"Yes, sir--I remember that."
"And that was a lie, of course?"
"Yes, sir."
"And told with all the fervor and force that you are now telling
this other lie?"
"I'm not lying. I've explained why I said that."
"You've explained why you said that! You've explained why you said
that! And because you lied there you expect to be believed here,
do you?"
Belknap rose to object, but Jephson pulled him down.
"Well, this is the truth, just the same."
"And no power under heaven could make you tell another lie here, of
course--not a strong desire to save yourself from the electric
chair?"
Clyde blanched and quivered slightly; he blinked his red, tired
eyelids. "Well, I might, maybe, but not under oath, I don't
think."
"You don't think! Oh, I see. Lie all you want wherever you are--
and at any time--and under any circumstances--except when you're on
trial for murder!"
"No, sir. It isn't that. But what I just said is so."
"And you swear on the Bible, do you, that you experienced a change
of heart?"
"Yes, sir."
"That Miss Alden was very sad and that was what moved you to
experience this change of heart?"
"Yes, sir. That's how it was."
"Well, now, Griffiths, when she was up there in the country and
waiting for you--she wrote you all those letters there, did she
not?"
"Yes, sir."
"You received one on an average of every two days, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you knew she was lonely and miserable there, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir--but then I've explained--"
"Oh, you've explained! You mean your lawyers have explained it for
you! Didn't they coach you day after day in that jail over there
as to how you were to answer when the time came?"
"No, sir, they didn't!" replied Clyde, defiantly, catching
Jephson's eye at this moment.
"Well, then when I asked you up there at Bear Lake how it was that
his girl met her death--why didn't you tell me then and save all
this trouble and suspicion and investigation? Don't you think the
public would have listened more kindly and believingly there than
it will now after you've taken five long months to think it all out
with the help of two lawyers?"
"But I didn't think it out with any lawyers," persisted Clyde,
still looking at Jephson, who was supporting him with all his
mental strength. "I've just explained why I did that."
"You've explained! You've explained!" roared Mason, almost beside
himself with the knowledge that this false explanation was
sufficient of a shield or barrier for Clyde to hide behind whenever
he found himself being too hard pressed--the little rat! And so
now he fairly quivered with baffled rage as he proceeded.
"And before you went up--while she was writing them to you--you
considered them sad, didn't you?"
"Why, yes, sir. That is"--he hesitated incautiously--"some parts
of them anyhow."
"Oh, I see--only some parts of them now. I thought you just said
you considered them sad."
"Well, I do."
"And did."
"Yes, sir--and did." But Clyde's eyes were beginning to wander
nervously in the direction of Jephson, who was fixing him as with a
beam of light.
"Remember her writing you this?" And here Mason picked up and
opened one of the letters and began reading: "Clyde--I shall
certainly die, dear, if you don't come. I am so much alone. I am
nearly crazy now. I wish I could go away and never return or
trouble you any more. But if you would only telephone me, even so
much as once every other day, since you won't write. And when I
need you and a word of encouragement so." Mason's voice was
mellow. It was sad. One could feel, as he spoke, the wave of
passing pity that was moving as sound and color not only through
him but through every spectator in the high, narrow courtroom.
"Does that seem at all sad to you?"
"Yes, sir, it does."
"Did it then?"
"Yes, sir, it did."
"You knew it was sincere, didn't you?" snarled Mason.
"Yes, sir. I did."
"Then why didn't a little of that pity that you claim moved you so
deeply out there in the center of Big Bittern move you down there
in Lycurgus to pick up the telephone there in Mrs. Peyton's house
where you were and reassure that lonely girl by so much as a word
that you were coming? Was it because your pity for her then wasn't
as great as it was after she wrote you that threatening letter? Or
was it because you had a plot and you were afraid that too much
telephoning to her might attract attention? How was it that you
had so much pity all of a sudden up at Big Bittern, but none at all
down there at Lycurgus? Is it something you can turn on and off
like a faucet?"
