Chapter 21 Chapter 20 Truman!Truman!Truman!

There are often precedents to follow when major events happen. What happens today is what happens tomorrow. The moment I saw him, a sense of fear hit my heart.What secrets will this man reveal?Suppressing my fear, I sat down with as much sincerity as possible and listened to his explanation. Yet Truman Havel offered no explanation.He actually came to apologize for having said something harsh the night before.Whatever effect his words had on me, he now felt the need to clarify, since his words were not well founded and of no importance. "However, you must have your reasons for making such a serious accusation, otherwise you were insane at the time."

His brows were deeply furrowed, and his eyes showed an extremely melancholy expression. "You can't reason like that," he replied. "Anyone can make unfounded accusations when there's a huge shock, and they won't be called mentally insane." "Shock? You must have seen Mr. Claflin's face. Just seeing a strange gentleman in the hall is not enough to cause such a shock, Mr. Harwell?" He touched the back of the chair uncomfortably, then stood up, but did not answer. "Sit down," I demanded of him again, this time commandingly, "this is a very important matter, and I wish to take care of it. You have said that you know of anything that would clear Eleanor from suspicion, and You're ready to speak out, too."

"I'm sorry, what I said was that if I knew anything enough to get her out of trouble, I would have said it." He corrected me icily. "Don't play tricks. You and I know very well that you have concealed something. Now I am begging you on her behalf, and for the sake of justice, please tell me what you are concealing." "You are mistaken," he insisted obstinately. "I may have reasons for some of the conclusions I have drawn, but my conscience will not allow me to accuse anyone cruelly, because my suspicions may not only hurt good people." reputation, it will also put me in a difficult position for the person who made the baseless accusation."

"You're already in a difficult position," I retorted in the same icy tone. "Whatever you say, I can't forget that you accused Henry Claflin of Mr. Leavenworth's murder before me. You'd better Explain clearly, Mr Harwell." He gave me a quick look, turned and sat down in the chair. "You're putting me at a disadvantage," he said, in a softer tone, "and if you want to go after it, make me tell the only clues I have. I regret the situation I'm in, so I'll tell you the truth. " "So, besides the scruples of conscience, do you have other scruples?"

"Yes, because the facts I know are pitifully few." "You talk and listen first, and then let me make a judgment." He looked up at me, and I was surprised to see a strange eagerness in the depths of his eyes.Obviously, what he believed in was stronger than his scruples. "Mr. Raymond," he began, "you are a lawyer and certainly a practical man. But I don't know if you've ever experienced that feeling of danger before you see it. You can Sensing something strange in the air around you, but not being able to detect or feel the reason for it being so intense, only to stumble at the end that the enemy is always there: a friend passing by the window, the shadow of death drifting over you while reading, or Hearing you in your sleep. You know that feeling?"

I shook my head, overwhelmed by his eager eyes. "In that case, you can't understand me and what I've been tortured for the past three weeks." After he finished speaking, he leaned back, with cold determination in his eyes, as if he wanted to arouse my curiosity.Very successfully, my curiosity has been fully awakened. "I'm sorry," I said hastily, "I've never felt this way, but it doesn't mean I can't understand other people's spiritual experiences." He slowly moved his body forward. "So you wouldn't make fun of me if I said I had a dream the night before Mr. Leavenworth's murder? I dreamed he was murdered and saw—" He clenched his face before himself. His hands, his attitude are incomparably convincing, yet his voice drops to a frightened whisper, "See the murderer's face!"

I was shocked and looked at him in surprise, feeling the creepy feeling when a ghost appeared in my heart. "The murderer was—" I began. "That is why I accuse the man who stood in the Leavenworth hall last night." He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, because the beads of sweat on his forehead were getting bigger and bigger. "Are you implying that the face of the person in the dream is the same face that appeared in the hall last night?" He nodded heavily. I pull the chair closer to him. "Tell me about your dream," I said. "The time of the dream was the night before the tragic murder of Mr. Leavenworth. I went to bed, satisfied with myself and the world, despite all my sufferings." He sighed briefly, " Because someone had said kind words to me that day, and I had been immersed in the joyful atmosphere of these words. At this moment, a sudden chill came over my heart, and the peaceful darkness before my eyes seemed to be shaken by a mournful cry, and I heard By the time my name 'Truman, Truman, Truman' was repeated three times, I couldn't make out whose voice it was. I lay on my pillow and saw a lady standing by the bed. Her face I hadn't seen it," he went on gravely, "but I could tell every detail. She was bending over and staring into my eyes, which seemed to be pleading for help with growing terror. Although she has remained silent, her cries have been echoing in my ears as long as I can remember."

"Describe that face," I interjected. "The face was round and a lady's. Very charming in outline, but devoid of colour. Not beautiful, but endearing by virtue of its childlike innocence. Brown hair, in The broad forehead is neatly combed. The eyes are wide apart and the pupils are gray. The mouth is the most charming facial features, small and delicate, with a variety of styles. There is a dimple on the chin, but there is no cheek. That face is unforgettable. .” "Go on," I said. "I stood up and looked into those begging eyes. The face and all images disappeared suddenly. As I gradually regained consciousness, as we usually do in dreams, I felt someone moving in the hall downstairs. Next, a tall man He slipped into the library. I remember feeling a little horrified, half terror, half curiosity, but I seemed to intuitively know what he was doing. Strange to say, I seemed to have changed at this time. The identity is no longer a third person watching, but Mr. Leavenworth himself, sitting at the desk in the library, feeling that the end of life is coming, feeling powerless to speak, and powerless to avoid the coming of death. Although I With my back to the murderer, I can still feel him sneaking across the hallway and into the room at the other end, trying to get a pistol from a drawer on a small table. Finding it locked, he turns the key, takes the pistol, and holds it in the customary gun in my hand, and kept going. I could feel every step of his footsteps, because each step was actually on my heart, and I also remember staring at the table in front of me, as if I was going to see it covered with My own blood. I can see my own handwritten letters dancing on the paper in front of me at this moment, and it seems to me like a ghostly form of long-forgotten people and things. I try to make the last moment of my life full. Regret and shame, full of boundless desire, full of unspeakable pain. The face in the dream was tangled in muscles, pale, sweet, and stern, and the silent footsteps behind me slowly approached until I could feel the killer's eyes piercing through my eyes. Cross the narrow threshold. The Grim Reaper is waiting for me at the other end of the threshold, and I can even hear the sound of his teeth clinking before he clenches his lips and prepares to move. Ah!" The secretary's gray face showed an expression of extreme horror, "What words can I use? Describe such an experience? Suddenly, all the pain in my heart and mind turned into a blank, as if it disappeared suddenly. A figure bent down to look at his masterpiece, his eyes were gloomy, and his lips were tightly closed. I don’t know me The face I saw, but his handsome outline, regular features, extraordinary temperament, left a deep impression on people. If I can't recognize the face and body shape of the dreamer, then I can't recognize myself either father's face."

"Whose face is this?" I could barely recognize my own voice. "That's the man who left Mary Leavenworth last night, went down the hall, and walked up to the front door."