Chapter 12 Chapter 10 Cell Experiment

In Hamlet's Heights, we met Caliban, the monstrous Quesy.I also saw Falstaff with a warm smile and dexterous hands. He was Mr. Wren's chief butler and waiter.And now, as if in a dream, a red-haired Norse god leads us out of the vast courtyard.Mr. Wren insisted on calling him Dromeo, and this noble and honorable Dromeo drove Mr. Wren's shiny luxury car. His posture was comparable to that of a shrewd Philadelphia lawyer. Dexterous as a French ballet prima donna.Under his guidance, our upstate New York trip was so wonderful and joyful that I only hope it never ends. The laughter of Mr. Wren and his father also made this journey very pleasant.Most of the time, I just sat between them, listening to them talk about the good old days like a dream.The longer I spent with Mr. Wren, the more I liked him, and the more I learned the secret of his charm.His elegant wit exudes a solemn temperament, and every word he says is always so appropriate and impeccable, there is no room for questioning or debating; and more importantly, his speech is really funny.Mr. Wren's life is much richer than that of most people, and he also made countless friends who devoted their lives to each other. In the golden years when he was a famous Shakespeare actor, his name was even more widely known... Fan All these combined into one charming character.

Pleasant travel companions, comfortable cars, how lucky we are to have both.Before I knew it, I had already reached the end point, and time passed by so quickly!The car circled down the river valley, sparkling in the river, and the city of Leeds and the prison were already in sight.Thinking that what was waiting at the end of this journey was a mysterious case that might lead to the death penalty, I couldn't help shivering.For the first time since I left Hamlet, the thin face of Aaron Dow began to float in the cloudy mountains.During the several hours of driving, I was silent, forgetting about the case related to Alan Dow, not even mentioning his name-so I almost forgot the dark nature of this mission, and Now everything is back to reality.At this moment I can't help but wonder if this journey is just a journey of mercy, wondering if we can save that poor and humble life from the arms of the electric chair.

Speeding on the road leading to Leeds, no one chatted anymore, everyone was silent for a while.I think, probably thinking of this more difficult and futile journey to catch the murderer, let everyone feel deeply. Then my father said, "Look, Petty, let's just find a hotel in town and stay out of the Clays." "It's up to you." I said lazily. "Hey!" The old gentleman spat, "Don't make up your minds. Since I decided to join, I should also have a say in the battle plan. I suggest, Inspector, you and Patience should bother Iraq again." Lash Clay."

"But why is that?" protested the father. "There are many reasons, although they are not important, but in the whole strategy, it affects the whole body." "We can tell the Clays," I sighed, "that we're back to reinvestigate Dr. Fawcett." "That's true," the father mused. "I haven't investigated that damned villain... But what about you? Mr. Wren, it's not very good to follow—I mean—" "No," said the old gentleman with a smile, "I don't want to trouble the Clay family. I'm going to... where does Father Muir live?"

"He lives himself in a little house outside the prison walls," I answered, "doesn't he, Pa?" "Well, that's a good idea. You seem to have said that you knew him?" "Actually, we are very familiar, old friends. I'm going to visit him, and by the way—" he smiled lowly, "save the hotel fee. You go with me first, and then Dromeo will send you to Clay Home." Father pointed the way for our driver, round the edge of the town, and onto the ramp up the hill, toward the big, ugly gray prison.Not a hundred yards from the prison gates, shortly after passing the Clays' house, I saw an ivy-covered cottage with roses blooming on the stone walls and a large empty rocking-chair on the porch.

Dromeo honked the horn vigorously, and Mr. Wren had just got out of the car when the front door of the house opened.Father Muir appeared at the door with his cassock crooked, his face contorted in pain, trying to see the visitor clearly through his thick spectacles. After recognizing the other party, he was taken aback, with belated joy on his face, "Jerry Lane!" he shouted, and squeezed Mr. Lane's hand enthusiastically, "I can't believe my eyes How did you come here? My God, it's good to see you, come in, come in." Mr. Wren answered in a low voice, but we didn't hear him, only the priest kept talking, and then he found us sitting in the car, picked up his cassock, and hurried over.

