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.
“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 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 . . .?”
“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?”