And in the upper right-hand corner of the paper, as well as on the envelope, were printed the words:
“Grass Lake Inn, Grass Lake, N. Y., Jack Evans, Prop.”
And the letter had evidently been written the morning after the night they had spent at Grass Lake as Mr. and Mrs. Carl Graham.
The waywardness of young girls!
For plainly, as this letter indicated, these two had stayed together as man and wife at that inn when they were not as yet married.
He winced as he read, for he had daughters of his own of whom he was exceedingly fond.
But at this point he had a thought.
A quadrennial county election was impending, the voting to take place the following November, at which were to be chosen for three years more the entire roster of county offices, his own included, and in addition this year a county judge whose term was for six years.
In August, some six weeks further on, were to be held the county Republican and Democratic conventions at which were to be chosen the regular party nominees for these respective offices.
Yet for no one of these places, thus far, other than that of the county judgeship, could the present incumbent of the office of district attorney possibly look forward with any hope, since already he had held the position of district attorney for two consecutive terms, a length of office due to the fact that not only was he a good orator of the inland political stripe but also, as the chief legal official of the county, he was in a position to do one and another of his friends a favor.
But now, unless he were so fortunate as to be nominated and subsequently elected to this county judgeship, defeat and political doldrums loomed ahead.
For during all his term of office thus far, there had been no really important case in connection with which he had been able to distinguish himself and so rightfully and hopefully demand further recognition from the people.
But this . . .
But now, as the Coroner shrewdly foresaw, might not this case prove the very thing to fix the attention and favor of the people upon one man — the incumbent district attorney — a close and helpful friend of his, thus far — and so sufficiently redound to his credit and strength, and through him to the party ticket itself, so that at the coming election all might be elected — the reigning district attorney thus winning for himself not only the nomination for but his election to the six-year term judgeship.
Stranger things than this had happened in the political world.
Immediately he decided not to answer any questions in regard to this letter, since it promised a quick solution of the mystery of the perpetrator of the crime, if there had been one, plus exceptional credit in the present political situation to whosoever should appear to be instrumental in the same.
At the same time he at once ordered Earl Newcomb, as well as the guide who had brought Roberta and Clyde to Big Bittern, to return to Gun Lodge station from where the couple had come and say that under no circumstances was the bag held there to be surrendered to any one save himself or a representative of the district attorney.
Then, when he was about to telephone to Biltz to ascertain whether there was such a family as Alden possessing a daughter by the name of Bert, or possibly Alberta, he was most providentially, as it seemed to him, interrupted by two men and a boy, trappers and hunters of this region, who, accompanied by a crowd of those now familiar with the tragedy, were almost tumultuously ushered into his presence.
For they had news — news of the utmost importance! As they now related, with many interruptions and corrections, at about five o’clock of the afternoon of the day on which Roberta was drowned, they were setting out from Three Mile Bay, some twelve miles south of Big Bittern, to hunt and fish in and near this lake.
And, as they now unanimously testified, on the night in question, at about nine o’clock, as they were nearing the south shore of Big Bittern — perhaps three miles to the south of it — they had encountered a young man, whom they took to be some stranger making his way from the inn at Big Bittern south to the village at Three Mile Bay.
He was a smartishly and decidedly well dressed youth for these parts, as they now said — wearing a straw hat and carrying a bag, and at the time they wondered why such a trip on foot and at such an hour since there was a train south early next morning which reached Three Mile Bay in an hour’s time.
And why, too, should he have been so startled at meeting them?
For as they described it, on his encountering them in the woods thus, he had jumped back as though startled and worse — terrified — as though about to run.
To be sure, the lantern one of them was carrying was turned exceedingly low, the moon being still bright, and they had walked quietly, as became men who were listening for wild life of any kind.
At the same time, surely this was a perfectly safe part of the country, traversed for the most part by honest citizens such as themselves, and there was no need for a young man to jump as though he were seeking to hide in the brush.
However, when the youth, Bud Brunig, who carried the light, turned it up the stranger seemed to recover his poise and after a moment in response to their “Howdy” had replied: “How do you do? How far is it to Three Mile Bay?” and they had replied, “About seven mile.” And then he had gone on and they also, discussing the encounter.
And now, since the description of this youth tallied almost exactly with that given by the guide who had driven Clyde over from Gun Lodge, as well as that furnished by the innkeepers at Big Bittern and Grass Lake, it seemed all too plain that he must be the same youth who had been in that boat with the mysterious dead girl.
At once Earl Newcomb suggested to his chief that he be permitted to telephone to the one inn-keeper at Three Mile Bay to see if by any chance this mysterious stranger had been seen or had registered there.
He had not.
Nor apparently at that time had he been seen by any other than the three men.
In fact, he had vanished as though into air, although by nightfall of this same day it was established that on the morning following the chance meeting of the men with the stranger, a youth of somewhat the same description and carrying a bag, but wearing a cap — not a straw hat — had taken passage for Sharon on the small lake steamer “Cygnus” plying between that place and Three Mile Bay.
But again, beyond that point, the trail appeared to be lost.
No one at Sharon, at least up to this time, seemed to recall either the arrival or departure of any such person.
Even the captain himself, as he later testified, had not particularly noted his debarkation — there were some fourteen others going down the lake that day and he could not be sure of any one person.
But in so far as the group at Big Bittern was concerned, the conclusion slowly but definitely impressed itself upon all those present that whoever this individual was, he was an unmitigated villain — a reptilian villain!
And forthwith there was doubled and trebled in the minds of all a most urgent desire that he be overtaken and captured.
The scoundrel!
The murderer!
And at once there was broadcast throughout this region by word of mouth, telephone, telegraph, to such papers as The Argus and Times–Union of Albany, and The Star of Lycurgus, the news of this pathetic tragedy with the added hint that it might conceal a crime of the gravest character. ? Chapter 3
C oroner Heit, his official duties completed for the time being, found himself pondering, as he traveled south on the lake train, how he was to proceed farther.
What was the next step he should take in this pathetic affair?
For the coroner, as he had looked at Roberta before he left was really deeply moved. She seemed so young and innocent-looking and pretty.
The little blue serge dress lying heavily and clinging tightly to her, her very small hands folded across her breast, her warm, brown hair still damp from its twenty-four hours in the water, yet somehow suggesting some of the vivacity and passion that had invested her in life — all seemed to indicate a sweetness which had nothing to do with crime.
But deplorable as it might be, and undoubtedly was, there was another aspect of the case that more vitally concerned himself.
Should he go to Biltz and convey to the Mrs. Alden of the letter the dreadful intelligence of her daughter’s death, at the same time inquiring about the character and whereabouts of the man who had been with her, or should he proceed first to District Attorney Mason’s office in Bridgeburg and having imparted to him all of the details of the case, allow that gentleman to assume the painful responsibility of devastating a probably utterly respectable home?
For there was the political situation to be considered.
And while he himself might act and so take personal credit, still there was this general party situation to be thought of. A strong man should undoubtedly head and so strengthen the party ticket this fall and here was the golden opportunity.
The latter course seemed wiser. It would provide his friend, the district attorney, with his great chance.
Arriving in Bridgeburg in this mood, he ponderously invaded the office of Orville W. Mason, the district attorney, who immediately sat up, all attention, sensing something of import in the coroner’s manner.
Mason was a short, broad-chested, broad-backed and vigorous individual physically, but in his late youth had been so unfortunate as to have an otherwise pleasant and even arresting face marred by a broken nose, which gave to him a most unprepossessing, almost sinister, look.