"It's an honor to have you here," he cried. "Really, I—" his wrinkled face brightened, "come in too! I've persuaded Mr. Wren to stay—he Said he'd be in the Leeds for a few days--but at least you'd have to come in for a drink, I suppose..." I was about to answer when I saw Mr. Wren standing on the porch shaking his head violently. "It's a pity," I said, before my father could speak, "but it's too late for our appointment to go to the Clays'. That's where we live, you know. Father, you're very kind, next time."

Dromeo lugged the two bulky suitcases to the porch, smiled at his master, and got back in the car to drive us down the hill.At last it was only the tall figure of Mr. Wren who entered the room, and Father Muir looked back at us somewhat sadly before entering. We returned to Clay's house without difficulty.In fact, there was no one in the house when we arrived, except Martha, the old housekeeper.After she greeted us, she put us in the original bedroom as a matter of course.An hour later, when Jeremy and his father returned from the mine for lunch, we were waiting for them on the porch calmly—perhaps more peacefully on the outside than on the inside.Elihu Clay gave us an unreserved warm welcome; as for Jeremy, the boy gaped and stared at me as if I were only a ghost who had visited him with fond memories, and he never dared Hope to see me again.

After regaining his composure, the first thing he did was drag me hurriedly to the little gazebo shaded by the bushes behind the house to kiss me, his face and body covered in stone dust, and then, as I dodged his practiced hands, I felt As soon as his lips slid past my left ear, I knew I was home and back to normal. Late in the evening we were woken on the porch by a blaring car horn, then stood up to see the long figure of Mr. Wren's limousine sliding into the driveway.Dromeo sat behind the wheel smiling, while Mr Wren waved to us from the backseat. After the introduction, Mr. Wren said: "Inspector, I'm very curious about that poor guy in the Ritz detention center." Like a Deo story.

Father didn't even blink his eyes, and he understood the hint at once. "The priest must have mentioned it to you. It is a sad case. Are you going to visit the city?" I do not understand why Mr. Wren is so careful not to let his keen interest in the case be known.Of course he wouldn't be suspicious - I glanced at Clay and his son, Elihu Clay was very happy to see Mr. Wren himself, and Jeremy looked in awe.It just occurred to me that Mr. Wren was a great celebrity, and from his relaxed manner it was obvious that he was used to being surrounded by the flattery of the crowd. "Yes," he said, "Father Muir thinks I should be able to help. I'd love to go and see the poor fellow. Inspector, can you make arrangements for me? I know the D.A. will let you visiting prisoners."

