Chapter 20 Chapter 18 Dark Hours

So we drifted on the calm sea, praying for a breeze, but only the sun shining relentlessly.We're all tired—tired of setting sail and waiting for the wind to rise, tired of fighting, tired of thinking of the way out. Father and Elihu Clay settled their differences, and neither of us had any intention of arguing, so Clay preferred to stay with them.We just go back to sleep at night and spend very little time there.My father kept running, wandering around the city like a wild ghost; as for me, I always went to Father Muir's house on the hill, maybe out of some guilt, I wished I was closer to the death row .The priest went to see Alan Deo every day, but for some reason, he was reluctant to disclose the situation of Deo.I could guess from the pain on the priest's face that Deo must have cursed us all, but it was useless.

All things are settled.Little things happen.I learned that Jerry Lane had sneaked in to see Alan DeOguan while he was in the detention center awaiting conviction and sentencing.What they talked about I don't know, but it must have been very unusual, for the old gentleman's face had been haunted by that look of terror from that day on. At one point I asked what they were talking about, and he was silent for a long time, then said, "He refused to tell me what the hijaz meant." Nothing else was said. Another time he went missing and we spent four frantic hours looking for him, and then he reappeared quietly and sat back in the rocking chair on Father Muir's porch as if he hadn't left.He sat there with a tired and impassive face, swaying in sad thoughts.I learned later that he had gone to Rufus Cotton to resolve some doubts in his theory.I did not understand at the time what he hoped to gain from this mysterious visit, but it was clear from his manner that whatever his purpose was, it was clearly a failure.

Another time, after hours of silence, he jumped up and yelled to tell Dromeo to drive, then rushed up the road to Leeds and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.They returned shortly after, and a few hours later a messenger came up the hill on a bicycle to deliver a telegram.Mr. Wren's basilisk eyes eagerly read it, then dropped it on my lap. The federal agent you are questioning is currently on a business trip in the Midwest, please keep it strictly confidential. The signer of the telegram was a top Justice Department official.I believe that Mr. Wren wanted to discuss with Carmichael with a glimmer of hope, but obviously, there was still no result.

Of course, the old gentleman was the real victim.It's hard to believe that it was the same Jerry Wren who accompanied us to Leeds a few weeks ago with that old cheek full of excitement and joy.Something in his heart seemed to be sucked out, only one breath remained, and he returned to the old man with a sick face.Except for the occasional energetic jump up and disappear, he and Father Muir sat speechless next to each other, killing endless empty hours, brooding on god-knows-what whims. Time stretches, and then flies forward without knowing it, one by one peaceful days slowly passed, but one morning, I got up in a daze, only to remember that today is Friday, and my whole body froze with fright.According to the law, Warden Magnus must decide on the date of Aaron Deo's execution within the week beginning next Monday.But this was just a matter of routine, because according to the practice of Algonquin Prison, executions have always been carried out on Wednesday nights.Therefore, unless a miracle happens, Alan Deo will turn into a charred corpse in less than two weeks... The thought of this makes me feel at a loss, and I want to seek help immediately, complain to the authorities, and try my best Trying hard to save that poor creature in the wall.But who should I go to?

That afternoon, I wandered over to Father Muir's house as usual, and found my father there, discussing intently with Mr. Wren and the priest. I sat down quietly, closed my eyes, and then opened them again. Mr. Wren said, "Inspector, it seems hopeless. I'm going to Albany to find Bruno." The conflict between friendship and duty was originally one of the usual plots in drama. If it weren't for the fact that the situation at the time was really unhappy, this kind of conflict should be quite entertaining. My father and I were overjoyed to seize this opportunity of action, and we insisted on accompanying the old gentleman to Albany, and he seemed quite pleased.Dromeo drove like a Spartan tirelessly, but when we finally reached the New York state capital on that hill, my father and I were exhausted after all.Mr. Wren, on the other hand, would not listen to any suggestion of delay.He had called before at Leeds and Governor Bruno was waiting for us.So Dromeo drove non-stop, without stopping for a snack or rest, all the way to the capital villa.

We met the governor in his office in the State House—a brown-haired, balding old Bruno with a determined eye and a solid build.He welcomed us warmly, had a secretary order sandwiches for him, and joked happily with Father and Ryan...but his eyes were always serious and alert, and when his mouth smiled, his eyes didn't. "Now," he said, refreshed after we had eaten and drunk comfortably, "Mr. Wren, what brought you to Albany?" "Alan O's case," said the old gentleman quietly. "That's what I guessed at first," Bruno quickly tapped on the desk a few times, "Tell me everything."

