approaching marriage, they occupied a single room
together. Yet the only reason it was forty-eight instead of
twenty-four hours was that he had made a mistake in
regard to the solitude of Grass Lake. Finding it brisk with
life, the center of a summer religious colony, he decided to
leave and go to Big Bittern, which was more lonely. And so
you have the astounding and bitter spectacle, gentlemen, of
a supposedly innocent and highly misunderstood young
man dragging this weary and heart-sick girl from place to
place, in order to find a lake deserted enough in which to
drown her. And with her but four months from motherhood!
“And then, having arrived at last at one lake lonely enough,
putting her in a boat and taking her out from the inn where
he had again falsely registered as Mr. Clifford Golden and
wife, to her death. The poor little thing imagined that she
was going for a brief outing before that marriage of which
he talked and which was to seal and sanctify it. To seal and
sanctify it! To seal and sanctify, as closing waters seal and
sanctify, but in no other way—no other way. And with him
walking, whole and sly—as a wolf from its kill—to freedom,
to marriage, to social and material and affectionate bliss
and superiority and ease, while she slept still and nameless
in her watery grave.
“But, oh, gentlemen, the ways of nature, or of God, and the
Providence that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we
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may! It is man who proposes, but God—God—who
disposes!
“The defendant is still wondering, I am sure, as to how I
know that she thought she was still going to be married
after leaving the inn at Big Bittern. And I have no doubt that
he still has some comforting thoughts to the effect that I
cannot really and truly know it. But how shrewd and deep
must be that mind that would foresee and forestall all the
accidents and chances of life. For, as he sits there now,
secure in the faith that his counsel may be able to extract
him safely from this” (and at this Clyde sat bolt upright, his
hair tingling, and his hands concealed beneath the table,
trembling slightly), “he does not know that that girl, while in
her room in the Grass Lake Inn, had written her mother a
letter, which she had not had time to mail, and which was in
the pocket of her coat left behind because of the heat of the
day, and because she imagined she was coming back, of
course. And which is here now upon this table.”
At this Clyde’s teeth fairly chattered. He shook as with a
chill. To be sure, she had left her coat behind! And Belknap
and Jephson also sat up, wondering what this could be.
How fatally, if at all, could it mar or make impossible the
plan of defense which they had evolved? They could only
wait and see.
“But in that letter,” went on Mason, “she tells why she was
up there—to be married, no less” (and at this point Jephson
and Belknap, as well as Clyde, heaved an enormous sigh
of relief—it was directly in the field of their plan) “and within
a day or two,” continued Mason, thinking still that he was
literally riddling Clyde with fear. “But Griffiths, or Graham, of
Albany, or Syracuse, or anywhere, knew better. He knew
he was not coming back. And he took all of his belongings
with him in that boat. And all afternoon long, from noon until
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evening, he searched for a spot on that lonely lake—a spot
not easily observed from any point of the shore, as we will
show. And as evening fell, he found it. And walking south
through the woods afterwards, with a new straw hat upon
his head, a clean, dry bag in his hand, he imagined himself
to be secure. Clifford Golden was no more—Carl Graham
was no more—drowned—at the bottom of Big Bittern, along
with Roberta Alden. But Clyde Griffiths was alive and free,
and on his way to Twelfth Lake, to the society he so loved.
“Gentlemen, Clyde Griffiths killed Roberta Alden before he
put her in that lake. He beat her on the head and face, and
he believed no eye saw him. But, as her last death cry rang
out over the water of Big Bittern, there was a witness, and
before the prosecution has closed its case, that witness will
be here to tell you the story.”
Mason had no eye witness, but he could not resist this
opportunity to throw so disrupting a thought into the
opposition camp.
And decidedly, the result was all that he expected, and
more. For Clyde, who up to this time and particularly since
the thunderbolt of the letter, had been seeking to face it all
with an imperturbable look of patient innocence, now
stiffened and then wilted. A witness! And here to testify!
God! Then he, whoever he was, lurking on the lone shore
of the lake, had seen the unintended blow, had heard her
cries—had seen that he had not sought to aid her! Had
seen him swim to shore and steal away—maybe had
watched him in the woods as he changed his clothes. God!
His hands now gripped the sides of the chair, and his head
went back with a jerk as if from a powerful blow, for that
meant death—his sure execution. God! No hope now! His
head dropped and he looked as though he might lapse into
a state of coma.
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As to Belknap, Mason’s revelation at first caused him to
drop the pencil with which he was making notes, then next
to stare in a puzzled and dumbfounded way, since they had
no evidence wherewith to forefend against such a smash
as this—But as instantly recalling how completely off his
guard he must look, recovering. Could it be that Clyde
might have been lying to them, after all—that he had killed
her intentionally, and before this unseen witness? If so it
might be necessary for them to withdraw from such a
hopeless and unpopular case, after all.
As for Jephson, he was for the moment stunned and
flattened. And through his stern and not easily shakable
brain raced such thoughts as—was there really a witness?—
has Clyde lied?—then the die was cast, for had he not
already admitted to them that he had struck Roberta, and
the witness must have seen that? And so the end of any
plea of a change of heart. Who would believe that, after
such testimony as this?
But because of the sheer contentiousness and
determination of his nature, he would not permit himself to
be completely baffled by this smashing announcement
Instead he turned, and after surveying the flustered and yet
self-chastising Belknap and Clyde, commented: “I don’t
believe it He’s lying, I think, or bluffing. At any rate, we’ll
wait and see. It’s a long time between now and our side of
the story. Look at all those witnesses there. And we can
cross-question them by the week, if we want to—until he’s
out of oil. Plenty of time to do a lot of things—find out about
this witness in the meantime. And besides, there’s suicide,
or there’s the actual thing that happened. We can let Clyde
swear to what did happen—a cataleptic trance—no courage
to do it. It’s not likely anybody can see that at five hundred
feet.” And he smiled grimly. At almost the same time he
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added, but not for Clyde’s ears: “We might be able to get
him off with twenty years at the worst, don’t you think?”
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Chapter 21
AND then witnesses, witnesses, witnesses—to the number
of one hundred and twenty-seven. And their testimony,
particularly that of the doctors, three guides, the woman
who heard Roberta’s last cry, all repeatedly objected to by
Jephson and Belknap, for upon such weakness and
demonstrable error as they could point out depended the
plausibility of Clyde’s daring defense. And all of this carrying
the case well into November, and after Mason had been
overwhelmingly elected to the judgeship which he had so
craved. And because of the very vigor and strife of the trial,
the general public from coast to coast taking more and
more interest. And obviously, as the days passed and the
newspaper writers at the trial saw it, Clyde was guilty. Yet
he, because of the repeated commands of Jephson, facing
each witness who assailed him with calm and even daring.
“Your name?”
‘Titus Alden.”
“You are the father of Roberta Alden?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, Mr. Alden, just tell the jury how and under what
circumstances it was that your daughter Roberta happened
to go to Lycurgus.”
“Objected to. Irrelevant, immaterial, incompetent,” snapped
Belknap.
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“I’ll connect it up,” put in Mason, looking up at the judge,