"I can find a way for you to see him, Petty, you'd better come along too. Clay, then shall we leave temporarily?" We apologized as politely as possible, and two minutes later, Mr. Wren and I got into the limousine and drove towards the city. "Why don't you want them to know the real purpose of your coming here?" asked the father. "No particular reason," Mr. Wren replied vaguely, "I just think the less people know the better, that's all, so as not to alert the murderer... So it was Elihu Clay? I admit, it looks very Be honest. He is the kind of businessman who thinks he is fair and kind, and he will never touch dirty business; but as long as it is a legal transaction, he will be cruel and unceremoniously make a lot of money." "I think," I said seriously, "that you're just talking, Mr. Wren, and you don't know what you're selling in your gourd." He laughed, "Honey, you think me too cunning, my words don't mean anything else. Remember, this is all new to me, and before I start, I have to figure out my own direction." We came to John Hume's office. "You're Derry Lane," he said, after we'd introduced each other. "I'm flattered, sir. You were one of my childhood idols. What brought you here?" "Old man's curiosity," Mr. Wren said with a smile. "Mr. Hume, I am a person who likes to inquire and meddle in other people's business. Now that I am out of the stage, of course I will be annoying everywhere... I very much hope that I can be with you." Meet Alan Deo." "Oh!" said Hume, casting a quick glance at my father and me. "So the Inspector and Miss Sam are calling for help. Well, why not? Mr. Wren, as I have repeatedly explained, I am A citizen's prosecutor, not a citizen's executioner. I believe Doug committed murder, but if you can prove he didn't, I can assure you I'd be more than happy to drop his case." "Of course, we believe you on this point," Mr. Wren said lightly, "When can we meet O?" "It can be done right away, I'll find someone to take you there." "No, there is no need!" said the old gentleman quickly, "we must not interfere with your normal work by meddling. Mr. Hume, if it is convenient, we will go to see him in the detention center." "As you wish," the prosecutor shrugged and immediately wrote an official letter.So we left Hume's office with that document, and headed to the detention center a stone's throw away.The guards led us through a dark corridor lined with barred cells to Alan Deo's cell. During a previous trip in Vienna, I was invited by a young and well-known surgeon.Visit a newly built hospital.I still remember that when we came out of the surgery room in a space, an old man with a haggard face sitting on a bench outside suddenly stood up and stared at the doctor, obviously mistakenly thinking that we had just helped his relatives Had surgery.I will never forget that poor old face.The appearance was very ordinary, but at that moment, it was intertwined with an extremely intricate expression - struggling weakly and miserably in fear, refusing to give up hope... When Alan Deo heard the creaking sound of the keyhole of his cell door lock and saw us standing there, the distorted expression on his face was exactly the same as that of the old man I saw in Vienna.Prosecutor Hume had declared a few days ago that Dow and Dr. Fawcett had been "pretty cheered up" after their confrontation, and I wondered what that was about.He is no longer the defendant who is convinced that he will be acquitted. In extreme despair, a trace of hope flashed on his painful and terrified face, just like a hunted beast finds itself cornered, and rekindles hope sparks.His small angular face was dirty, like a charcoal drawing accidentally smeared, his eyes stared like will-o'-the-wisps with red eye circles, his face was unshaven, and his clothes were also dirty.I have never seen such a miserable person, and my heart throbbed.Glancing back at Derry Lane, his face was very solemn. The guard unlocked the lock slowly, opened the door wide for us to enter, then snapped it shut behind us, and locked it again with a couple of twists of the key. "Hello, hello." Deo's harsh voice sounded, and he sat nervously on the edge of the bed. "Hello, Deo." My father forced a friendly gesture. "We brought a man to see you. This is Mr. Jerry Lane, and he wants to talk to you." "Oh," he replied, glaring at Mr. Wren like a dog expecting a handout. "Hello, Deo," said the old gentleman softly, then turned his head and cast a wary glance down the corridor, where the guard was facing away from the cell, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, looking as if he were dozing off. "Would you mind answering a few questions?" "Just ask, Mr. Wren, just ask," cried Dow eagerly. Leaning against the gravel stone wall, I felt dizzy and nauseous.Father put his hands in his pockets, muttering something to himself.But Mr. Wren tried his best