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time being, there, upon the first page of the Times–Union of Albany, was an item which read:

      ACCIDENTAL DOUBLE TRAGEDY AT PASS LAKE— UPTURNED CANOE AND FLOATING HATS REVEAL PROBABLE LOSS OF TWO LIVES AT RESORT NEAR PITTSFIELD— UNIDENTIFIED BODY OF GIRL RECOVERED— THAT OF COMPANION STILL MISSING

      Because of his own great interest in canoeing, and indeed in any form of water life, as well as his own particular skill when it came to rowing, swimming, diving, he now read with interest:

      Pancoast, Mass., June 7th. . . . What proved to be a fatal boat ride for two, apparently, was taken here day before yesterday by an unidentified man and girl who came presumably from Pittsfield to spend the day at Pass Lake, which is fourteen miles north of this place.

      Tuesday morning a man and a girl, who said to Thomas Lucas, who conducts the Casino Lunch and Boat House there, that they were from Pittsfield, rented a small row-boat about ten o’clock in the morning and with a basket, presumably containing lunch, departed for the northern end of the lake. At seven o’clock last evening, when they did not return, Mr. Lucas, in company with his son Jeffrey, made a tour of the lake in his motor boat and discovered the row-boat upside down in the shallows near the north shore, but no trace of the occupants. Thinking at the time that it might be another instance of renters having decamped in order to avoid payment, he returned the boat to his own dock.

      But this morning, doubtful as to whether or not an accident had occurred, he and his assistant, Fred Walsh, together with his son, made a second tour of the north shore and finally came upon the hats of both the girl and the man floating among some rushes near the shore. At once a dredging party was organized, and by three o’clock to-day the body of the girl, concerning whom nothing is known here, other than that she came here with her companion, was brought up and turned over to the authorities. That of the man has not yet been found. The water in the immediate vicinity of the accident in some places being over thirty feet deep, it is not certain whether the trolling and dredging will yield the other body or not. In the case of a similar accident which took place here some fifteen years ago, neither body was ever recovered.

      To the lining of the small jacket which the girl wore was sewed the tag of a Pittsfield dealer. Also in her shoe lining was stamped the name of Jacobs of this same city. But other than these there was no evidence as to her identity. It is assumed by the authorities here that if she carried a bag of any kind it lies at the bottom of the lake.

      The man is recalled as being tall, dark, about thirty-five years of age, and wore a light green suit and straw hat with a white and blue band. The girl appears to be not more than twenty-five, five feet five inches tall, and weighs 130 pounds. She wore her hair, which was long and dark brown, in braids about her forehead. On her left middle finger is a small gold ring with an amethyst setting. The police of Pittsfield and other cities in this vicinity have been notified, but as yet no word as to her identity has been received.

      This item, commonplace enough in the usual grist of summer accidents, interested Clyde only slightly. It seemed odd, of course, that a girl and a man should arrive at a small lake anywhere, and setting forth in a small boat in broad daylight thus lose their lives. Also it was odd that afterwards no one should be able to identify either of them. And yet here it was. The man had disappeared for good. He threw the paper down, little concerned at first, and turned to other things — the problem that was confronting him really — how he was to do. But later — and because of that, and as he was putting out the light before getting into bed, and still thinking of the complicated problem which his own life here presented, he was struck by the thought (what devil’s whisper? — what evil hint of an evil spirit?)— supposing that he and Roberta — no, say he and Sondra —(no, Sondra could swim so well, and so could he)— he and Roberta were in a small boat somewhere and it should capsize at the very time, say, of this dreadful complication which was so harassing him? What an escape? What a relief from a gigantic and by now really destroying problem! On the other hand — hold — not so fast! — for could a man even think of such a solution in connection with so difficult a problem as his without committing a crime in his heart, really — a horrible, terrible crime? He must not even think of such a thing. It was wrong — wrong — terribly wrong. And yet, supposing — by accident, of course — such a thing as this did occur? That would be the end, then, wouldn’t it, of all his troubles in connection with Roberta? No more terror as to her — no more fear and heartache even as to Sondra. A noiseless, pathless, quarrelless solution of all his present difficulties, and only joy before him forever. Just an accidental, unpremeditated drowning — and then the glorious future which would be his!

      But the mere thinking of such a thing in connection with Roberta at this time —(why was it that his mind persisted in identifying her with it?) was terrible, and he must not, he must not, allow such a thought to enter his mind. Never, never, never! He must not. It was horrible! Terrible! A thought of murder, no less! Murder?!!! Yet so wrought up had he been, and still was, by the letter which Roberta had written him, as contrasted with the one from Sondra — so delightful and enticing was the picture of her life and his as she now described it, that he could not for the life of him quite expel that other and seemingly easy and so natural a solution of all his problem — if only such an accident could occur to him and Roberta. For after all he was not planning any crime, was he? Was he not merely thinking of an accident that, had it occurred or could it but occur in his case. . . . Ah — but that “COULD IT BUT OCCUR.” There was the dark and evil thought about which he must not, HE MUST NOT THINK. He MUST NOT. And yet — and yet, . . . He was an excellent swimmer and could swim ashore, no doubt — whatever the distance. Whereas Roberta, as he knew from swimming with her at one beach and another the previous summer, could not swim. And then — and then — well and then, unless he chose to help her, of course . . . .

      As he thought, and for the time, sitting in the lamplight of his own room between nine-thirty and ten at night, a strange and disturbing creepiness as to flesh and hair and finger-tips assailed him. The wonder and the horror of such a thought! And presented to him by this paper in this way. Wasn’t that strange? Besides, up in that lake country to which he was now going to Sondra, were many, many lakes about everywhere — were there not? Scores up there where Sondra was. Or so she had said. And Roberta loved the out- of-doors and the water so — although she could not swim — could not swim — could not swim. And they or at least he was going where lakes were, or they might, might they not — and if not, why not? since both had talked of some Fourth of July resort in their planning, their final departure — he and Roberta.

      But, no! no! The mere thought of an accident such as that in connection with her, however much he might wish to be rid of her — was sinful, dark and terrible! He must not let his mind run on any such things for even a moment. It was too wrong — too vile — too terrible! Oh, dreadful thought! To think it should have come to him! And at this time of all times — when she was demanding that he go away with her!

      Death!

      Murder!

      The murder of Roberta!

      But to escape her of course — this unreasonable, unshakable, unchangeable demand of hers! Already he was quite cold, quite damp — with the mere thought of it. And now — when — when —! But he must not think of that! The death of that unborn child, too!!

      But how could any one even think of doing any such thing with calculation — deliberately? And yet — many people were drowned like that — boys and girls — men and women — here and there — everywhere the world over in the summer time. To be sure, he would not want anything like that to happen to Roberta. And especially at this time. He was not that kind of a person, whatever else he was. He was not. He was not. He was not. The mere thought now caused a damp perspiration to form on his hands and face. He was not that kind of a person. Decent, sane people did not think of such things. And so he would not either — from this hour on.

      In a tremulous state of dissatisfaction with himself — that any such grisly thought should have dared to obtrude itself upon him in this way — he got up and lit the lamp — re-read this disconcerting item in as cold and reprobative way as he could achieve, feeling that in so doing he was putting anything at which it hinted far from him once and for all. Then, having done so, he dressed and went out of

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