it was so plain from his restless, troubled manner that
Smillie did not believe him. Quite obviously he considered
his not having aided Roberta as dastardly—a thin excuse
for letting her die.
And so, too weary and disheartened to lie more, finally
ceasing. And Smillie, too sorry and disturbed to wish to
catechize or confuse him further, fidgeting and fumbling
and finally declaring: “Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to be going
now, Clyde. The roads are pretty bad between here and
Sharon. But I’ve been mighty glad to hear your side of it.
And I’ll present it to your uncle just as you have told it to
me. But in the meantime, if I were you, I wouldn’t do any
more talking than I could help—not until you hear further
from me. I was instructed to find an attorney up here to
handle this case for you, if I could, but since it’s late and Mr.
Brookhart, our chief counsel, will be back to-morrow, I think
I’ll just wait until I can talk to him. So if you’ll take my
advice, you’ll just not say anything until you hear from him
or me. Either he’ll come or he’ll send some one—he’ll bring
a letter from me, whoever he is, and then he’ll advise you.”
And with this parting admonition, leaving Clyde to his
thoughts and himself feeling no least doubt of his guilt and
that nothing less than the Griffiths’ millions, if so they chose
to spend them, could save him from a fate which was no
doubt due him.
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861
Chapter 13
AND then on the following morning Samuel Griffiths, with
his own son Gilbert standing by, in the large drawing room
of their Wykeagy Avenue mansion, listening to Smillie’s
report of his conference with Clyde and Mason. And Smillie
reporting all he had heard and seen. And with Gilbert
Griffiths, unbelievably shaken and infuriated by all this,
exclaiming at one point:
“Why, the little devil! The little beast! But what did I tell you,
Dad? Didn’t I warn you against bringing him on?”
And Samuel Griffiths after meditating on this reference to
his earlier sympathetic folly now giving Gilbert a most
suggestive and intensely troubled look, which said: Are we
here to discuss the folly of my original, if foolish, good
intentions, or the present crisis? And Gilbert thinking: The
murderer! And that wretched little show-off, Sondra
Finchley, trying to make something of him in order to spite
me, Gilbert, principally, and so getting herself smirched.
The little fool! But it served her right. She would get her
share of this now. Only it would cause him and his father
and all of them infinite trouble also. For was this not an
ineradicable stain which was likely to defile all—himself, his
fiancee, Bella, Myra, his parents—and perhaps cost them
their position here in Lycurgus society? The tragedy! Maybe
an execution! And in this family!
Yet Samuel Griffiths, on his part, going back in his mind to
all that had occurred since Clyde had arrived in Lycurgus.
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862
His being left to work in that basement at first and ignored
by the family. Left to his own devices for fully eight months.
Might not that have been at least a contributing cause to all
this horror? And then being put over all those girls! Was not
that a mistake? He could see all this now clearly, although
by no means condoning Clyde’s deed in any way—far from
it. The wretchedness of such a mind as that—the
ungoverned and carnal desires! The uncontrollable brutality
of seducing that girl and then because of Sondra—the
pleasant, agreeable little Sondra—plotting to get rid of her!
And now in jail, and offering no better explanation of all the
amazing circumstances, as reported by Smillie, than that he
had not intended to kill her at all—had not even plotted to
do so—that the wind had blown his hat off! How impossibly
weak! And with no suitable explanation for the two hats, or
the missing suit, or of not going to the aid of the drowning
girl And those unexplained marks on her face. How strongly
all these things pointed to his guilt.
“For God’s sake,” exclaimed Gilbert, “hasn’t he anything
better than that to offer, the little fool!” And Smillie replied
that that was all he could get him to say, and that Mr.
Mason was absolutely and quite dispassionately convinced
of his guilt. “Dreadful! Dreadful!” put in Samuel. “I really
can’t grasp it yet. I can’t! It doesn’t seem possible that any
one of my blood could be guilty of such a thing!” And then
getting up and walking the floor in real and crushing
distress and fear. His family! Gilbert and his future! Bella,
with all her ambitions and dreams! And Sondra! And
Finchley!
He clinched his hands. He knitted his brows and tightened
his lips. He looked at Smillie, who, immaculate and sleek,
showed nevertheless the immense strain that was on him,
shaking his head dismally whenever Griffiths looked at him.
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863
And then after nearly an hour and a half more of such
questioning and requestioning as to the possibility of some
other interpretation than the data furnished by Smillie would
permit, Griffiths, senior, pausing and declaring: “Well, it
does look bad, I must say. Still, in the face of what you tell
me, I can’t find it in me to condemn completely without
more knowledge than we have here. There may be some
other facts not as yet come to light—he won’t talk, you say,
about most things—some little details we don’t know about
—some slight excuse of some kind—for without that this
does appear to be a most atrocious crime. Has Mr. Brook-
hart got in from Boston?”
“Yes, sir, he’s here,” replied Gilbert. “He telephoned Mr.
Smillie.”
Well, have him come out here at two this afternoon to see
me. I’m too tired to talk more about this right now. Tell him
all that you have told me, Smillie. And then come back here
with him at two. It may be that he will have some
suggestion to make that will be of value to us, although just
what I can’t see. Only one thing I want to say—I hope he
isn’t guilty. And I want every proper step taken to discover
whether he is or not, and if not, to defend him to the limit of
the law. But no more than that. No trying to save anybody
who is guilty of such a thing as this—no, no, no!—not even
if he is my nephew! Not me! I’m not that kind of a man!
Trouble or no trouble—disgrace or no disgrace—I’ll do what
I can to help him if he’s innocent—if there’s even the
faintest reason for believing so. But guilty? No! Never! If
this boy is really guilty, he’ll have to take the consequences.
Not a dollar—not a penny—of my money will I devote to
any one who could be guilty of such a crime, even if he is
my nephew!”
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And turning and slowly and heavily moving toward the rear
staircase, while Smillie, wide-eyed, gazed after him in awe.
The power of him! The decision of him! The fairness of him
in such a deadly crisis! And Gilbert equally impressed, also
sitting and staring. His father was a man, really. He might
be cruelly wounded and distressed, but, unlike himself, he
was neither petty nor revengeful.
And next Mr. Darrah Brookhart, a large, well-dressed, well-
fed, ponderous and cautious corporation lawyer, with one
eye half concealed by a drooping lid and his stomach rather
protuberant, giving one the impression of being mentally if
not exactly physically suspended, balloon-wise, in some
highly rarefied atmosphere where he was moved easily
hither and yon by the lightest breath of previous legal
interpretations or decisions of any kind. In the absence of
additional facts, the guilt of Clyde (to him) seemed obvious.
Or, waiving that, as he saw it after carefully listening to
Smillie’s recounting of all the suspicious and incriminating
circumstances, he would think it very difficult to construct an
even partially satisfactory defense, unless there were some
facts favoring Clyde which had not thus far appeared.
Those two hats, that bag—his slipping away like that.
Those letters. But he would prefer to read them. For upon
the face of the data so far, unquestionably public sentiment
would be all against Clyde and in favor of the dead girl and
her poverty and her class, a situation which made a
favorable verdict in such a backwoods county seat as
Bridgeburg almost impossible. For Clyde, although himself
poor, was the nephew of a rich man and hitherto in good
standing in Lycurgus society. That would most certainly
tend to prejudice country-born people against him. It would
probably be better to ask for a change of venue so as to
nullify the force of such a prejudice.
An American Tragedy