to put on a nonchalant expression, and began to ask some innocuous questions. We either heard Deo's answer a long time ago, or we knew very well that he would never reveal it.I stand up straight, why?What is Ren's plan?What was the purpose of this horrific visit? They chatted in low tones, and gradually became acquainted-but still meaningless questions and answers.I saw my father kept pacing up and down with a dazed expression on his face. Then suddenly the situation changed, and while Doo was babbling bitterly, the old gentleman suddenly drew a pencil from his pocket, and, to our surprise, hurled it at Doo with all his might, as if to make him As if nailed to the bed. I cried out, and my father cursed in surprise, looking at Mr. Wren's expression, as if he felt that he had suddenly gone crazy.But Mr. Wren's staring gaze at Deo woke me up... The poor guy opened his mouth and raised his left arm blindly, trying to block the thrown things, and only then did I find his shriveled right arm Dangling in the sleeves. "What's going on here?" Deo shrank back on the bed screaming, "You, you——" "Don't mind," murmured Mr. Wren. "I do it quite often, but with no malice. Do you do me a favor, Deo?" Relieved, the father leaned against the wall and grinned. "Help?" Deo's voice trembled. "Yes," said the old gentleman, standing up, lifting the pencil from the stone floor, and pointing the eraser at Dow. "Prick me with this, please?" Deo's wet, mucus-filled eyes shimmered at the word "thorn," and he grabbed the pencil with his left hand.Embarrassed, he gave Mr. Wren a clumsy false stab. "Ha!" cried Mr. Wren contentedly, stepping back. "Excellent. Now, Inspector, do you happen to have a piece of paper on you?" Deo handed back the pencil with a confused look on his face, while his father frowned, "Paper? What are you doing?" "Just pretend I'm insane again," Mr. Wren said with a low laugh. "Quick, quick, inspector, inspector—you're too slow!" The father complained and handed over a small notebook, from which the old gentleman tore a blank sheet. "Now, Deo," he said, fumbling in his pocket, "you trust us not to hurt you?" "Er, yes, sir. I'll do whatever you say." "Great," he took out a small box of matches, struck a light, and calmly lit the piece of paper.As the flames shot up, he dropped his hands on the ground and stepped back thoughtfully. "What are you doing?" Deo shouted, "You want to set fire to the prison?" Then he jumped up from the bed and began stamping out the burning paper frantically with his left foot until there was no light left in sight. "Well, I think," muttered Mr. Wren with a slight smile, "Patiens, even the most stupid escort should be persuaded. As for you, Inspector, are you persuaded now?" My father said with a crooked eyebrow: "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. Wow, it's really an eye-opener." I breathed a sigh of relief and started giggling. "Why? Dad, you've become a traitor! You're lucky, Alan Deo." "But I don't understand—" he said puzzled. Mr. Wren patted him on the shoulder: "Grit your teeth and hold on, Deo," he said kindly, "I think we can get you out." So my father called the guards, and he came down the corridor and unlocked the cell door to let us out.Deo ran over and grabbed the iron bar on the door tightly, stretched his neck, and watched our backs leave eagerly. When we walked in the cold corridor, an ominous premonition hit my heart.The guard followed us, the keys clanging harshly, and the rough face with a most grotesque expression.Although I told myself again and again that everything was just my fantasy, I still couldn't help becoming suspicious.Now I suspect that the guard wasn't really napping just now.Well, even if he is spying on us, what can he do with us?I glanced at Mr. Wren. He was thinking about something as he walked, and he probably didn't notice the guard's expression. We went back to the prosecutor's office, and this time we waited for half an hour in the reception room outside.During this time, Mr. Wren has been sitting quietly with his eyes closed, and he seems to be asleep.Hume's secretary finally came to let us in, and Father woke him up by touching him on the shoulder.He immediately stood up and murmured an apology, but I believe that he must have been seriously thinking about something I don't know just now. "Okay, Mr. Wren," Mr. Hume said curiously after watching us take our seats, "You have seen him, what do you think now?" "Before I crossed the road to the detention house, Mr. Hume," said the old gentleman slowly, "I only 'believed' that Aaron Dow was not the murderer of Senator Fawcett; and now I 'know' he was not." .” Hume raised his eyebrows: "You are really surprising. At first, Miss Sam, then the inspector, and now Mr. Wren, you lined up one by one to express your opinions against me. Can you tell me, yes What makes you think