by Isaac Asimov
“Yes. I have placed him under house arrest, also.”
“What does he say?” “He admits that he is the father of Mrs. Delmarre. I confronted him with the records of the fact and the records of his inquiries into her health when she was a youngster. As a doctor, he was allowed more leeway in this respect than another Solarian might have been allowed.”
“Why should he have inquired into her health?”
“I have considered that, too, Partner Elijah. He was an old man when he was given special permission to have an additional child and, what is more, he succeeded in producing one. He considers this a tribute to his genes and to his physical fitness. He is prouder of the result, perhaps, than is quite customary on this world. Moreover, his position as physician, a profession little regarded on Solaria because it involves personal presences, made it the more important to him to nurture this sense of pride. For that reason, he maintained unobtrusive contact with his offspring.”
“Does Gladia know anything of it?”
“As far as Dr. Thool is aware, Partner Elijah, she does not.”
Baley said, “Does Thool admit removing the weapon?”
“No. That he does not.”
“Then you’ve got nothing, Daneel.”
“Nothing?”
“Unless you can find, the weapon and prove he took it, or at the very least induce him to confess, you have no evidence. A chain of deduction is pretty, but it isn’t evidence.”
“The man would scarcely confess without considerable questioning of a type I myself could not carry through. His daughter is dear to him.”
“Not at all,” said Baley. “His feeling for his daughter is not at all what you and I are accustomed to. Solaria is different!”
He strode the length of the room and back, letting himself cool. He said, “Daneel, you have worked out a perfect exercise in logic, but none of it is reasonable, just the same.” (Logical but not reasonable. Wasn’t that the definition of a robot?)
He went on, “Dr. Thool is an old man and past his best years, regardless of whether he was capable of siring a daughter thirty years or so ago. Even Spacers get senile. Picture him then examining his daughter in a faint and his son-in-law dead by violence. Can you imagine the unusual nature of the situation for him? Can you suppose he could have remained master of himself? So much the master of himself, in fact, as to carry out a series of amazing actions?
“Look! First, he would have had to notice a weapon under his daughter, one that must have been so well covered by her body that the robots never noticed it. Secondly, from whatever small scrap of object he noted, he must have deduced the presence of the weapon and seen at once that if he could but sneak off with that weapon, unseen, a murder accusation against his daughter would be hard to substantiate. That’s pretty subtle thinking for an old man in a panic. Then, thirdly, he would have had to carry the plan through, also tough for an old man in a panic. And now, lastly, he would have to dare to compound the felony further by sticking to his lie. It all may be the result of logical thinking, but none of it is reasonable.”
Daneel said, “Do you have an alternate solution to the crime, Partner Elijah?”
Baley had sat down during the course of his last speech and now he tried to rise again, but a combination of weariness and the depth of the chair defeated him. He held out his hand petulantly. “Give me a hand, will you, Daneel?”
Daneel stared at his own hand. “I beg your pardon, Partner Elijah?”
Baley silently swore at the other’s literal mind and said, “Help me out of the chair.” Daneel’s strong arm lifted him out of the chair effortlessly.
Baley said, “Thanks. No, I haven’t an alternate solution. At least, I have, but the whole thing hinges on the location of the weapon.”
He walked impatiently to the heavy curtains that lined most of one wall and lifted a corner without quite realizing what he was doing. He stared at the black patch of glass until he became aware of the fact that he was looking out into the early night, and then dropped the curtain just as Daneel, approaching quietly, took it out of his fingers.
In the split fraction of a moment in which Baley watched the robot’s hand take the curtain away from him with the loving caution of a mother protecting her child from the fire, a revolution took place within him.
He snatched the curtain back, yanking it out of Daneel’s grasp. Throwing his full weight against it, he tore it away from the window, leaving shreds behind.
“Partner Elijah!” said Daneel softly. “Surely you know now what the open will do to you.”
“I know,” said Baley, “what it will do for me.”
He stared out the window. There was nothing to see, only blackness, but that blackness was open air. It was unbroken, unobstructed space, even if unlit, and he was facing it.
