An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

hers and lure her up there to one of those lone lakes in the

Adirondacks and slay her or drown her in cold blood, in

An American Tragedy

1020

order that you might be free to marry this Miss X. Any truth

in that? Tell this jury—yes or no—which is it?”

“No! No! I never did plot to kill her, or any one,” protested

Clyde, quite dramatically, and clutching at the arms of his

chair and seeking to be as emphatic as possible, since he

had been instructed so to do. At the same time he arose in

his seat and sought to look stern and convincing, although

in his heart and mind was the crying knowledge that he had

so plotted, and this it was that most weakened him at this

moment—most painfully and horribly weakened him. The

eyes of all these people. The eyes of the judge and jury and

Mason and all the men and women of the press. And once

more his brow was wet and cold and he licked his thin lips

nervously and swallowed with difficulty because his throat

was dry.

And then it was that piecemeal, and beginning with the

series of letters written by Roberta to Clyde after she

reached her home and ending with the one demanding that

he come for her or she would return to Lycurgus and

expose him, Jephson took up the various phases of the

“alleged” plot and crime, and now did his best to minimize

and finally dispel all that had been testified to so far.

Clyde’s suspicious actions in not writing Roberta. Well, he

was afraid of complications in connection with his relatives,

his work, everything. And the same with his arranging to

meet her in Fonda. He had no plan as to any trip with her

anywhere in particular at the time. He only thought vaguely

of meeting her somewhere—anywhere—and possibly

persuading her to leave him. But July arriving and his plan

still so indefinite, the first thing that occurred to him was that

they might go off to some inexpensive resort somewhere. It

was Roberta who in Utica had suggested some of the lakes

north of there. It was there in the hotel, not at the railway

An American Tragedy

1021

station, that he had secured some maps and folders—a

fatal contention in one sense, for Mason had one folder with

a Lycurgus House stamp on the cover, which Clyde had not

noticed at the time. And as he was so testifying, Mason was

thinking of this. In regard to leaving Lycurgus by a back

street—well, there had been a desire to conceal his

departure with Roberta, of course, but only to protect her

name and his from notoriety. And so with the riding in

separate cars, registering as Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Golden,

and so on indefinitely throughout the entire list of shifty

concealments and evasions. In regard to the two hats, well,

the one hat was soiled and seeing one that he liked he

bought it. Then when he lost the hat in the accident he

naturally put on the other. To be sure, he had owned and

carried a camera, and it was true that he had it at the

Cranstons’ on his first visit there on the eighteenth of June.

The only reason he denied having it at first was because he

was afraid of being identified with this purely accidental

death of Roberta in a way that would be difficult to explain.

He had been falsely charged with her murder immediately

upon his arrest in the woods, and he was fearful of his

entire connection with this ill-fated trip, and not having any

lawyer or any one to say a word for him, he thought it best

to say nothing and so for the time being had denied

everything, although at once on being provided counsel he

had confided to his attorneys the true facts of the case.

And so, too, with the missing suit, which because it was wet

and muddy he had done up in a bundle in the woods and

after reaching the Cranstons’ had deposited it behind some

stones there, intending to return and secure it and have it

dry-cleaned. But on being introduced to Mr. Belknap and

Mr. Jephson he had at once told both and they had secured

it and had it cleaned for him.

An American Tragedy

1022

“But now, Clyde, in regard to your plans and your being out

on that lake in the first place—let’s hear about that now.”

And then—quite as Jephson had outlined it to Belknap,

came the story of how he and Roberta had reached Utica

and afterwards Grass Lake. And yet no plan. He intended, if

worst came to worst, to tell her of his great love for Miss X

and appeal to her sympathy and understanding to set him

free at the same time that he offered to do anything that he

could for her. If she refused he intended to defy her and

leave Lycurgus, if necessary, and give up everything.

“But when I saw her at Fonda, and later in Utica, looking as

tired and worried as she was,” and here Clyde was

endeavoring to give the ring of sincerity to words carefully

supplied him, “and sort of helpless, I began to feel sorry for

her again.”

“Yes, and then what?”

“Well, I wasn’t quite so sure whether in case she refused to

let me off I could go through with leaving her.”

“Well, what did you decide then?”

“Not anything just then. I listened to what she had to say

and I tried to tell her how hard it was going to be for me to

do anything much, even if I did go away with her. I only had

fifty dollars.”

“Yes?”

“And then she began to cry, and I decided I couldn’t talk to

her any more about it there. She was too run-down and

nervous. So I asked her if there wasn’t any place she would

like to go to for a day or two to brace herself up a little,”

went on Clyde, only here on account of the blackness of the

lie he was telling he twisted and swallowed in the weak,

stigmatic way that was his whenever he was attempting

An American Tragedy

1023

something which was beyond him—any untruth or a feat of

skill—and then added: “And she said yes, maybe to one of

those lakes up in the Adirondacks—it didn’t make much

difference which one—if we could afford it. And when I told

her, mostly because of the way she was feeling, that I

thought we could——”

“Then you really only went up there on her account?”

“Yes, sir, only on account of her.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Well, then she said if I would go downstairs or somewhere

and get some folders we might be able to find a place up

there somewhere where it wasn’t so expensive.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, and then what?”

“Well, we looked them over and we finally hit on Grass

Lake.”

“Who did? The two of you—or she?”

“Well, she took one folder and I took another, and in hers

she found an ad about an inn up there where two people

could stay for twenty-one dollars a week, or five dollars a

day for the two. And I thought we couldn’t do much better

than that for one day.”

“Was one day all you intended to stay?”

“No, sir. Not if she wanted to stay longer. My idea at first

was that we might stay one or two days or three. I couldn’t

tell—whatever time it took me to talk things out with her and

make her understand and see where I stood.”

“I see. And then …?”

An American Tragedy

1024

“Well, then we went up to Grass Lake the next morning.”

“In separate cars still?”

“Yes, sir—in separate cars.”

“And when you got there?”

“Why, we registered.”

“How?”

“Clifford Graham and wife.”

“Still afraid some one would know who you were?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you try to disguise your handwriting in any way?”

“Yes, sir—a little.”

“But just why did you always use your own initials—C. G.?”

“Well, I thought that the initials on my bag should be the

same as the initials on the register, and still not be my

name either.”

“I see. Clever in one sense, not so clever in another—just

half clever, which is the worst of all.” At this Mason half rose

in his seat as though to object, but evidently changing his

mind, sank slowly back again. And once more Jephson’s

right eye swiftly and inquiringly swept the jury to his right.

“Well, did you finally explain to her that you wanted to be

done with it all as you had planned—or did you not?”

“I wanted to talk to her about it just after we got there if I

could—the next morning, anyhow—but just as soon as we