Deo is innocent?" "Patiens, my dear," said Mr. Wren, "haven't you given Mr. Hume a lesson in logic?" "He won't listen," I said sullenly. "Mr. Hume, if you may, for the next few minutes, please open your mind and forget all your preconceptions about this case, and let Miss Sam explain to you why the three of us believe that Alan Dow is innocent. .” So far, this is the third time in a few days that I have explained my theory.This time I hope to convince Hume, although before I speak, I know in my heart that it is impossible for such a stubborn and ambitious person to convince him by logic alone.Hume listened politely, nodding several times, his eyes radiating what seemed to be Appreciation shines.But when I finished speaking, he just shook his head. "My dear Miss Sam," said he, "that is indeed excellent reasoning as far as a woman—or man—is concerned, but it fails me at all. First, no jury will believe this analysis. , even if they understand it. Second, there's a serious loophole—" "Loopholes?" Mr. Wren said with an unbelievable expression on his face, "As said in a sonnet by Shakespeare, roses have thorns, silver springs have mud, and everyone is at fault. But Mr. Model, let's ignore these loopholes Whether it is true or not, I would be happy to ask you to give me some pointers, what are the loopholes?" "Well, right-footed versus left-footed nonsense, you just can't bring it to court - that if a person loses his right eye and right hand, he slowly becomes left-footed. Sounds like It's empty, and I doubt its medical validity. Mr. Lane, if this is not true, then Miss Sam's whole theory will collapse." "Look?" Father spread his hands and said in a muffled voice. "Breakdown? My dear prosecutor," said the old gentleman, "that is one of the most indestructible points in the case, I think." Hume smiled: "Oh, don't be like this, Mr. Wren, you won't be serious. Let's just admit that it conforms to the general law..." "You forget," whispered Mr. Wren, "we just went to see Doo." The prosecutor's lips pursed into a line: "I see! You have already..." "Mr. Hume, we have established the theory that Alan Dow's past special experience would have caused him to change from being right-footed to left-footed. But, you will say, this theory may not be applicable to A special case." Mr. Wren stopped and smiled weakly, "So let's prove this special case. The main purpose of my coming to Leeds is to prove that Alan Deao can use his left foot instead of his right foot. to do involuntary actions." "And he really did?" "Yes, I threw a pencil at him, and he held up his left hand to shield his face; then I told him to stab me with a pencil, and he did it with his left hand—that's enough to prove that he is indeed left-handed at the moment, and that he His right hand was practically paralyzed. I then set a piece of paper on fire and he stamped it out nervously - with his 'left' foot. This, Mr. Hume, is the proof I put forward." The prosecutor fell silent.You could tell he was struggling with the problem, deeply distressed, with deep lines between his eyes. "You've got to give me some time," he murmured, "I can't—in my own words, I can't bring myself to believe this—this..." He couldn't help but slapped the desk hard, " That doesn't constitute evidence to me! It's too coincidental, too trivial, and too circumstantial. Not enough evidence of O's innocence—well, not 'specific' enough." The old gentleman's eyes flashed coldly: "I think, Mr. Hume, according to the spirit of our judicial system, anyone should be treated as innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around!" "And I think, Mr. Hume," I said, my anger rising, and I could no longer control my temper; "you are a hypocrite!" "Petty," Dad said softly. Hume's face flushed: "Okay, I will study it. Now, if it is convenient, can I ask first—I still have a lot of work..." We left numbly, walking out in silence all the way. "I've seen a lot of bigots in my life," my father huffed as we got into the car and Dromeo started the engine, "but this kid is definitely number one!" Mr. Wren stared at the back of Dromeo's red head with a pensive expression. "Patiens, my dear," he said sadly, "it appears we have failed, and all your efforts have been in vain." "What does that mean?" I asked anxiously. "Mr. Hume's great ambition may have crushed his sense of justice. Besides, as we sat talking in Hume's office, I suddenly realized that we had made a serious mistake. If he is really so shameless If you don’t, you can easily take advantage of this mistake and put us in the army—” "Mistake?" I exclaimed, terrified. "You can't be serious, Mr. Wren. What mistake did we make?" "Son, it's not us, it's me." He fell into silence, before speaking for a while, "Who is Deo's lawyer? Or, does that unfortunate guy have a lawyer?" "It's a local man named Mark Collier," my father murmured, "and