"I never said I had none at all," replied Clyde, defiantly, having
just received an eye-flash from Jephson.
"Well, you left her to wait until she had to threaten you because
of her own terror and misery."
"Well, I've admitted that I didn't treat her right."
"Ha, ha! Right! RIGHT! And because of that admission and in face
of all the other testimony we've had here, your own included, you
expect to walk out of here a free man, do you?"
Belknap was not to be restrained any longer. His objection came--
and with bitter vehemence he addressed the judge: "This is
infamous, your Honor. Is the district attorney to be allowed to
make a speech with every question?"
"I heard no objection," countered the court. "The district
attorney will frame his questions properly."
Mason took the rebuke lightly and turned again to Clyde. "In that
boat there in the center of Big Bittern you have testified that you
had in your hand that camera that you once denied owning?"
"Yes, sir."
"And she was in the stern of the boat?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bring in that boat, will you, Burton?" he called to Burleigh at
this point, and forthwith four deputies from the district
attorney's office retired through a west door behind the judge's
rostrum and soon returned carrying the identical boat in which
Clyde and Roberta had sat, and put it down before the jury. And as
they did so Clyde chilled and stared. The identical boat! He
blinked and quivered as the audience stirred, stared and strained,
an audible wave of curiosity and interest passing over the entire
room. And then Mason, taking the camera and shaking it up and
down, exclaimed: "Well, here you are now, Griffiths! The camera
you never owned. Step down here into this boat and take this
camera here and show the jury just where you sat, and where Miss
Alden sat. And exactly, if you can, how and where it was that you
struck Miss Alden and where and about how she fell."
"Object!" declared Belknap.
A long and wearisome legal argument, finally terminating in the
judge allowing this type of testimony to be continued for a while
at least. And at the conclusion of it, Clyde declaring: "I didn't
intentionally strike her with it though"--to which Mason replied:
"Yes, we heard you testify that way"--then Clyde stepping down and
after being directed here and there finally stepping into the boat
at the middle seat and seating himself while three men held it
straight.
"And now, Newcomb--I want you to come here and sit wherever Miss
Alden was supposed to sit and take any position which he describes
as having been taken by her."
"Yes, sir," said Newcomb, coming forward and seating himself while
Clyde vainly sought to catch Jephson's eye but could not since his
own back was partially turned from him.
"And now, Griffiths," went on Mason, "just you show Mr. Newcomb
here how Miss Alden arose and came toward you. Direct him."
And then Clyde, feeling weak and false and hated, arising again and
in a nervous and angular way--the eerie strangeness of all this
affecting him to the point of unbelievable awkwardness--attempting
to show Newcomb just how Roberta had gotten up and half walked and
half crawled, then had stumbled and fallen. And after that, with
the camera in his hand, attempting to show as nearly as he could
recall, how unconsciously his arm had shot out and he had struck
Roberta, he scarcely knowing where--on the chin and cheek maybe,
he was not sure, but not intentionally, of course, and not with
sufficient force really to injure her, he thought at the time.
But just here a long wrangle between Belknap and Mason as to the
competency of such testimony since Clyde declared that he could not
remember clearly--but Oberwaltzer finally allowing the testimony on
the ground that it would show, relatively, whether a light or heavy
push or blow was required in order to upset any one who might be
"lightly" or "loosely" poised.
"But how in Heaven's name are these antics as here demonstrated on
a man of Mr. Newcomb's build to show what would follow in the case
of a girl of the size and weight of Miss Alden?" persisted Belknap.
"Well, then we'll put a girl of the size and weight of Miss Alden
in here." And at once calling for Zillah Saunders and putting her
in Newcomb's place. But Belknap none-the-less proceeding with:
"And what of that? The conditions aren't the same. This boat
isn't on the water. No two people are going to be alike in their
resistance or their physical responses to accidental blows."
"Then you refuse to allow this demonstration to be made?" (This
was from Mason, turning and cynically inquiring.)
"Oh, make it if you choose. It doesn't mean anything though, as
anybody can see," persisted Belknap, suggestively.