And for the first time he faced it freely. It was no longer bravado, or perverse curiosity, or the pathway to a solution of a murder. He faced it because he knew he wanted to and because he needed to. That made all the difference.
Walls were crutches! Darkness and crowds were crutches! He must have thought them so, unconsciously, and hated them even when he most thought he loved and needed them. Why else had he so resented Gladia’s gray enclosure of his portrait?
He felt himself filling with a sense of victory, and, as though victory were contagious, a new thought came, bursting like an inner shout.
Baley turned dizzily to Daneel. “I know,” he whispered. “Jehoshaphat! I know!”
“Know what, Partner Elijah?”
“I know what happened to the weapon; I know who is responsible. All at once, everything falls into place.”
17: A Meeting Is Held
DANEEL WOULD ALLOW no immediate action.
“Tomorrow!” he had said with respectful firmness. “That is my suggestion, Partner Elijah. It is late and you are in need of rest.”
Baley had to admit the truth of it, and besides there was the need of preparation; a considerable quantity of it. He had the solution of the murder, he felt sure of that, but it rested on deduction, as much as had Daneel’s theory, and it was worth as little as evidence. Solarians would have to help him.
And if he were to face them, one Earthman against half a dozen Spacers, he would have to be in full control. That meant rest and preparation.
Yet he would not sleep. He was certain he would not sleep. Not all the softness of the special bed set up for him by smoothly functioning robots nor all the soft perfume and softer music in the special room of Gladia’s mansion would help. He was sure of it.
Daneel sat unobtrusively in one darkened corner.
Baley said, “Are you still afraid of Gladia?”
The robot said, “I do not think it wise to allow you to sleep alone and unprotected.”
“Well, have your way. Are you clear as to what I want you to do, Daneel?”
“I am, Partner Elijah.”
“You have no reservations under the First Law, I hope.”
“I have some with respect to the conference you wish arranged. Will you be armed and careful of your own safety?”
“I assure you, I will.”
Daneel delivered himself of a sigh that was somehow so human that for a moment Baley found himself trying to penetrate the darkness that he might study the machine-perfect face of the other.
Daneel said, “I have not always found human behavior logical.”
“We need Three Laws of our own,” said Baley, “but I’m glad we don’t have them.”
He stared at the ceiling. A great deal depended on Daneel and yet he could tell him very little of the whole truth. Robots were too involved. The planet, Aurora, had its reasons for sending a robot as representative of their interests, but it was a mistake. Robots had their limitations.
Still, if all went right, this could all be over in twelve hours. He could be heading back to Earth in twenty-four, bearing hope. A strange kind of hope. A kind he could scarcely believe himself, yet it was Earth’s way out. It m
ust be Earth’s way out.
Earth! New York! Jessie and Ben! The comfort and familiarity and dearness of home!
He dwelled on it, half asleep, and the thought of Earth failed to conjure the comfort he expected. There was an estrangement between himself and the Cities.
And at some unknown point in time it all faded and he slept.
Baley, having slept and then wakened, showered and dressed. Physically he was quite prepared. Yet he was unsure. It was not that his reasoning seemed any less cogent to himself in the pallor of morning. It was rather the necessity of facing Solarians.
Could he be sure of their reactions after all? Or would he still be working blind?
Gladia was the first to appear. It was simple for her, of course. She was on an intramural circuit, since she was in the mansion itself. She was pale and expressionless, in a white gown that draped her into a cold statue.
She stared helplessly at Baley. Baley smiled back gently and she seemed to take comfort from that.
One by one, they appeared now. Attlebish, the Acting Head of Security, appeared next after Gladia, lean and haughty, his large chin set in disapproval. Then Leebig, the roboticist, impatient and angry, his weak eyelid fluttering periodically. Quemot, the sociologist, a little tired, but smiling at Baley out of deep-set eyes in a condescending way, as though to say: We have seen one another, we have been intimate.
