Zamian's account shattered all such hope; there could be little doubt but that Sessily had come to a violent end, and Glawen's viscera crawled with hatred for the person responsible.

What had happened to the body?

The question had not lacked answers, including immersion in river, lagoon, ocean; destruction by chemical, fire;

maceration, implosion, ionic disassociation; levitation by balloon, tornado or the clutch of a giant night-flying gambril down from the Maughrim Mountains. In each hypothesis one or more flaws had been discovered and the problem still hung in the air.

Upon hearing of Zamian's disclosures, Glawen immediately asked:

"What of the truck? Has anyone gone to look at it?"

"I'm on my way now," said Scharde.

"I thought you might like to join me."

"Yes. I would indeed."

"Come along, then."

The time was middle afternoon of a blustery cool day; from the northeast came a keen wind to chase shreds and tatters of a broken overcast out to sea. Scharde and Glawen drove to the end of Wansey Way, around the Orpheum and inland along a dirt road leading eastward, first across garden plots, paddies, orchards and fields, then into a region of gentle slopes and swales planted to vineyards. Some thing less than a mile from the Station, the Joint Winery occupied the top of a low rise: a group of gray-brown concrete structures, inconspicuous in the context of the landscape, and of little distinction otherwise.

At the Joint Winery, secondary yields from the six wineries were blended by Master Oenologist Nion co-Offaw, to produce wines of good character, suitable both for home consumption and for export.

Where the garden plots gave way to the vineyards Scharde stopped the car.

"This ground has been examined foot by foot, not once but twice, out to a quarter mile from the road. That's considered double the maximum distance a man could carry a body, perform a burial and return to the road within the time strictures. In my opinion it exceeds the maximum by a factor of four, rather than two."

"That's only a bit more than a hundred yards." i "A hundred yards in the dark, carrying a body and tools, leaving' no tracks or marks? I'd call that incredible in itself."

"The whole affair is incredible," muttered Glawen.

"How could;

anyone destroy poor little Sessily?" ;

"Aha! But when she was destroyed she was glorious wonderful Sessily, too beautiful for her own good, and someone felt impelled to pluck the highest fruit from the Tree of Life. I suspect that he regrets nothing i "Not until we catch him, at any rate." ;

"He'll regret getting caught," said Scharde.

"No doubt as to that."!

"The winery has been searched, of course?" I "I searched it myself. She's not there: not in any closet, bin, vat,1 cubbyhole, on the roof or under the foundations.

Nion is a crusty old I devil, so don't expect cordiality.

Also, just to be difficult, he pretends to be deaf."

Scharde put the car into motion; the two continued along the road which presently veered, climbed a gentle slope and ended in front of the winery.

Scharde halted the car; the two alighted and took stock of the surroundings. The front facade of the winery rose in front of them. A tall door stood open, allowing a glimpse of the shadowed interior: a row of tall vats, oddments of machinery, the gleam of piping. About fifty feet to the side, Nion's truck was parked under a tree.

Scharde and Glawen went to the open door and looked into the winery, to discover Nion in the seat of a mobile lift, loading wine casks into a modular shipping case. The two came forward and stood politely waiting until Nion should choose to take note of them.

Nion flicked a sidewise glance toward them, but worked until he came to an optimally convenient opportunity to stop. Then he swung around in the seat, appraised his visitors, and at last grudgingly stepped down to the floor: a man well into middle age, stocky of frame, ruddy of face, with coarse russet-gray hair, narrow red-brown eyes under bristling eyebrows. He asked in a barely courteous voice: "What is it this time? I have nothing to do with your mysteries."

"We have had some new information," said Scharde.

"It now appears that the criminal used the winery truck during your absence, probably to transport the girl's body."

Nion Started to utter an automatic snort of derision, stopped short, scowled and reflected a moment, then gave a heavy shrug, jerked his head back.

"As to that, I can tell you nothing. If it's true, they have a great audacity, using my truck for their dirty business."

Glawen started to speak, then, at a glance from Scharde, held his tongue. Scharde asked: "Earlier that evening you brought three casks of wine down from the winery?"

"That I did, at the specific request of the wine steward. He is the man to question on that score, and if that's all you're wanting to know, I'll get back to my work."

Scharde paid no heed.

"You backed the truck against the dock to unload the casks?"

Nion stared at Scharde in astonishment.

"Surely, man, you can't be so dense as all that! Would there be any other way?"

Scharde smiled grimly.

"Very well. I take it, then, that you backed the truck against the dock. When you returned, which according to your statement was after midnight, did you find the truck as you left it?"

Nion blinked.

"Now as I think on it, some sky-larking fool had jockeyed it about, and finished off his prank by nosing it in against the dock. I would have taught him tricks if I had caught him at it."

Scharde smiled once again.

"Did you find any indication as to who might have played the trick? Any oddment or piece of property in the truck?"

"Nothing."

"Have you used the truck since that night?"

"Indeed I have! Every day I deliver a module that's four casks in a shipping case, mind you down to the spaceport.

Sometimes more when there's a ship to be laden. Now, then, is there more you want to know?"

"We'll have a look at the truck."

"As you like."