And then Burton Burleigh deciding that it might not really have been the tripod, after all with which he had struck her but possibly and even probably the somewhat heavier body of the camera itself, since an edge of it would explain the wound on the top of the head and the flat surface would explain the general wounds on her face.
And because of this conclusion, without any knowledge on the part of Clyde, however, Mason securing divers from among the woodsmen of the region and setting them to diving in the immediate vicinity of the spot where Roberta’s body had been found, with the result that after an entire day’s diving on the part of six — and because of a promised and substantial reward, one Jack Bogart arose with the very camera which Clyde, as the boat had turned over, had let fall.
Worse, after examination it proved to contain a roll of films, which upon being submitted to an expert chemist for development, showed finally to be a series of pictures of Roberta, made on shore — one sitting on a log, a second posed by the side of the boat on shore, a third reaching up toward the branches of a tree — all very dim and water-soaked but still decipherable.
And the exact measurements of the broadest side of the camera corresponding in a general way to the length and breadth of the wounds upon Roberta’s face, which caused it now to seem positive that they had discovered the implement wherewith Clyde had delivered the blows.
Yet no trace of blood upon the camera itself. And none upon the side or bottom of the boat, which had been brought to Bridgeburg for examination. And none upon the rug which had lain in the bottom of the boat.
In Burton Burleigh there existed as sly a person as might have been found in a score of such backwoods counties as this, and soon he found himself meditating on how easy it would be, supposing irrefragable evidence were necessary, for him or any one to cut a finger and let it bleed on the rug or the side of the boat or the edge of the camera.
Also, how easy to take from the head of Roberta two or three hairs and thread them between the sides of the camera, or about the rowlock to which her veil had been attached.
And after due and secret meditation, he actually deciding to visit the Lutz Brothers morgue and secure a few threads of Roberta’s hair.
For he himself was convinced that Clyde had murdered the girl in cold blood.
And for want of a bit of incriminating proof, was such a young, silent, vain crook as this to be allowed to escape?
Not if he himself had to twine the hairs about the rowlock or inside the lid of the camera, and then call Mason’s attention to them as something overlooked!
And in consequence, upon the same day that Heit and Mason were personally re-measuring the wounds upon Roberta’s face and head, Burleigh slyly threading two of Roberta’s hairs in between the door and the lens of the camera, so that Mason and Heit a little while later unexpectedly coming upon them, and wondering why they had not seen them before — nevertheless accepting them immediately as conclusive evidence of Clyde’s guilt.
Indeed, Mason thereupon announcing that in so far as he was concerned, his case was complete.
He had truly traced out every step in this crime and if need be was prepared to go to trial on the morrow.
Yet, because of the very completeness of the testimony, deciding for the present, at least, not to say anything in connection with the camera — to seal, if possible, the mouth of every one who knew.
For, assuming that Clyde persisted in denying that he had carried a camera, or that his own lawyer should be unaware of the existence of such evidence, then how damning in court, and out of a clear sky, to produce this camera, these photographs of Roberta made by him, and the proof that the very measurements of one side of the camera coincided with the size of the wounds upon her face!
How complete! How incriminating!
Also since he personally having gathered the testimony was the one best fitted to present it, he decided to communicate with the governor of the state for the purpose of obtaining a special term of the Supreme Court for this district, with its accompanying special session of the local grand jury, which would then be subject to his call at any time.
For with this granted, he would be able to impanel a grand jury and in the event of a true bill being returned against Clyde, then within a month or six weeks, proceed to trial.
Strictly to himself, however, he kept the fact that in view of his own approaching nomination in the ensuing November election this should all prove most opportune, since in the absence of any such special term the case could not possibly be tried before the succeeding regular January term of the Supreme Court, by which time he would be out of office and although possibly elected to the local judgeship still not able to try the case in person.
And in view of the state of public opinion, which was most bitterly and vigorously anti-Clyde, a quick trial would seem fair and logical to every one in this local world.
For why delay?
Why permit such a criminal to sit about and speculate on some plan of escape?
And especially when his trial by him, Mason, was certain to rebound to his legal and political and social fame the country over. ? Chapter 12
A nd then out of the north woods a crime sensation of the first magnitude, with all of those intriguingly colorful, and yet morally and spiritually atrocious, elements — love, romance, wealth; poverty, death.
And at once picturesque accounts of where and how Clyde had lived in Lycurgus, with whom he had been connected, how he had managed to conceal his relations with one girl while obviously planning to elope with another — being wired for and published by that type of editor so quick to sense the national news value of crimes such as this.
And telegrams of inquiry pouring in from New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, San Francisco and other large American cities east and west, either to Mason direct or the representatives of the Associated or United Press in this area, asking for further and more complete details of the crime.
Who was this beautiful wealthy girl with whom it was said this Griffiths was in love?
Where did she live?
What were Clyde’s exact relations with her?
Yet Mason, over-awed by the wealth of the Finchleys and the Griffiths, loath to part with Sondra’s name, simply asserting for the present that she was the daughter of a very wealthy manufacturer in Lycurgus, whose name he did not care to furnish — yet not hesitating to show the bundle of letters carefully tied with a ribbon by Clyde.
But Roberta’s letters on the other hand being described in detail — even excerpts of some of them — the more poetic and gloomy being furnished the Press for use, for who was there to protect her.
And on their publication a wave of hatred for Clyde as well as a wave of pity for her — the poor, lonely, country girl who had had no one but him — and he cruel, faithless — a murderer even.
Was not hanging too good for him?
For en route to and from Bear Lake, as well as since, Mason had pored over these letters.
And because of certain intensely moving passages relating to her home life, her gloomy distress as to her future, her evident loneliness and weariness of heart, he had been greatly moved, and later had been able to convey this feeling to others — his wife and Heit and the local newspapermen. So much so that the latter in particular were sending from Bridgeburg vivid, if somewhat distorted, descriptions of Clyde, his silence, his moodiness, and his hard-heartedness.
And then a particularly romantic young reporter from The Star, of Utica arriving at the home of the Aldens, there was immediately given to the world a fairly accurate picture of the weary and defeated Mrs. Alden, who, too exhausted to protest or complain, merely contented herself with a sincere and graphic picture of Roberta’s devotion to her parents, her simple ways of living, her modesty, morality, religious devotion — how once the local pastor of the Methodist Church had said that she was the brightest and prettiest and kindest girl he had ever known, and how for years before leaving home she had been as her mother’s own right hand.
And that undoubtedly because of her poverty and loneliness in Lycurgus, she had been led to listen to the honeyed words of this scoundrel, who, coming to her with promises of marriage, had lured her into this unhallowed and, in her case, all but unbelievable relationship which had led to her death.
For she was good and pure and sweet and kind always.
“And to think that she is dead.
I can’t believe it.”
It was so that her mother was quoted.
“Only Monday a week ago she was about — a little depressed, I thought, but smiling, and for some reason which I thought odd at the time went all over the place Monday afternoon and evening, looking at things and gathering some flowers.
And then she came over and put her arms around me and said:
‘I wish I were a little girl again, Mamma, and that you would take me in your arms and rock me like you used to.’
And I said,
‘Why, Roberta, what makes you so sad to-night, anyhow?’
And she said,
‘Oh, nothing.
You know I’m going back in the morning.