“What?”

“Dr. Altim Thool was the father of Gladia Delmarre, and what is more, he knew of the relationship.”

Baley had no thought of disbelieving the robot. He felt only a deep chagrin that it had been Robot Daneel Olivaw and not himself that had carried through the necessary piece of logical analysis. Even so, it was not complete.

He said, “Have you spoken to Dr. Thool?”

“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.”

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.”