“Reich sent YYJI TTED RRCB UUFE AALK QQBA to D’Courtney. That reads: SUGGEST MERGER BOTH OUR INTERESTS EQUAL PARTNERSHIP.”

“Damn it, that’s what I’ve said all along. And D’Courtney replied: WWHG. That was a refusal. Reich told Tate. Tate told me.”

“D’Courtney answered WWHG. That reads: ACCEPT OFFER.”

“The hell it does!”

“The hell it don’t. WWHG. ACCEPT OFFER. It was the answer Reich wanted. It was the answer that gave Reich every reason for keeping D’Courtney alive. You’ll never convince any court in the solar system that Reich had a motive for murdering D’Courtney. Your case is washed out.”

Powell stood stock still for half a minute, his fists clenched, his face working. Suddenly he turned on the model, reached in and pulled out the android figure of Reich. He twisted its head off. He went to Mose, yanked out the tapes of punched data, crumpled them into a wad and hurled the wad across the room. He strode to Crabbe’s recumbent figure and launched a tremendous kick at the seat of the chair. While the staffs watched in an appalled silence, the chair and Commissioner overturned to the floor.

“God damn you! You’re always sitting in that God damned chair!” Powell cried in a shaking voice and stormed out of the office.

14

EXPLOSION! CONCUSSION! The cell doors burst open. And far outside, freedom is waiting in the cloak of darkness and flight into the unknown…

Who’s that? Who’s outside the cell-block? Oh God! Oh Christ! The Man With No Face! Looking. Looming. Silent. Run! Escape! Fly! Fly!…

Fly through space. There’s safety in the solitude of this silver-lined launch jetting to the deeps of the distant unknown… The hatch door! Opening. But it can’t. There’s no one on this launch to swing it slowly, ominously… Oh God! The Man With No Face! Looking. Looming. Silent…

But I am innocent, your honor. Innocent. You will never prove my guilt, and I will never stop pleading my case though you pound your gavel until you deafen my ears and — Oh Christ! On the bench. In wig and gown. The Man With No Face. Looking. Looming. Quintessence of vengeance…

The pounding gavel dissolved to knuckles on the stateroom door. The steward’s voice called: “Over New York, Mr. Reich. One hour to debarkation. Over New York, Mr. Reich.” The knuckles went on hammering on the door.

Reich found his voice. “All right,” he croacked. “I hear you.”

The steward departed. Reich climbed out of the liquid bed and found his legs giving way. He clutched at the wall and cursed himself upright. Still in the grip of the nightmare’s terror, he went into the bathroom, depilated, showered, steamed, and air-washed for ten minutes. He was still reeling. He stepped into the massage alcove and punched ‘Glow-Salt.’ Two pounds of moistened, scented salt were sprayed on his skin. As the massage buffers were about to begin, Reich suddenly decided he needed coffee. He stepped out of the alcove to ring Service.