So the old gentleman told him that his words were calm, objective and concise, and would not create any established impression.He took the trouble to explain why it was impossible for Aaron Dow to kill the first victim, Senator Fawcett.Monsieur Bruno listened with lowered eyes, his face impassive. "Therefore," concluded Mr. Wren, "in view of these facts, it is indeed doubtful whether Deo is guilty. Governor, we have come here to ask you to postpone the execution date." Governor Bruno opened his eyes: "Mr. Lane, your analysis is still as great as before. Under normal circumstances, I might say that this analysis is correct, but—there is no evidence."

"Listen, Bruno," my father yelled, "I know you're having a hard time, but be yourself. I know you too well! Damn, you're always letting responsibility lead you by the nose! You've got to put your date on hold !" The governor sighed: "This is the most difficult job since I took office. Sam, Mr. Ryan, I am just a tool of the law. Yes, I have sworn allegiance to the judiciary, but our legal system is Judiciary is based on facts and you don't have facts, man, there are no 'facts'. It's all just theory - perfect, loud theory, but that's all. I can't interfere after the jury has convicted and the judge has pronounced the death sentence Execution, unless I am sure the condemned person is evidentiary and morally innocent. Give me evidence, evidence!"

The scene fell into an embarrassing silence, and I sat uneasy on the chair, feeling a helpless emptiness in my heart.Then Mr. Wren stood up. He looked tall and majestic, and the wrinkles on his tired and pale old face clearly appeared: "Bruno, I came here not only on the basis of the theory of Alan Deo's innocence. From those two amazing And in a clear murder case, I inevitably draw some devastating inferences. But - as you say - inferences are not conclusions unless they are supported by evidence, and I have no evidence." The father's eyeballs were about to pop out, and he exclaimed, "You mean, you 'know'?"

Mr. Wren made a strange gesture impatiently: "I know almost everything, not everything, but pretty close." He bent down close to the governor's table, staring into Bruno's eyes: "Bruno, In the past, you have always had confidence in me when faced with various junctures, why don't you trust me this time." Bruno lowered his eyes, "Dear Mr. Wren...I can't." "Very well, then," the old gentleman straightened up, "let me explain more clearly. My deduction has not pointed out who the murderer of the Senator and Dr. Fawcett is, but, Bruno, my analysis has been deduced all the way." At a stage very close to the truth, I can be sure that the murderer can only be one of three specific people."

Father and I looked at him blankly.one third!The remark seemed so unexpected, so improbable.In my own mind I had narrowed down the possibilities to a certain number, but—three!I really don't understand how the number of candidates can be reduced to such a small number based on the facts I know so far. The governor murmured: "And Alan Deo is not one of these three?" "no." Mr. Wren's answer was very affirmative, and I saw Mr. Bruno's worried eyes flickering. "Trust me, give me time, 'time', get it? It's all I need, all I want. Time will reveal... the whole puzzle is missing a piece, a very important piece, that I have to spend Time to find out." "Maybe that piece doesn't even exist," Bruno muttered. "What if it's all just a waste of time? Do you understand where I stand?" "Then I'll throw in the towel. But unless I'm sure that piece doesn't exist, you have no moral right to dictate Dow's fate to be executed for a crime he didn't commit." Governor Bruno looked up abruptly. "Okay, then," his lips moved quickly, "I will do this for you. If you haven't found the last key before the execution, I will postpone the execution date by one week." "Oh," said Mr. Wren, "thank you, Bruno, thank you. You are very kind, and this is the first ray of sunshine after weeks of gloom. Sam, Patience—let's go back!" " "Wait a minute," the governor fiddled with a piece of paper on his desk. "I have been hesitant to tell you about this, but since we have decided to cooperate, I don't think I have the right to hide that this matter may be important." The old gentleman suddenly raised his head, "What's the matter?" "You are not the only ones calling for the cancellation of the execution of Arun Deo." "So?" "There's a man from Leeds—" "You mean," said Mr. Wren, with sparkling eyes, in a loud and frightening voice, "that, Bruno, someone we know and who is involved in this case came before us to ask you for an adjournment?" "Not an extension," the Governor whispered, "a pardon. She came two days ago, though she didn't tell me why—" "Who is she?" We all froze in surprise and cried out in unison. "It's Fanny Cather." Mr. Wren stared absently at the oil painting above the governor's head, "Fanny Cather. Well, that's it. I've already—" He punched his fist hard on the desk, "Of course, of course! I How could it be so blind, so stupid! She didn't explain why she wanted your pardon, eh?" He came across the carpet to us, and grabbed our arm, which hurt me: "Patience, Inspector—come back inside Go here! Tell you, there is hope!"