An American Tragedy Theodore Dreiser (whitelam books .TXT) 📖

intent⁠—which is just as bad in the eyes of the law. Is he telling the truth or is he lying even now⁠—perhaps trying to deceive himself as well as me? And that camera⁠—we ought to get hold of that before Mason finds it and introduces it. And that suit. I ought to find that and mention it, maybe, so as to offset the look of its being hidden⁠—say that we had it all the time⁠—send it to Lycurgus to be cleaned. But no, no⁠—wait a minute⁠—I must think about that.”

And so on, point by point, while deciding wearily that perhaps it would be better not to attempt to use Clyde’s story at all, but rather to concoct some other story⁠—this one changed or modified in some way which would make it appear less cruel or legally murderous.

XV

Mr. Reuben Jephson was decidedly different from Belknap, Catchuman, Mason, Smillie⁠—in fact anyone, thus far, who had seen Clyde or become legally interested in this case. He was young, tall, thin, rugged, brown, cool but not cold spiritually, and with a will and a determination of the tensile strength of steel. And with a mental and legal equipment which for shrewdness and self-interest was not unlike that of a lynx or a ferret. Those shrewd, steel, very light blue eyes in his brown face. The force and curiosity of the long nose. The strength of the hands and the body. He had lost no time, as soon as he discovered there was a possibility of their (Belknap & Jephson) taking over the defense of Clyde, in going over the minutes of the coroner’s inquest as well as the doctors’ reports and the letters of Roberta and Sondra. And now being faced by Belknap who was explaining that Clyde did now actually admit to having plotted to kill Roberta, although not having actually done so, since at the fatal moment, some cataleptic state of mind or remorse had intervened and caused him to unintentionally strike her⁠—he merely stared without the shadow of a smile or comment of any kind.

“But he wasn’t in such a state when he went out there with her, though?”

“No.”

“Nor when he swam away afterwards?”

“No.”

“Nor when he went through those woods, or changed to another suit and hat, or hid that tripod?”

“No.”

“Of course you know, constructively, in the eyes of the law, if we use his own story, he’s just as guilty as though he had struck her, and the judge would have to so instruct.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve thought of all that.”

“Well, then⁠—”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Jephson, it’s a tough case and no mistake. It looks to me now as though Mason has all the cards. If we can get this chap off, we can get anybody off. But as I see it, I’m not so sure that we want to mention that cataleptic business yet⁠—at least not unless we want to enter a plea of insanity or emotional insanity, or something like that⁠—about like that Harry Thaw case, for instance.” He paused and scratched his slightly graying temple dubiously.

“You think he’s guilty, of course?” interpolated Jephson, dryly.

“Well, now, as astonishing as it may seem to you, no. At least, I’m not positive that I do. To tell you the truth, this is one of the most puzzling cases I have ever run up against. This fellow is by no means as hard as you think, or as cold⁠—quite a simple, affectionate chap, in a way, as you’ll see for yourself⁠—his manner, I mean. He’s only twenty-one or two. And for all his connections with these Griffiths, he’s very poor⁠—just a clerk, really. And he tells me that his parents are poor, too. They run a mission of some kind out west⁠—Denver, I believe⁠—and before that in Kansas City. He hasn’t been home in four years. In fact, he got into some crazy boy scrape out there in Kansas City when he was working for one of the hotels as a bellboy, and had to run away. That’s something we’ve got to look out for in connection with Mason⁠—whether he knows about that or not. It seems he and a bunch of other bellhops took some rich fellow’s car without his knowing it, and then because they were afraid of being late, they ran over and killed a little girl. We’ve got to find out about that and prepare for it, for if Mason does know about it, he’ll spring it at the trial, and just when he thinks we’re least expecting it.”

“Well, he won’t pull that one,” replied Jephson, his hard, electric, blue eyes gleaming, “not if I have to go to Kansas City to find out.”

And Belknap went on to tell Jephson all that he knew about Clyde’s life up to the present time⁠—how he had worked at dishwashing, waiting on table, soda-clerking, driving a wagon, anything and everything, before he had arrived in Lycurgus⁠—how he had always been fascinated by girls⁠—how he had first met Roberta and later Sondra. Finally how he found himself trapped by one and desperately in love with the other, whom he could not have unless he got rid of the first one.

“And notwithstanding all that, you feel a doubt as to whether he did kill her?” asked Jephson, at the conclusion of all this.

“Yes, as I say, I’m not at all sure that he did. But I do know that he is still hipped over this second girl. His manner changed whenever he or I happened to mention her. Once, for instance, I asked him about his relations with her⁠—and in spite of the fact that he’s accused of seducing and killing this other girl, he looked at me as though I had said something I shouldn’t have⁠—insulted him or her.” And here Belknap smiled a wry smile, while Jephson, his long, bony legs propped against the walnut desk before him, merely stared at him.

“You don’t say,” he finally observed.

“And not only that,” went on Belknap, “but he said, ‘Why, no,