"And now here," continued Mason, stepping quickly to the table and returning with the camera in which between the lid and the taking mechanism were caught the two threads of Roberta's hair put there by Burleigh, and then holding it out to him. "Just take this camera. It's yours even though you did swear that it wasn't—and look at those two hairs there. See them?" And he poked the camera at Clyde as though he might strike him with it. "They were caught in there—presumably—at the time you struck her so lightly that it made all those wounds on her face. Can't you tell the jury whether those hairs are hers or not?"
"I can't say," replied Clyde most weakly.
"What's that? Speak up. Don't be so much of a moral and mental coward. Are they or are they not?"
"I can't say," repeated Clyde—but not even looking at them.
"Look at them. Look at them. Compare them with these others. We know these are hers. And you know that these in this camera are, don't you? Don't be so squeamish. You've often touched her hair in real life. She's dead. They won't bite you. Are these two hairs—or are they not—the same as these other hairs here—which we know are hers—the same color—same feel—all? Look! Answer! Are they or are they not?"
But Clyde, under such pressure and in spite of Belknap, being compelled to look and then feel them too. Yet cautiously replying, "I wouldn't be able to say. They look and feel a little alike, but I can't tell."
"Oh, can't you? And even when you know that when you struck her that brutal vicious blow with that camera—these two hairs caught there and held."
"But I didn't strike her any vicious blow," insisted Clyde, now observing Jephson—"and I can't say." He was saying to himself that he would not allow himself to be bullied in this way by this man—yet, at the same time, feeling very weak and sick. And Mason, triumphant because of the psychologic effect, if nothing more, returning the camera and lock to the table and remarking, "Well, it's been amply testified to that those two hairs were in that camera when found in the water. And you yourself swear that it was last in your hand before it reached the water."
He turned to think of something else—some new point with which to rack Clyde and now began once more:
"Griffiths, in regard to that trip south through the woods, what time was it when you got to Three Mile Bay?"