An American Tragedy III. Теодор Драйзер

the son.” Fred Heit’s eyes opened wider than they had in years. His wide, brown hand grasped the end of his beard.

      “No, not the son. A nephew!”

      “Nephew! Of Samuel Griffiths? Not truly!” The old, moral-religious, politic-commercial coroner stroked his beard again and stared.

      “The fact seems to point that way, Fred, now at least. I’m going down there yet to-night, though, and I hope to know a lot more to-morrow. But this Alden girl – they’re the poorest kind of farm people, you know – worked for Griffiths & Company in Lycurgus and this nephew, Clyde Griffiths, as I understand it, is in charge of the department in which she worked.”

      “Tst! Tst! Tst!” interjected the coroner.

      “She was home for a month – SICK” (he emphasized the word) “just before she went on this trip last Tuesday. And during that time she wrote him at least ten letters, and maybe more. I got that from the rural delivery man. I have his affidavit here.” He tapped his coat. “All addressed to Clyde Griffiths in Lycurgus. I even have his house number. And the name of the family with whom she lived. I telephoned down there from Biltz. I’m going to take the old man with me tonight in case anything comes up that he might know about.”

      “Yes, yes, Orville. I understand. I see. But a Griffiths!” And once more he clucked with his tongue.

      “But what I want to talk to you about is the inquest,” now went on Mason quickly and sharply. “You know I’ve been thinking that it couldn’t have been just because he didn’t want to marry her that he wanted to kill her. That doesn’t seem reasonable to me,” and he added the majority of the thoughts that had caused him to conclude that Roberta was pregnant. And at once Heit agreed with him.

      “Well, then that means an autopsy,” Mason resumed. “As well as medical opinion as to the nature of those wounds. We’ll have to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, Fred, and before that body is taken away from here, whether that girl was killed before she was thrown out of that boat, or just stunned and then thrown out, or the boat upset. That’s very vital to the case, as you know. We’ll never be able to do anything unless we’re positive about those things. But what about the medical men around here? Do you think any of them will be able to do all these things in a shipshape way so that what they say will hold water in court.”

      Mason was dubious. Already he was building his case.

      “Well, as to that, Orville,” Heit replied slowly, “I can’t say exactly. You’d be a better judge, maybe, than I would. I’ve already asked Dr. Mitchell to step over to-morrow and take a look at her. Also Betts. But if there’s any other doctor you’d rather have – Bavo or Lincoln of Coldwater – how about Bavo?”

      “I’d rather have Webster, of Utica,” went on Mason, “or Beemis, or both. Four or five opinions in a case like this won’t be any too many.”

      And Heit, sensing the importance of the great responsibility now resting on him, added: “Well, I guess you’re right, Orville. Maybe four or five would be better than one or two. That means, though, that the inquest will have to be postponed for a day or two more, till we get these men here.”

      “Quite right! Quite right,” went on Mason, “but that will be a good thing, too, as long as I’m going down to Lycurgus to-night to see what I can find out. You never can tell. I may catch up with him. I hope so, anyhow, or if not that, then I may come upon something that’ll throw some extra light on this. For this is going to be a big thing, Fred. I can see that – the most difficult case that ever came my way, or yours, either – and we can’t be too careful as to how we move from now on. He’s likely to be rich, you see, and if he is he’ll fight. Besides there’s that family down there to back him up.”

      He ran a nervous hand through his shock of hair, then added: “Well, that’s all right too. The next thing to do is to get Beemis and Webster of Utica – better wire them to-night, eh, or call them up. And Sprull of Albany, and then, to keep peace in the family around here, perhaps we’d better have Lincoln and Betts over here. And maybe Bavo.” He permitted himself the faintest shadow of a smile. “In the meantime, I’ll be going along, Fred. Arrange to have them come up Monday or Tuesday, instead of to-morrow. I expect to be back by then and if so I can be with you. If you can, better get ’em up here, Monday – see – the quicker the better – and we’ll see what we know by then.”

      He went to a drawer to secure some extra writs. And then into the outer room to explain to Alden the trip that was before him. And to have Burleigh call up his wife, to whom he explained the nature of his work and haste and that he might not be back before Monday.

      And all the way down to Utica, which took three hours, as well as a wait of one hour before a train for Lycurgus could be secured, and an additional hour and twenty minutes on that train, which set them down at about seven, Orville Mason was busy extracting from the broken and gloomy Titus, as best he could, excerpts from his own as well as Roberta’s humble past – her generosity, loyalty, virtue, sweetness of heart, and the places and conditions under which previously she had worked, and what she had received, and what she had done with the money – a humble story which he was quite able to appreciate.

      Arriving at Lycurgus with Titus by his side, he made his way as quickly as possible to the Lycurgus House, where he took a room for the father in order that he might rest. And after that to the office of the local district attorney, from whom he must obtain authority to proceed, as well as an officer who would execute his will for him here. And then being supplied with a stalwart detective in plain clothes, he proceeded to Clyde’s room in Taylor Street, hoping against hope that he might find him there. But Mrs. Peyton appearing and announcing that Clyde lived there but that at present he was absent (having gone the Tuesday before to visit friends at Twelfth Lake, she believed), he was rather painfully compelled to announce, first, that he was the district attorney of Cataraqui County, and, next, that because of certain suspicious circumstances in connection with the drowning of a girl in Big Bittern, with whom they had reason to believe that Clyde was at the time, they would now be compelled to have access to his room, a statement which so astonished Mrs. Peyton that she fell back, an expression of mixed amazement, horror, and unbelief overspreading her features.

      “Not Mr. Clyde Griffiths! Oh, how ridiculous! Why, he’s the nephew of Mr. Samuel Griffiths and very well known here. I’m sure they can tell you all about him at their residence, if you must know. But anything like – oh, impossible!” And she looked at both Mason and the local detective who was already displaying his official badge, as though she doubted both their honesty and authority.

      At the same time, the detective, being all too familiar with such circumstances, had already placed himself beyond Mrs. Peyton at the foot of the stairs leading to the floor above. And Mason now drew from his pocket a writ of search, which he had been careful to secure.

      “I am sorry, Madam, but I am compelled to ask you to show us his room. This is a search warrant and this officer is here at my direction.” And at once struck by the futility of contending with the law, she now nervously indicated Clyde’s room, feeling still that some insane and most unfair and insulting mistake was being made.

      But the two having proceeded to Clyde’s room, they began to look here and there. At once both noted one small and not very strong trunk, locked and standing in one corner, which Mr. Faunce, the detective, immediately began to lift to decide upon its weight and strength, while Mason began to examine each particular thing in the room – the contents of all drawers and boxes, as well as the pockets of all clothes. And in the chiffonier drawers, along with some discarded underwear and shirts and a few old invitations from the Trumbulls, Starks, Griffiths, and Harriets, he now found a memorandum sheet which Clyde had carried home from his desk and on which he had written: “Wednesday, Feb. 20th, dinner at Starks” – and below that, “Friday, 22nd, Trumbulls” – and this handwriting Mason at once compared with that on the card in his pocket, and being convinced by the similarity that he was in the room of the right man, he took the invitations and then looked toward the trunk which the detective was now contemplating.

      “What about this, chief? Will you take it away or open it here?”

      “I