Kiorissa Cantoro, when she appeared, seemed uneasy in the presence of the others. She glanced at Gladia for a moment with an audible sniff, then stared at the floor. Dr. Thool, the physician, appeared last. He looked haggard, almost sick.
They were all there, all but Gruer, who was slowly recovering and for whom attendance was physically impossible. (Well, thought Baley, we’ll do without him.) All were dressed formally; all sat in rooms that were well curtained into enclosure.
Daneel had arranged matters well. Baley hoped fervently that what remained for Daneel to do would work as well.
Baley looked from one Spacer to the other. His heart thudded. Each figure viewed him out of a different room and the clash of lighting, furniture, and wall decoration was dizzying.
Baley said, “I want to discuss the matter of the killing of Dr. Rikaine Delmarre under the heading of motive, opportunity, and means, in that order–”
Attlebish interrupted. ‘Will this be a long speech?”
Baley said sharply, “It may be. I have been called here to investigate a murder and such a job is my specialty and my profession. I know best how to go about it.” (Take nothing from them now, he thought, or this whole thing won’t work. Dominate! Dominate!)
He went on, making his words as sharp and incisive as he could. “Motive first. In a way, motive is the most unsatisfactory of the three items. Opportunity and means are objective. They can be investigated factually. Motive is subjective. It may be something that can be observed by others; revenge for a known humiliation, for instance. But it may also be completely unobservable; an irrational, homicidal hate on the part of a well-disciplined person who never lets it show.
“Now almost all of you have told me at one time or another that you believed Gladia Delmarre to have committed the crime. Certainly, no one has suggested an alternate suspect. Has Gladia a motive? Dr. Leebig suggested one. He said that Gladia quarreled frequently with her husband and Gladia later admitted this to me. The rage that can arise out of a quarrel can, conceivably, move a person to murder. Very well.
“The question remains, though, whether she is the only one with a motive. I wonder. Dr. Leebig, himself–”
The roboticist almost jumped. His hand extended rigidly in the direction of Baley. “Watch what you–say, Earthman.”
“I am only theorizing,” said Baley coldly. “You, Dr. Leebig, were working with Dr. Delmarre on new robot models. You are the best man in Solaria as far as robotics is concerned. You say so and I believe it.”
Leebig smiled with open condescension.
Baley went on. “But I have heard that Dr. Delmarre was about to break off relations with you for matters concerning yourself of which he disapproved.”
“False! False!”
“Perhaps. But what if it were true? Wouldn’t you have a motive to get rid of him before he humiliated you publicly by breaking with you? I have a feeling you could not easily bear such humiliation.”
Baley went on rapidly to give Leebig no chance to retort. “And you, Mrs. Cantoro. Dr. Delmarre’s death leaves you in charge of fetal engineering, a responsible position.”
“Skies above, we talked about that before,” cried Kiorissa in anguish.
“I know we did, but it’s a point that must be considered, anyway. As for Dr. Quemot, he played chess with Dr. Delmarre regularly. Perhaps he grew annoyed at losing too many games.”
The sociologist interposed quietly. “Losing a chess game is insufficient motive surely, Plainclothesman.”
“It depends on how seriously you take your chess. Motives can seem all the world to the murderer and completely insignificant to everyone else. Well, it doesn’t matter. My point is that motive alone is insufficient. Anyone can have a motive, particularly for the murder of a man such as Dr. Delmarre.”
“What do you mean by that remark,” demanded Quemot in indignation.
“Why, only that Dr. Delmarre was a ‘good Solarian.’ You all described him as such. He rigidly fulfilled all the requirements of Solarian custom. He was an ideal man, almost an abstraction. Who could feel love, or even liking, for such a man? A man without weaknesses serves only to make everyone else conscious of his own imperfections. A primitive poet named Tennyson once wrote: ‘He is all fault who has no fault at all.”
“No one would kill a man for being too good,” said Klorissa, frowning.