And so Clyde, under directions from Mason, now pushing at Zillah,
"about as hard," (he thought) as he had accidentally pushed at
Roberta. And she falling back a little--not much--but in so doing
being able to lay a hand on each side of the boat and so save
herself. And the jury, in spite of Belknap's thought that his
contentions would have counteracted all this, gathering the
impression that Clyde, on account of his guilt and fear of death,
was probably attempting to conjure something that had been much
more viciously executed, to be sure. For had not the doctors sworn
to the probable force of this and another blow on the top of the
head? And had not Burton Burleigh testified to having discovered a
hair in the camera? And how about the cry that woman had heard?
How about that?
But with that particular incident the court was adjourned for this
day.
On the following morning at the sound of the gavel, there was
Mason, as fresh and vigorous and vicious as ever. And Clyde, after
a miserable night in his cell and much bolstering by Jephson and
Belknap, determined to be as cool and insistent and innocent-
appearing as he could be, but with no real heart for the job, so
convinced was he that local sentiment in its entirety was against
him--that he was believed to be guilty. And with Mason beginning
most savagely and bitterly:
"You still insist that you experienced a change of heart, do you,
Griffiths?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Ever hear of people being resuscitated after they have apparently
drowned?"
"I don't quite understand."
"You know, of course, that people who are supposed to be drowned,
who go down for the last time and don't come up, are occasionally
gotten out of the water and revived, brought back to life by first-
aid methods--working their arms and rolling them over a log or a
barrel. You've heard of that, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir, I think I have. I've heard of people being brought back
to life after they're supposed to be drowned, but I don't think I
ever heard just how."
"You never did?"
"No, sir."
"Or how long they could stay under water and still be revived?"
"No, sir. I never did."
"Never heard, for instance, that a person who had been in the water
as long as fifteen minutes might still be brought to?"
"No, sir."
"So it never occurred to you after you swam to shore yourself that
you might still call for aid and so save her life even then?"
"No, sir, it didn't occur to me. I thought she was dead by then."
"I see. But when she was still alive out there in the water--how
about that? You're a pretty good swimmer, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir, I swim fairly well."
"Well enough, for instance, to save yourself by swimming over five
hundred feet with your shoes and clothes on. Isn't that so?"
"Well, I did swim that distance then--yes, sir."
"Yes, you did indeed--and pretty good for a fellow who couldn't
swim thirty-five feet to an overturned boat, I'll say," concluded
Mason.
Here Jephson waved aside Belknap's suggestion that he move to have
this comment stricken out.
Clyde was now dragged over his various boating and swimming
experiences and made to tell how many times he had gone out on
lakes in craft as dangerous as canoes and had never had an
accident.
"The first time you took Roberta out on Crum Lake was in a canoe,
wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you had no accident then?"
"No, sir."
"You cared for her then very much, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"But the day she was drowned in Big Bittern, in this solid, round-
bottomed row-boat, you didn't care for her any more."
"Well, I've said how I felt then."
"And of course there couldn't be any relation between the fact that
on Crum Lake you cared for her but on Big Bittern--"
"I said how I felt then."
"But you wanted to get rid of her just the same, didn't you? The
moment she was dead to run away to that other girl. You don't deny
that, do you?"
"I've explained why I did that," reiterated Clyde.
"Explained! Explained! And you expect any fair-minded, decent,
intelligent person to believe that explanation, do you?" Mason was
fairly beside himself with rage and Clyde did not venture to
comment as to that. The judge anticipated Jephson's objection to
this and bellowed, "Objection sustained." But Mason went right on.
"You couldn't have been just a little careless, could you,
Griffiths, in the handling of the boat and upset it yourself, say?"
He drew near and leered.
"No, sir, I wasn't careless. It was an accident that I couldn't
avoid." Clyde was quite cool, though pale and tired.
"An accident. Like that other accident out there in Kansas City,
for instance. You're rather familiar with accidents of that kind,
aren't you, Griffiths?" queried Mason sneeringly and slowly.
