her—the poor,
lonely, country girl who had had no one but him—and he
cruel, faithless,—a murderer even. Was not hanging too
good for him? For en route to and from Bear Lake, as well
as since, Mason had pored over these letters. And because
of certain intensely moving passages relating to her home
life, her gloomy distress as to her future, her evident
loneliness and weariness of heart, he had been greatly
moved, and later had been able to convey this feeling to
others—his wife and Heit and the local newspapermen. So
much so that the latter in particular were sending from
Bridge-burg vivid, if somewhat distorted, descriptions of
Clyde, his silence, his moodiness, and his hard-
heartedness.
And then a particularly romantic young reporter from The
Star, of Utica arriving at the home of the Aldens, there was
immediately given to the world a fairly accurate picture of
the weary and defeated Mrs. Alden, who, too exhausted to
protest or complain, merely contented herself with a sincere
and graphic picture of Roberta’s devotion to her parents,
her simple ways of living, her modesty, morality, religious
devotion—how once the local pastor of the Methodist
Church had said that she was the brightest and prettiest
and kindest girl he had ever known, and how for years
before leaving home she had been as her mother’s own
right hand. And that undoubtedly because of her poverty
and loneliness in Lycurgus, she had been led to listen to the
honeyed words of this scoundrel, who, coming to her with
promises of marriage, had lured her into this unhallowed
and, in her case, all but unbelievable relationship which had
led to her death. For she was good and pure and sweet and
kind always. “And to think that she is dead. I can’t believe it.”
It was so that her mother was quoted.
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“Only Monday a week ago she was about—a little
depressed, I thought, but smiling, and for some reason
which I thought odd at the time went all over the place