"It's James, Dad," he said, knowing my weaknesses. "One day you better learn to tell us apart."

"I do. You usually wear blue shirts."

"This one is green—you have to do better than that."

He poured a drink for me, his already in hand, and I reported the progress or lack of it by the police. Then he spoke the words we had been both avoiding.

"I'm sure Mom is all right. Disappeared, yes. In trouble, undoubtedly. But she is the toughest one in the family."

"She is, of course, comes up aces always." I tried, to keep the gloom from my voice, could not. He grabbed my shoulder, very hard.

"Something terrible has happened. But that Rowena women said gone—not dead. So we get to work to find her and that is that."

"Right." I heard the roughness in my voice; a sentimental old gray rat. Enough. "We'll do it. If the diGriz clan can't do it—it can't be done."

"Damn right! I have a message from Bolivar. He should be here very soon. He was in a spacer doing a lunar geological survey. Dropped everything and should be in faster than light drive by now."

"Lunar geology? That's a change. I thought he had become a stockbroker?"

"He was—found it too boring. When he had stacked away his millions, more profits than those of his clients I am sure, he burnt his business suits and bought a spacer. What do we do next."

"Top up this drink, if you please." I dropped into a chair. "Fill it with one—hundred—proof Old Cogitation Juice. We have some work to do."

"Like what?"

"Like first forgetting about collaboration with the authorities. They have got this investigation completely wrong so far and can only get it worse."