"I've explained how that happened," replied Clyde nervously.
"You're rather familiar with accidents that result in death to
girls, aren't you? Do you always run away when one of them dies?"
"Object," yelled Belknap, leaping to his feet.
"Objection sustained," called Oberwaltzer sharply. "There is
nothing before this court concerning any other accident. The
prosecution will confine itself more closely to the case in hand."
"Griffiths," went on Mason, pleased with the way he had made a
return to Jephson for his apology for the Kansas City accident,
"when that boat upset after that accidental blow of yours and you
and Miss Alden fell into the water--how far apart were you?"
"Well, I didn't notice just then."
"Pretty close, weren't you? Not much more than a foot or two,
surely--the way you stood there in the boat?"
"Well, I didn't notice. Maybe that, yes, sir."
"Close enough to have grabbed her and hung on to her if you had
wanted to, weren't you? That's what you jumped up for, wasn't it,
when she started to fall out?"
"Yes, that's what I jumped up for," replied Clyde heavily, "but I
wasn't close enough to grab her. I know I went right under, and
when I came up she was some little distance away."
"Well, how far exactly? As far as from here to this end of the
jury box or that end, or half way, or what?"
"Well, I say I didn't notice, quite. About as far from here to
that end, I guess," he lied, stretching the distance by at least
eight feet.
"Not really!" exclaimed Mason, pretending to evince astonishment.
"This boat here turns over, you both fall in the water close
together, and when you come up you and she are nearly twenty feet
apart. Don't you think your memory is getting a little the best of
you there?"
"Well, that's the way it looked to me when I came up."
"Well, now, after that boat turned over and you both came up, where
were you in relation to IT? Here is the boat now and where were
you out there in the audience, as to distance, I mean?"
"Well, as I say, I didn't exactly notice when I first came up,"
returned Clyde, looking nervously and dubiously at the space before
him. Most certainly a trap was being prepared for him. "About as
far as from here to that railing beyond your table, I guess."
"About thirty to thirty-five feet then," suggested Mason, slyly and
hopefully.
"Yes, sir. About that maybe. I couldn't be quite sure."
"And now with you over there and the boat here, where was Miss
Alden at that time?"
And Clyde now sensed that Mason must have some geometric or
mathematic scheme in mind whereby he proposed to establish his
guilt. And at once he was on his guard, and looking in the
direction of Jephson. At the same time he could not see how he was
to put Roberta too far away either. He had said she couldn't swim.
Wouldn't she be nearer the boat than he was? Most certainly. He
leaped foolishly--wildly--at the thought that it might be best to
say that she was about half that distance--not more, very likely.
And said so. And at once Mason proceeded with:
"Well, then she was not more than fifteen feet or so from you or
the boat."
"No, sir, maybe not. I guess not."
"Well then, do you mean to say that you couldn't have swum that
little distance and buoyed her up until you could reach the boat
just fifteen feet beyond her?"
"Well, as I say, I was a little dazed when I came up and she was
striking about and screaming so."
"But there was that boat--not more than thirty-five feet away,
according to your own story--and a mighty long way for a boat to
move in that time, I'll say. And do you mean to say that when you
could swim five hundred feet to shore afterwards that you couldn't
have swum to that boat and pushed it to her in time for her to save
herself? She was struggling to keep herself up, wasn't she?"
"Yes, sir. But I was rattled at first," pleaded Clyde, gloomily,
conscious of the eyes of all the jurors and all the spectators
fixed upon his face, "and... and..." (because of the general
strain of the suspicion and incredulity now focused as a great
force upon him, his nerve was all but failing him, and he was
hesitating and stumbling)... "I didn't think quite quick enough
I guess, what to do. Besides I was afraid if I went near her..."
"I know. A mental and moral coward," sneered Mason. "Besides very
slow to think when it's to your advantage to be slow and swift when
it's to your advantage to be swift. Is that it?"
"No, sir."