“You little know,” said Baley, and went on without amplification. “Dr. Delmarre was aware of a conspiracy on Solaria, or thought he was; a conspiracy that was preparing an assault on the rest of the Galaxy for purposes of conquest. He was interested in preventing that. For that reason, those concerned in the conspiracy might find it necessary to do away with him. Anyone here could be a member of the conspiracy, including, to be sure, Mrs. Delmarre, but including even the Acting Head of Security, Corwin Attlebish.”
“I?” said Attlebish, unmoved.
“You certainly attempted to end the investigation as soon as Gruer’s mishap put you in charge.”
Baley took a few slow sips at his drink (straight from its original container, untouched by human hands others than his own, or robotic hands, either) and gathered his strength. So far, this was a waiting game, and he was thankful the Solarians were sitting still for it. They hadn’t the Earthman’s experience of dealing with people at close quarters. They weren’t in-fighters.
He said, “Opportunity next. It is the general opinion that only Mrs. Delmarre had opportunity since only she could approach her husband in actual personal presence.
“Are we sure of that? Suppose someone other than Mrs. Delmarre had made up his or her mind to kill Dr. Delmarre? Would not such a desperate resolution make the discomfort of personal presence secondary? If any of you were set on murder, wouldn’t you bear personal presence just long enough to do the job? Couldn’t you sneak into the Delmarre mansion–”
Attlebish interposed frigidly. “You are ignorant of the matter, Earthman. Whether we would or would not doesn’t matter. The fact is that Dr. Delmarre himself would not allow seeing, I assure you. If anyone came into his personal presence, regardless of how valued and long-standing a friendship there was between them, Dr. Delmarre would order him away and, if necessary, call robots to help with the ejection.”
“True,” said Baley, “if Dr. Delmarre were aware that personal presence was involved.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Dr. Thool in surprise, his voice quavering.
“When you treated Mrs. Delmarre at the scene of the murder,” replied Baley, looking full at his questioner, “she assumed you were viewing her, until you actually touched
her. So she told me and so I believe. I am, myself, accustomed only to seeing. When I arrived at Solaria and met Security Head Gruer, I assumed I was seeing him. When at the end of our interview, Gruer disappeared, I was taken completely by surprise.
“Now assume the reverse. Suppose that for all a man’s adult life, he had been viewing only; never seeing anyone, except on rare occasions his wife. Now suppose someone other than his wife walked up to him in personal presence. Would he not automatically assume that it was a matter of viewing, particularly if a robot had been instructed to advise Delmarre that viewing contact was being set up?”
“Not for a minute,” said Quemot. “The sameness of background would give it away.”
“Maybe, but how many of you are aware of background now? There would be a minute or so, at least, before Dr. Delmarre would grow aware that something was wrong and in that time, his friend, whoever he was, could walk up to him, raise a club, and bring it down.”
“Impossible,” said Quemot stubbornly.
“I think not,” said Baley. “1 think opportunity must be canceled out as absolute proof that Mrs. Delmarre is the murderess. She had opportunity, but so might others.”
Baley waited again. He felt perspiration on his forehead, but wiping it away would have made him look weak. He must maintain absolute charge of the proceedings. The person at whom he was aiming must be placed in self-convinced inferiority. It was hard for an Earthman to do that to a Spacer.
Baley looked from face to face and decided that matters were at least progressing satisfactorily. Even Attlebish looked quite humanly concerned.
“And so we come,” he said, “to means, and that is the most puzzling factor of all. The weapon with which the murder was committed was never found.”
“We know that,” said Attlebish. “If it were not for that point, we would have considered the case against Mrs. Delmarre conclusive. We would never have required an investigation.”
“Perhaps,” said Baley. “Let’s analyze the matter of means, then.
There are two possibilities. Either Mrs. Delmarre committed the murder, or someone else did. If Mrs. Delmarre committed the murder, the weapon would have had to remain at the scene of the crime, unless it were removed later. It has been suggested by my partner, Mr. Olivaw of Aurora, who is not present at the moment, that Dr. Thool had the opportunity to remove the weapon. I ask Dr. Thool now, in the presence of all of us, if he did this, if he removed a weapon while examining the unconscious Mrs. Delmarre?”
