An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

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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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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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