"Well, then, if it isn't, just tell me this, Griffiths, why was it,
after you got out of the water a few moments later you had
sufficient presence of mind to stop and bury that tripod before
starting through the woods, whereas, when it came to rescuing her
you got rattled and couldn't do a thing? How was it that you could
get so calm and calculating the moment you set your foot on land?
What can you say to that?"
"Well... a... I told you that afterwards I realized that
there was nothing else to do."
"Yes, we know all about that. But doesn't it occur to you that it
takes a pretty cool head after so much panic in the water to stop
at a moment like that and take such a precaution as that--burying
that tripod? How was it that you could think so well of that and
not think anything about the boat a few moments before?"
"Well... but..."
"You didn't want her to live, in spite of your alleged change of
heart! Isn't that it?" yelled Mason. "Isn't that the black, sad
truth? She was drowning, as you wanted her to drown, and you just
let her drown! Isn't that so?"
He was fairly trembling as he shouted this, and Clyde, the actual
boat before him and Roberta's eyes and cries as she sank coming
back to him with all their pathetic and horrible force, now shrank
and cowered in his seat--the closeness of Mason's interpretation of
what had really happened terrifying him. For never, even to
Jephson and Belknap, had he admitted that when Roberta was in the
water he had not wished to save her. Changelessly and secretively
he insisted he had wanted to but that it had all happened so
quickly, and he was so dazed and frightened by her cries and
movements, that he had not been able to do anything before she was
gone.
"I... I wanted to save her," he mumbled, his face quite gray,
"but... but... as I said, I was dazed... and...
and..."
"Don't you know that you're lying!" shouted Mason, leaning still
closer, his stout arms aloft, his disfigured face glowering and
scowling like some avenging nemesis or fury of gargoyle design--
"that you deliberately and with cold-hearted cunning allowed that
poor, tortured girl to die there when you might have rescued her as
easily as you could have swum fifty of those five hundred feet you
did swim in order to save yourself?" For by now he was convinced
that he knew just how Clyde had actually slain Roberta, something
in his manner and mood convincing him, and he was determined to
drag it out of him if he could. And although Belknap was instantly
on his feet with a protest that his client was being unfairly
prejudiced in the eyes of the jury and that he was really entitled
to--and now demanded--a mistrial--which complaint Justice
Oberwaltzer eventually overruled--still Clyde had time to reply,
but most meekly and feebly: "No! No! I didn't. I wanted to save
her if I could." Yet his whole manner, as each and every juror
noted, was that of one who was not really telling the truth, who
was really all of the mental and moral coward that Belknap had
insisted he was--but worse yet, really guilty of Roberta's death.
For after all, asked each juror of himself as he listened, why
couldn't he have saved her if he was strong enough to swim to shore
afterwards--or at least have swum to and secured the boat and
helped her to take hold of it?
"She only weighed a hundred pounds, didn't she?" went on Mason
feverishly.
"Yes, I think so."
"And you--what did you weigh at the time?"
"About a hundred and forty," replied Clyde.
"And a hundred and forty pound man," sneered Mason, turning to the
jury, "is afraid to go near a weak, sick, hundred-pound little girl
who is drowning, for fear she will cling to him and drag him under!
And a perfectly good boat, strong enough to hold three or four up,
within fifteen or twenty feet! How's that?"
And to emphasize it and let it sink in, he now paused, and took
from his pocket a large white handkerchief, and after wiping his
neck and face and wrists--since they were quite damp from his
emotional and physical efforts--turned to Burton Burleigh and
called: "You might as well have this boat taken out of here,
Burton. We're not going to need it for a little while anyhow."
And forthwith the four deputies carried it out.
And then, having recovered his poise, he once more turned to Clyde
and began with: "Griffiths, you knew the color and feel of Roberta
Alden's hair pretty well, didn't you? You were intimate enough
with her, weren't you?"
"I know the color of it or I think I do," replied Clyde wincing--
an anguished chill at the thought of it affecting him almost
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