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 must 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.