For almost a minute, Powell focussed on Reich, peeping, absorbing, digesting. Then his face began to pale and his respiration quicken. "My God!" he exclaimed. "My God!" He leaped to his feet and began pacing distractedly. "That’s it... . That explains it ... And Old Man Mose was right. Passion motive, and we thought he was kittenish ... And Barbara’s Siamese Twin Image ... And D’Courtney’s guilt... . No wonder Reich couldn’t kill us at Chooka’s ... But—the murder isn’t important any more. It goes deeper. Far deeper. And it’s dangerous ... More than I ever dreamed." He stopped, turned and looked at Reich with blazing eyes.