Clay talked to me about him today. I don't see why he's taking this case, unless he thinks Dow is guilty and takes the fifty thousand dollars." Dollars are hidden." "Really? Where is his office?" "In the Scalzi building next door to the courthouse." Mr. Wren tapped the glass. "Turn around, Dromeo, and drive back into town to the building next door to the courthouse." Mark Collier is a middle-aged man who is very fat (like a squashed squashed version of the famous detective Mr. Tate in the novel), very bald, and very sharp.He had no intention of appearing busy.When we entered his office, he was curled up in a swivel chair with his feet up on the desk, smoking a cigar as fat as he was, staring at a dusty engraving on the wall. Portrait of the eighteenth-century English jurist Sir Smith Blackstone. "Ah," he began in a languid tone after we had introduced ourselves, "I was just about to see you, excuse me for not getting up to greet you—I'm too fat, and I can see the law in me. Dignity lies here...Miss Sam, Hume tells me that you have an important clue in the Dow case." "When did he tell you?" asked Mr. Wren suddenly. "Just called, that's very kind. Huh?" Currier's small wary eyes glanced at us. "Why didn't you let me know? God knows, I need all the help I can get in this case." "Curlier," said the father, "we don't know anything about you. Why did you take this case?" He smiled like a fat owl. "What a strange question, Inspector. Why do you ask that?" They looked at each other for a long time, "Oh, it's nothing," the father finally said with a shrug, "but tell me, is this case just a matter of routine for you, or do you really believe that Deo is innocent?" of?" Currier said slowly, "Damn, he's absolutely guilty." We looked at each other. "Go ahead, Petty," Dad said sullenly. So I feel as if I've said it for the hundredth time, wearily restating my factual analysis.Mark Currier listened without blinking, nodding, smiling, and hardly seeming interested.And when I was done, he shook his head—just like Hume. "Very nice, but it won't work. Miss Sam, you can't convince a jury of rednecks with a story like that." "It's your job to convince the country bumpkins with this story!" Father said quickly. "Mr. Collier," said the old gentleman softly, "regardless of the jury, what do you think?" "Does it make a difference, Mr. Wren?" He puffed out smoke like a destroyer. "Of course, I'll do my best. But the little game you played in the cell today may pay for the old one." My life." "That's a bad word, Mr. Collier," I said. "What do you mean by that?" I noticed that Mr. Wren winced in his chair with pained eyes as I said this. "You've been tricked by the prosecutor," Currier said. "Don't you understand the consequences of experimenting on the accused without witnesses?" "But we are witnesses!" I cried. Father shook his head, and Collier laughed, "Hume can easily prove that you are all prejudiced. God knows, you have told too many people how much you believe in Dou's innocence." "Get to the point." Father growled.And Mr. Wren shrank even lower in his chair: "Well, do you understand what kind of predicament you are in? Hume said that you should go to pre-rehearsal with Dow in order to act in court!" I had a flash in my head, that guard!It turned out that my hunch was true.I dare not look at Mr. Wren, he curled up quietly in his chair. "I'm just afraid of this," Mr. Wren finally said sadly. "I just thought of it in Hume's office. It's my fault. There is no room for excuses." His bright eyes closed A dark cloud, and then said flatly: "Well, Mr. Collier, since my stupidity caused this disaster, I can only make up for it in the only way I can-with money. Your lawyer's retainer fee how many?" Collier blinked and opened his mouth slowly, "I took this case because I feel sorry for that poor guy..." "Indeed. Please tell me how much, Mr. Collier. Perhaps this will excite more heroic sympathy in you." The old gentleman drew a check-book from his pocket, and prepared his pen.For a while, I only heard my father's heavy snort, and Currier calmly raised his fingertips and compared a number. I felt dizzy for a while, and my father also opened his mouth wide. But Mr. Wren just wrote the check calmly and quietly put it in front of the lawyer, "Don't save any expenses, I will pay the bill." Collier smiled, glanced sideways at the check on the table, his fat nostrils quivered slightly, "Mr. Wren, for this lawyer's fee, I am willing to defend even the most heinous criminal." He folded carefully Put the check in a wallet as fat as his, "The first thing we have to do is to find an expert to testify." "Yes, I was thinking—" They talked on and on, and all I could hear was a vague murmur, and the only clear sound was the tolling of the death knell, which kept circling over Alan Dow's head, trying to silence it, barring a miracle.