“Clyde! You really loved Roberta Alden at first, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, you must have known, or at least you gathered
from her actions, from the first, didn’t you, that she was a
perfectly good and innocent and religious girl.”
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“Yes, sir, that’s how I felt about her,” replied Clyde,
repeating what he had been told to say.
“Well, then, just roughly now, without going into detail, do
you suppose you could explain to yourself and this jury how
and why and where and when those changes came about
which led to that relationship which we all of us” (and here
he looked boldly and wisely and coldly out over the
audience and then afterwards upon the jurors) “deplore.
How was it, if you thought so highly of her at first that you
could so soon afterwards descend to this evil relationship?
Didn’t you know that all men, and all women also, view it as
wrong, and outside of marriage unforgivable—a statutory
crime?”
The boldness and ironic sting of this was sufficient to cause
at first a hush, later a slight nervous tremor on the part of
the audience which, Mason as well as Justice Oberwaltzer
noting, caused both to frown apprehensively. Why, this
brazen young cynic! How dared he, via innuendo and in the
guise of serious questioning, intrude such a thought as this,
which by implication at least picked at the very foundations
of society—religious and moral! At the same time there he
was, standing boldly and leoninely, the while Clyde replied:
“Yes, sir, I suppose I did—certainly—but I didn’t try to
seduce her at first or at any time, really. I was in love with
her.”
“You were in love with her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very much?”
“Very much.”
“And was she as much in love with you at that time?”
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“Yes, sir, she was.”
“From the very first?”
“From the very first.”
“She told you so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At the time she left the Newtons—you have heard all the
testimony here in regard to that—did you induce or seek to
induce her in any way, by any trick or agreement, to leave
there?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. She wanted to leave there of her own
accord. She wanted me to help her find a place.”
“She wanted you to help her find a place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And just why?”
“Because she didn’t know the city very well and she thought
maybe I could tell her where there was a nice room she
could get—one that she could afford.”
“And did you tell her about the room she took at the
Gilpins’?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. I never told her about any room. She found
it herself.” (This was the exact answer he had memorized.)
“But why didn’t you help her?”
“Because I was busy, days and most evenings. And
besides I thought she knew better what she wanted than I
did—the kind of people and all.”
“Did you personally ever see the Gilpin place before she
went there?”
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“No, sir.”
“Ever have any discussion with her before she moved there
as to the kind of a room she was to take—its position as
regards to entrance, exit, privacy, or anything of that sort?”
“No, sir, I never did.”
“Never insisted, for instance, that she take a certain type of
room which you could slip in and out of at night or by day
without being seen?”
“I never did. Besides, no one could very well slip in or out of
that house without being seen.”
“And why not?”
“Because the door to her room was right next to the door to
the general front entrance where everybody went in and out
and anybody that was around could see.” That was another
answer he had memorized.
“But you slipped in and out, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, sir—that is, we both decided from the first that
the less we were seen together anywhere, the better.”
“On account of that factory rule?”
“Yes, sir—on account of that factory rule.”
And then the story of his various difficulties with Roberta,
due to Miss X coming into his life.
“Now, Clyde, we will have to go into the matter of this Miss
X a little. Because of an agreement between the defense
and the prosecution which you gentlemen of the jury fully
understand, we can only touch on this incidentally, since it
all concerns an entirely innocent person whose real name
can be of no service here anyhow. But some of the facts
must be touched upon, although we will deal with them as
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light as possible, as much for the sake of the innocent living
as the worthy dead. And I am sure Miss Alden would have
it so if she were alive. But now in regard to Miss X,” he
continued, turning to Clyde, “it is already agreed by both
sides that you met her in Lycurgus some time in November
or December of last year. That is correct, is it not?”
“Yes, sir, that is correct,” replied Clyde, sadly.
“And that at once you fell very much in love with her?”
“Yes, sir. That’s true.”
“She was rich?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Beautiful?
“I believe it is admitted by all that she is,” he said to the
court in general without requiring or anticipating a reply
from Clyde, yet the latter, so thoroughly drilled had he been,
now replied: “Yes, sir.”
“Had you two—yourself and Miss Alden, I mean—at that
time when you first met Miss X already established that illicit
relationship referred to?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, now, in view of all that—but no, one moment, there is
something else I want to ask you first—now, let me see—at
the time that you first met this Miss X you were still in love
with Roberta Alden, were you—or were you not?”
“I was still in love with her—yes, sir.”
“You had not, up to that time at least, in any way become
weary of her? Or had you?”
“No, sir. I had not.”
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“Her love and her companionship were just as precious and
delightful to you as ever?”
“Yes, sir, they were.”
And as Clyde said that, he was thinking back and it seemed
to him that what he had just said was really true. It was true
that just before meeting Sondra he was actually at the
zenith of content and delight with Roberta.
“And what, if any, were your plans for your future with Miss
Alden—before you met this Miss X? You must have thought
at times of that, didn’t you?”
“Well, not exactly,” (and as he said this he licked his lips in
sheer nervousness). “You see, I never had any real plan to
do anything—that is, to do anything that wasn’t quite right
with her. And neither did she, of course. We just drifted
kinda, from the first. It was being alone there so much,
maybe. She hadn’t taken up with anybody yet and I hadn’t
either. And then there was that rule that kept me from
taking her about anywhere, and once we were together, of
course we just went on without thinking very much about it,
I suppose—either of us.”
“You just drifted because nothing had happened as yet and
you didn’t suppose anything would. Is that the way?”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. That’s the way it was.” Clyde was
very eager to get those much-rehearsed and very important
answers, just right.
“But you must have thought of something—one or both of
you. You were twenty-one and she was twenty-three.”
“Yes, sir. I suppose we did—I suppose I did think of
something now and then.”
“And what was it that you thought? Can you recollect?”
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“Well, yes, sir. I suppose I can. That is, I know that I did
think at times that if things went all right and I made a little
more money and she got a place somewhere else, that I
would begin taking her out openly, and then afterwards
maybe, if she and I kept on caring for each other as we did
then, marry her, maybe.”
“You actually thought of marrying her then, did you?”
“Yes, sir. I know I did in the way that I’ve said, of course.”
“But that was before you met this Miss X?”
“Yes, sir, that was before that.”
(“Beautifully done!” observed Mason, sarcastically, under
his breath to State Senator Redmond. “Excellent stage
play,” replied Redmond in a stage whisper.)
“But did you ever tell her in so many words?” continued
Jephson.
“Well, no, sir. I don’t recall that I did—not just in so many
words.”
“You either told her or you didn’t tell her. Now, which was
it?”
“Well, neither, quite. I used to tell her that I loved her and
that I never wanted her to leave me and that I hoped she
never would.”
“But not that you wanted to marry her?”