once did.”
“But couldn’t you help her out of it?”
“No, sir. But I tried.”
“You went to that druggist who testified here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To anybody else?”
“Yes, sir—to seven others before I could get anything at all.”
“But what you got didn’t help?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you go to that young haberdasher who testified here as
he said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did he give you the name of any particular doctor?”
“Well—yes—but I wouldn’t care to say which one.”
“All right, you needn’t. But did you send Miss Alden to any
doctor?”
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“Yes, sir.”
“Did she go alone or did you go with her?”
“I went with her—that is, to the door.”
“Why only to the door?”
“Well, we talked it over, and she thought just as I did, that it
might be better that way. I didn’t have any too much money
at the time. I thought he might be willing to help her for less
if she went by herself than if we both went together.”
(“I’ll be damned if he isn’t stealing most of my thunder,”
thought Mason to himself at this point. “He’s forestalling
most of the things I intended to riddle him with.” And he sat
up worried. Burleigh and Redmond and Earl New-comb—all
now saw clearly what Jephson was attempting to do.)
“I see. And it wasn’t by any chance because you were
afraid that your uncle or Miss X might hear of it?”
“Oh, yes, I … that is, we both thought of that and talked of
it. She understood how things were with me down there.”
“But not about Miss X?”
“No, not about Miss X.”
“And why not?”
“Well, because I didn’t think I could very well tell her just
then. It would have made her feel too bad. I wanted to wait
until she was all right again.”
“And then tell her and leave her. Is that what you mean?”
“Well, yes, if I still couldn’t care for her any more—yes, sir.”
“But not if she was in trouble?”
“Well, no, sir, not if she was in trouble. But you see, at that
time I was expecting to be able to get her out of that.”
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“I see. But didn’t her condition affect your attitude toward her
—cause you to want to straighten the whole thing out by
giving up this Miss X and marrying Miss Alden?”
“Well, no, sir—not then exactly—that is, not at that time.”
“How do you mean—‘not at that time’?”
“Well, I did come to feel that way later, as I told you—but
not then—that was afterwards—after we started on our trip
to the Adirondacks.”
“And why not then?”
“I’ve said why. I was too crazy about Miss X to think of
anything but her.”
“You couldn’t change even then?”
“No, sir. I felt sorry, but I couldn’t.”
“I see. But never mind that now. I will come to that later.
Just now I want to have you explain to the jury, if you can,
just what it was about this Miss X, as contrasted with Miss
Alden, that made her seem so very much more desirable in
your eyes. Just what characteristics of manner or face or
mind or position—or whatever it was that so enticed you?
Or do you know?”
This was a question which both Belknap and Jephson in
various ways and for various reasons—psychic, legal,
personal—had asked Clyde before, and with varying
results. At first he could not and would not discuss her at
all, fearing that whatever he said would be seized upon and
used in his trial and the newspapers along with her name.
But later, when because of the silence of the newspapers
everywhere in regard to her true name, it became plain that
she was not to be featured, he permitted himself to talk
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more freely about her. But now here on the stand, he grew
once more nervous and reticent.
“Well, you see, it’s hard to say. She was very beautiful to
me. Much more so than Roberta—but not only that, she
was different from any one I had ever known—more
independent—and everybody paid so much attention to
what she did and what she said. She seemed to know more
than any one else I ever knew. Then she dressed awfully
well, and was very rich and in society and her name and
pictures were always in the paper. I used to read about her
every day when I didn’t see her, and that seemed to keep
her before me a lot. She was daring, too—not so simple or
trusting as Miss Alden was—and at first it was hard for me
to believe that she was becoming so interested in me. It got
so that I couldn’t think of any one or anything else, and I
didn’t want Roberta any more. I just couldn’t, with Miss X
always before me.”
“Well, it looks to me as if you might have been in love, or
hypnotized at that,” insinuated Jephson at the conclusion of
this statement, the tail of his right eye upon the jury. “If that
isn’t a picture of pretty much all gone, I guess I don’t know
one when I see it.” But with the audience and the jury as
stony-faced as before, as he could see.
But immediately thereafter the swift and troubled waters of
the alleged plot which was the stern trail to which all this
was leading.
“Well, now, Clyde, from there on, just what happened? Tell
us now, as near as you can recall. Don’t shade it or try to
make yourself look any better or any worse. She is dead,
and you may be, eventually, if these twelve gentlemen here
finally so decide.” (And at this an icy chill seemed to
permeate the entire courtroom as well as Clyde.) “But the
truth for the peace of your own soul is the best,”—and here
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1012
Jephson thought of Mason—let him counteract that if he
can.
“Yes, sir,” said Clyde, simply.
“Well, then, after she got in trouble and you couldn’t help
her, then what? What was it you did? How did you act? …
By the way, one moment—what was your salary at that
time?”
“Twenty-five dollars a week,” confessed Clyde.
“No other source of income?”
“I didn’t quite hear.”
“Was there any other source from which you were obtaining
any money at that time in any way?”
“No, sir.”
“And how much was your room?”
“Seven dollars a week.”
“And your board?”
“Oh, from five to six.”
“Any other expenses?”
“Yes, sir—my clothes and laundry.”
“You had to stand your share of whatever social doings
were on foot, didn’t you?”
“Objected to as leading!” called Mason.
“Objection sustained,” replied Justice Oberwaltzer.
“Any other expenses that you can think of?”
“Well, there were carfares and trainfares. And then I had to
share in whatever social expenses there were.”
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“Exactly!” cried Mason, with great irritation. “I wish you
would quit leading this parrot here.”
“I wish the honorable district attorney would mind his own
business!” snorted Jephson—as much for Clyde’s benefit
as for his own. He wished to break down his fear of Mason.
“I’m examining this defendant, and as for parrots we’ve
seen quite a number of them around here in the last few
weeks, and coached to the throat like school-boys.”
“That’s a malicious lie!” shouted Mason. “I object and
demand an apology.”
“The apology is to me and to this defendant, if your Honor
pleases, and will be exacted quickly if your Honor will only
adjourn this court for a few minutes,” and then stepping
directly in front of Mason, he added: “And I will be able to
obtain it without any judicial aid.” Whereupon Mason,
thinking he was about to be attacked, squared off, the while
assistants and deputy sheriffs, and stenographers and
writers, and the clerk of the court himself, gathered round
and seized the two lawyers while Justice Oberwaltzer
pounded violently on his desk with his gavel:
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! You are both in contempt of court,
both of you! You will apologize to the court and to each
other, or I’ll declare a mistrial and commit you both for ten
days and fine you five hundred dollars each.” With this he
leaned down and frowned on both. And at once Jephson
replied, most suavely and ingratiatingly: “Under the
circumstances, your Honor, I apologize to you and to the
attorney for the People and to this jury. The attack on this
defendant, by the district attorney, seemed too unfair and
uncalled for—that was all.”
“Never mind that,” continued Oberwaltzer.
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“Under the circumstances, your Honor, I apologize to you
and to the counsel for the defense. I was a little hasty,
perhaps. And to this defendant also,” sneered Mason, after
first looking into Justice Oberwaltzer’s angry and
uncompromising eyes and then into Clyde’s, who instantly